In class the other morning we were discussing what being an agent for social change means, what it shouldn't mean, who should assume that title, who shouldn't, etc. etc. I had commented that where a Western presence is creating or has created issues, do we (Westerners / tourists) not have a responsibility to strive for social change, as "agents" within our own culture, to educate our own culture on what we're contributing to in another locality? I was thinking particularly of begging businesses targeted at tourists, and of the beach parties in Goa, and how that has isolated and impacted local communities. Later that day at Gujarat University I was walking with my classmate, Andrew, and he mentioned that he had a different perspective on what I was saying. He hesitated at first and I encouraged him to let it rip; tell me what you think straight up. It led to an interesting walking chat that's stuck with me ever since.
Population. The sheer scale of it compared to home. We really and truly can't get out head around it, and what it means to Indian society. What Andrew shared was that while he understood what I was getting at with regards to begging, he doesn't think our presence here has created a situation that didn't exist previously, or that us leaving (i.e., no tourists) would change anything. His perspective is that the poverty here is directly linked to the size of the population, a number we can barely get our head around, and that begging always existed but our presence makes for an easier go of it, a logical place to start, and in many areas some strategies have been developed to make it even more fruitful. If tourists weren't here the beggars would simply beg elsewhere, he said. And further, take a poor area in Toronto. Generally the difficulties are behind closed doors; urban poverty is pretty concealed from our day-to-day gaze. But, take the population of that Toronto area and times it by 1000--it would spill out onto the street, guaranteed. That's India, he said. The sheer number of people increases the intensity of it all; there's more people than they can care for, and the issues are intensely complicated by the numbers of people. I hadn't thought of it quite that succinctly before; he's so right. Think of any scenario you can dream up. Most everything is manageable in small amounts. But increase it a 100 fold and it's overwhelming, daunting, and depending, downright frightening. We can't understand the social issues on this scale. In Mumbai, the Dharavi slum is the entire population of Calgary crammed into 1/8 the space! Mind-boggling is an understatement. And India itself is 1/3 the size of Canada x FORTY the population!!
I've had CNN on everyday, both to feel connected to the rest of the world, like the rescue of the Chilean miners, and because it's entirely in English. CNN has been advertising their series Ancient Cities constantly, especially Cairo, and it got me thinking. Cairo is described as chaotic and crammed--like Mumbai and Delhi? I'm in an ancient city right now; apparently Ahmedabad was established in 1411. I wonder, why does it seem that the oldest cities are so "chaotic" and what we call 3rd world conditions? The cramming I understand; people have been living here forever so that means a LOT of people. But shouldn't that mean they have city living figured out? Why, according to CNN, is the ancient city of Cairo a "future city"? A city that is still growing and figuring out how to manage all its citizens? How is that possible? They've had a cajillion years to figure it out haven't they? Makes my sore spots with Calgary's light rail system kind of cute, like a little child complaining that they have so many responsibilities or something.
The other morning I turned on CNN just in time to catch a very interesting story. CNN is also running a series on Heroes (perhaps you've seen this; not sure if the programming is different here), and I caught a segment on an Indian chef of some notoriety who gave it all up to prepare meals for the homeless. He shared that the poverty in India is so huge that some people just get completely forgotten about. One day from his car window he saw an elderly man eating his own excrement, and that sight broke his heart. Right then he said he made a decision to try to help, and now he delivers hot meals and bottles of water to these forgotten souls. In one scene he was even tenderly spoon-feeding an old man. Again I am struck by the intensity of this story, of elderly people living on the street. But, are there elderly this forgotten in my own city, reduced to this level of barely surviving and I just don't see it because it hasn't spilled into the street? I don't know; I kind of think not. But...well I just don't know. I simply can't imagine it, that we don't have systems in place to catch our own before they get to this point. BUT...we are dealing on a much smaller scale, and even as I write this I hear a voice in my head saying but so what, India has a responsibility to care for its own. Population can't be an excuse, can it? Is it an excuse or an explanation?
Phillip mentioned to me that misery is a construction. I kind of get it--perceptions shape constructions of how we define everything. I think. I have to mull that. Maybe it's too deep for me, too philosophical. More than once I have thought that coming to sit idly and meditate in an ashram in a country where old people are eating their own shit and little babies sit in piles of garbage seems kind of ridiculous. Seems like pretty concrete misery to me. I made a comment to prof Wendy the other day that I'm having trouble seeing India as a spiritual mecca, a place where people journey to learn and attain spiritual enlightenment. "It's a myth," she replied. "And I happen to agree with you."
It is what is, these thoughts, and I am where I'm at. This is brutal and uncensored honesty...constructed from my own views based on where I've been and what I'm seeing and hearing. My construction, for what it's worth. Population or not, India is mind-boggling on multiple levels, and I fully admit to being confused by it. But it's so easy to judge, to point and draw a conclusion, wipe my hands of it and walk away, especially when I'm weary, thinking it's done--figured that out. So cowardly, really. And so much more challenging, respectful, and beneficial to sincerely ask why, about situations, attitudes, behaviors, and people we don't understand or rub us the wrong away. Why am I, are you, are they? What's the why behind the scenes? What are the sacred cows I hold dear which fuel my easy judgments? When Indians arrive as new Canadian immigrants (we saw a big poster advertising immigration to Canada in 12 months guaranteed), what is the why in an Indian's questions when they're on our home turf? And when they're weary, where and when do they find it easy to judge us?
I bounced some of these thoughts off Tina and she had a quick answer to where they think our f%&@-ed-up-ness resides: lack of community. It's very strange to have to make an appointment to see a friend, and be scheduled into a friend's life. In Indian culture if you are FRIENDS, you can see each other whenever you want; the door is always open. And that strong listening skills translates to becoming a close friend to a Westerner: "I can talk so easily to you; you are one of my closest friends" Huh? Many times I do not feel the same she said. Because I listen to you intently and with interest does not mean we're besties. "We always give our full attention," she said, "and the first time I experienced an interpersonal communications class in my studies I thought to myself, they need to be taught this?" We spoke a lot too about moral richness, the wealth of love, the importance of sharing and togetherness, that happiness is a perception, and really, don't we all long in our lives, whether rich or poor, and don't we all find our own ways of being happy? What makes the dude in his posh office doing lines better off than these poor communities? Westerners value cash, and we quickly associate poverty on monetary means only. The poverty is real, no one denies that, but she encouraged me to remember that for even the children, their existence is not entirely pitiful, and life goes on, like it does for all of us.
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