Sunday, June 13, 2010
another blog for your reading pleasure...
Sunday, May 23, 2010
A weekend trip...thanks to Saturdays off
We went to Vrindaban and Mathura...
Friday, May 7, 2010
Lady Boss and Dada in India
Sunday, March 28, 2010
arranged marriage (gone wrong)
Since its been so long, the updates will be quick and then straight to a story!
- As mentioned, we have moved to a new flat...and we love it! Its a little bit closer to my work (so the commute is only about 35 mins each way now), in a nice quiet residential neighborhood but close to the best market of Delhi (I'm biased a bit). We are on the top floor with a HUGE terrace, two rooms, a bathroom (with a tub and a wall of mirrors, very rare in middle class India I think?) and a big kitchen (also rare - usually kitchens are quite small - perfect for servants). Another big plus is that there are windows in all the rooms (and again...rare in India!) Our terrace is now fully decked out with newly purchased plants and bamboo furniture. Unfortunately we keep killing the plants because the temperature has reached well over 100 F and they are all roasting to death (like me....we have no AC yet)
- A few holidays have passed - Holi (the festival of colors) which we celebrated at a university campus with other crazy young people and relatively little groping for which the holiday is famous, Ram's birthday (which brings with it a 9 day fast that of course we DIDN'T participate in), and at least a trillion others. Good Friday is coming up this week, and they even celebrate that!
- Work is going well. I have negotiated my way into having alternating Saturdays off (!!!!) in order to take a few weekend trips here and there.
- In terms of work, things are going well. Changes are happening - in my programs (for the good) and in the organization in general (for the good and the not so good). The most dramatic thing that has taken place recently is that one of the communities that we work in was completely demolished by the government in preparation for the Commonwealth Games. They are "beautifying" the city, which basically means using child labor and under-paid workers to disrupt the city to build new stadiums and roads, and bull-doze all the slums that might (or might not) be visible and where most of the laborers (and children) live. The repercussions for the residents are huge, of course, but things keep going and people keep surviving.
(here are a few pictures of some kids on demolition day playing with rubbish they found in the piles of what used to be their homes...)
- MY PARENTS ARE COMING TO VISIT!!!
Thats enough updates...for now....I double pink-promise to be a bit better. I can't keep up with all the things that happen all the time - there is too much to observe all the time and too much to take in constantly....but once my parents are here, I'll have my new camera and I can at the VERY LEAST update you with images!
...So now a story...about an arranged marriage in Bangalore.
We have a friend named Shilpa. Shilpa is THE MOST liberated Indian woman we (or anyone else in India) has ever met. She drinks and smokes and parties and has love affairs and sex stories (a 3 year long story which she was in the middle of when this whole mess started)...all with no qualms whatsoever. She is very genuine, unafraid of being who she is and doing what she wants. She's the type of woman that could approach the sketchiest of wine and beer shops in Delhi (which means any of them because they are ALL sketchy) and with confidence push her way through a sea of liquor-hungry men (and not a single other woman) and demand enough alcohol to get the whole shop drunk, and walk out without even thinking twice.
Shilpa's very conservative Hindu parents have been trying for years to get her married. She finally agreed.
How arranged marriage generally happens (as far as I can tell or at least in this case) is like this...
FIRST the parents save for years and years and stock up on all necessary 'equipment'. In South India that means GOLD (they consume more than half of the world's gold or something) and SILK (sarees of course). So Shilpa's mom, having only 1 child and a girl at that, has been putting many years, and a lot of money, into stocking up the best of wedding paraphernalia.
NEXT, even before getting your uber-liberated daughter to agree on even the idea of getting married, the parents contact a very official marriage broker. It becomes his responsibility to find suitable matches - according to religion, background, caste, profession, skin color, education, etc. And then....the eligible bachelors (having to do nothing themselves except exist) are brought one by one in front of the bride-to-be (assuming she has by this point accepted her fate) until she finally resigns and picks one (if she's smart like Shilpa, she picks the one who will interfere least with her current lifestyle, ie the most passive of the bunch)
AND THEN...the wedding. Again, the responsibility rests entirely on the bride's family. They have to arrange the venue, find the priests (and the priest's many assistants), hire a decorator, finalize a caterer (in Shilpa's family's case pure vegetarian, no alcohol), tailor clothing (also for the groom and his family), throw parties (engagement, henna, prayer, etc) and even rent a bus to transport the groom's family from the village to the city (again in Shilpa's case since the groom's family was from Mysore, three hours away).
NOW...the wedding itself lasts about 4 or 5 days (I think it could be longer, but Shilpa being Shilpa and silently rebelling until the very end, did as little as possible for it still be considered a wedding).
Sunday night was 'mendhi night' - which is basically the equivalent to a bachelorette's party as best as I can tell (again breaking tradition, Shilpa allowed men at her wanna-be bachelorette's party...men being Francesco). The bride and all her girlfriends get together for henna. The bride gets henna all the way up both her whole arms and as far as she wants up her feet and legs. Her henna should be the most intricate and takes about 3 hours to apply (!!!!). The rest of the women generally get more simple designs just on the front and backs of their hands - although, as is typical of girls, competition kicks in and whoever has the best henna wins - I noticed that its better if you go AFTER the bride because then the standards are higher. If you go before the bride (like I did) you never know what you're missing out on - as if being a white girl with henna isn't enough to make people laugh....try being a white girl with not very good henna. There are a few tips and tricks and myths about henna.
- The higher your body temperature, the darker the henna gets and the darker the henna gets the more you love your husband or husband-to-be. (The feminist in me sees big problems with this myth - why can't it be how much your husband loves you? And the practical side of me also asks, what does dark henna have to do with love to begin with?) Tricks to make your henna darker....1. Drink chai. 2. As the henna is drying, warm your hands over the heat made by roasting a mixture of
cloves and cinnamon.
- If the bride wants and the mendhi artists are capable (which any artist would be or surely they wouldn't be hired for such an important event), the name of the groom is hidden in the bride's intricate henna. This is again supposed to prove the wife's devotion to the husband. My theory is that it creates a type of icebreaker, so that the husband and wife, on their first night together (and probably the first time they are in the same place without any other distractions or family) they have something to occupy themselves to overcome their discomfort.
- Another privilege of mendhi night is that since your hands are completely coated in ooey, gooey henna, which you dare not mess up, someone is in charge of feeding you. Since Shilpa wasn't strict enough to disallow male guests, Francesco was there, to feed me the endless food, and give me drinks, and basically anything else I wanted. A few of her uncles were
making offers to feed me too, but I legitimately was allowed to behave like a spoiled princess and Francesco could do nothing but oblige.
The next big step of a South Indian wedding is the reception - thats right, the reception comes BEFORE the actually wedding ceremony. This is because marriage halls are rented for 24 hour time frames which start around noon - so since the reception is at night and the ceremony in the morning, they have to switch things up.
Contrary to what you might picture as an Indian wedding, South Indian receptions are BORING. I'm used to flashy lights and loud, annoying, un-rhythmic bhangra music of North India, the mobs of men dancing and sweating, the groups of women giggling and making excuses not to join on the dance floor, the mixing and mingling and undercover alcohol - South Indian receptions, on the other hand, are quite sober. Basically, the guests put on their best silk saris, wait in a big line with their families and friends, and parade one group at a time across stage to greet the (not-yet) married couple. You give them a gift (usually money), pause for the cameraman to take a picture, pose with your most serious face, go to the kitchen to eat, and then leave. No dancing. No singing. No sneaking alcohol. No disco lights and bhangra music. And most disappointingly, NO WHITE HORSE. Grooms in North India come to the wedding reception riding regally on a white horse, along with all their friends, family, family friends, neighbors, friends of neighbors, people they pick up on the street, in a big procession behind them. Its the stuff of fairy tales - princes (or creepy Indian men) on white horses coming to meet their true-love (who they've never laid eyes on before). Love at first sight and all that cheesy stuff. Not in South India. Just standing on a stage...
Last but not least is the ceremony - which again is rather long and drawn out and slightly boring. Before, during and after there were all kinds of other pujas (prayers) as well - to ensure the gods were pleased and the stars were inline and this and that and the other. The thing that struck me as odd was that the whole thing was planned according to 'auspicious' timing - basically according to the stars and the astrologist who reads the stars (also hired by the bride's family), one puja had to occur before 3:00 on the specific day. But the groom's family was running late and it was soon 2:45 and his mother and father weren't in sight (or in Bangalore). So they started without them - Shilpa and her mom and dad on one side, the groom and his....uncle and aunt on the other. Apparently its more inauspicious to start after 3:00 than it is to have someone pretend to be the groom's parents.
In all this (meaning the trip to Bangalore but also in general during our time in India as its hard to go one hour without some mention of marriage from someone, somehow) we heard a lot of theories about arranged marriage. People claim it has a logic, and even though Shilpa was an uninvolved bride (and even a rebellious one at times) she used to be the one who could rationally argue FOR arranged marriage (not to say she ever really WANTED it for herself). Basically she said that arranged marriage is just a way to narrow down the selection based on social capital. Given the vast number of people in India and the strict rules of social interaction between genders, it is close to impossible to choose ONE man for every ONE woman. It helps when each are involved in the same social setting - university or school or college or work - and then the couple can arrange for themselves. (Usually when asked if they had an arranged marriage or a love marriage, these couples will proudly reply, "both" as in first they fell in love, but then the parents approved). Otherwise, it is where parents (and marriage brokers) come in – they have the job of narrowing it down. It should be someone from the same background (READ: caste - although technically illegal it is still the biggest match-making criteria and if castes are unequal, even the pujas at the wedding will be affected) so that the couple-to-be naturally possesses similar views on raising children, spending/saving money, education, taking care of older relatives, and socializing with friends. The potential husband and wife would have been raised in a similar way and matched according to these strict criteria rather than 'love'. Of course, nothing is as black and white as that in India, and there are many qualifications OTHER than caste – sub-caste, village, profession, etc. – but the bottom line is matching social capital.
There are other logics that I have heard as well, but none as shrouded in academic reasoning. The funniest one being that an arranged marriage purposefully starts at the lowest point (not knowing each other) so that the relationship can only improve from there (I suppose as opposed to a western 'love' marriage that starts at the highest point - love - and declines into divorce and lawsuits).
This is certainly not the case with Shilpa. Super-free Shilpa's arranged marriage went terribly wrong very quickly. Within one week of her marriage, her new in-laws paid a surprise visit to her house. They pulled her aside and instructed her on how to crush up pills to mix with their son's juice every morning as they had been doing for the past 3 years without his knowledge. Apparently Shilpa's brand-new husband has been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and is being treated secretly (so that he doesn't even know), with no hopes of recovering any time soon. All the doctors who have been consulted claim that he will be on medication for the rest of his life and that he will continue to be unresponsive and need constant care.
Shilpa is filing for an annulment or divorce. In India its reason enough that he is so unresponsive from his medication that he is impotent BUT...hopefully she will sue the parents for misrepresentation and deceit and anything else she can think of. And hopefully, not only because all her mom's hopes and dreams were spent (in hundreds of thousands of rupees) on this one marriage, but also because she might finally understand a general downside of arranged marriage to begin with, Shilpa can return to her 3-year old love story and her independence.
That my friends is a story of arranged marriage - gone wrong - and somehow incredibly right again. Go Shilpa! FREEEEEEEEDOOOOMMMM!
Friday, February 12, 2010
a few (stolen) pictures and a lot of random stories.
In terms of volunteers - I have over 30 right now (not including Corporate Social Responsibility groups who come in for day events only). Most of the volunteers are doing really cool things - from Korean culture workshops using chopstick games to English teaching, from multi-media courses to breakdancing, from medical checkups to drawing and art classes - they chose projects from the project list I have developed and I also have a resource of specific activities as well. To support volunteers also, apart from a weekly meeting, I have created, catalogued, and systemized (with the help of a volunteer :) ) an extensive library from which they can borrow books to help in their placement and in their general area of study. Monday, January 25, 2010
the slightly discouraging start to the new year
What happened:
I was at work, like any normal Saturday. Francesco was at home preparing for his trip to London. At 12:00 someone rang our bell and to inform that he was sent by the landlord to check the water tanks on the roof – the boy could have been any delivery walla, so Francesco directed him to the roof. Francesco left the house at 2:00 to run some errands, got a frantic call from a friend around 3:30 saying that our front door was broken, returned to the house at 4:00 and found both of the locks on the front door intact but the door itself ripped apart, our house gutted of all technology, cupboards emptied out onto the ground, completely ransacked. We lost Francesco’s computer, both our external hard drives (meaning EVERYTHING we have saved and backed up including all of Francesco’s masters work and PhD work, all my photographs from travelling the past 4 years, everything), both our digital cameras, every memory card for the cameras, both my IPODs, and our speakers.
What happened AFTER what happened:
Is even harder to handle. We called the police. The police came. Sir Sub-Inspector Vijay Kumar walked into the place as if he owned it himself, as if he was the most important man in the world. And our landlord was sitting by, waiting to see what responsibility he HAD to claim and what he could possibly get away with.
First, the questions – it happens when meeting ANY Indian and serves as a way for them to place you somewhere in the hierarchy that they automatically place everyone. Maybe it’s a throwback to the caste system, but everyone has people above and people below, and at introduction every Indian will determine where you are in regards to themselves. Being white puts us high in the scheme of things, since white people are naturally rich and educated (they know nothing about Southern United States). Even beyond being simply white, there are questions that people ask to place you within the “white hierarchy”. Where are you from? If you say Japan or US it means you spend a lot of money. If you say Switzerland there is definite respect because for whatever reason (probably Bollywood) Indians see Switzerland as heaven on earth. If you say Italy it means nothing past half of Sonia Gandhi (so no recognition of the Pope, as we tried with SI Vijay Kumar, and he could only relate to pizza and pasta – very educated police force). Then: Where did you study? The best answer to this question is London – it doesn’t matter the school and it doesn’t matter the subject – if you studied in London, its prestigious. And finally: What do you do here and how much do you make? We both answered NGO work – which usually gets respect because it involves “helping the people”. But then salary; it’s something I will never get used to, discussing money so openly with strangers (although its not really open since I’m convinced everyone lies). I told SI Vijay Kumar honestly that I am making an Indian salary and that we are living off that (we neglected to mention Francesco’s), and he was both shocked and concerned. We threw his expat vision for a loop – and to top it off we told him we had no maid or cook for the flat, so no chance of them stealing, and he didn’t know what to think.
After the questions are asked and answered, the power hierarchy is relatively established. There are a few distinct displays of power that I’ve noticed (in this scenario and others I’ve experienced here):
1. -having access to information and deciding to withhold it from everyone else (I could elaborate for days on this).
2. -having the ability to do as little work as possible, because we can get everyone else to do it for you, or just decide not to do anything anyways.
3. -having the privilege to FART in front of everyone.
The last one might seem a little ridiculous, but it happens in India. SI Vijay Kumar kept letting them rip (full-on leg-lifting) while in our house surveying the scene and asking his questions. But AS SOON AS he went back to the police station with Francesco to file the report (a fight in and of itself), the farting ceased. Francesco saw that he was nobody there, so far down the chain of command that he no longer had the position to be disgusting.
And then the attempt to insert logical thinking, a foreign concept in India:
SI Vijay Kumar ordered fingerprints to be taken, photographs were captured of our room and the mess that was left behind. He spent some time lecturing us for agreeing to live in a place with fibreglass on the door and lecturing the landlord for renting a place that was unsafe. Ultimately somehow he demanded the landlord compensate us for our losses (which will never happen) and give us more security (which is the next big fight in the chronicle). I suggested logical solutions to our awful situation:
1. -We could visit the neighbours and ask them if they knew anything. If the delivery boy was the one who stole everything (and used visiting with Francesco here as an opportunity to check things out, and then waited until he left to do the dirty work) then perhaps he was waiting outside during the day and someone saw. If it were someone from the neighbourhood itself, perhaps a concerned person would raise alarm. The police shot down this idea in order to not draw any more attention to ourselves (while the crime team was in the background nodding in amazement like it was an idea they had never considered!)
2. -We asked where the thief could possibly be reselling the technology so that we could go and see if we could find our things. We accepted that we would probably get none of the information and only the hard equipment, but at least we could be doing SOMETHING. It was only after mentioning Nehru Place, a market infamous for second-hand electronics, that the policeman batted an eye and agreed. How is it that we suggested the answer to our own question?
3. -And finally, if the police were so diligent to take fingerprints of the potential suspect right away at the scene of the crime, why did it take 3 weeks for them to return to take Francesco’s and I’s fingerprints to have something to compare the others to? What if we had moved (as planned) in that time? (By the way, for anyone who finds yourself in this unfortunately situation, expect to spend at least 3 hours getting your fingerprints taken – complete with an over-powerful policeman manually rolling ink onto a board, dipping each finger 4 times on each hand, and then your whole hand 4 times, and then your whole thumbs 4 times, and then getting the right hand and left hand confused, and doing some fancy folding tricks on a piece of plan computer paper. Its normal. )
The first suggestion brings into light the apathy I find among general Indians. I haven’t figured out a formula for when, where and how, but for whatever reason, when I’m most in trouble, and there are Indians in a position to help, they chose not to get involved. When I was on the bus and my mobile was pick-pocketed, I called the stolen number from my other number. The thief (stupidly) answered the phone and was talking in Hindi, saying things I assumed were important to understand. I kindly (and somewhat frantically) asked the man next to me, who I knew spoke both English and Hindi, to help me translate and speak to the thief; he refused as did the rest of the people standing around me on the bus. The policeman was displaying the same apathy – he assumed from the beginning there was nothing to be done and that past filing a report that will get buried in piles of paperwork, we could never expect to get anything returned to us in any form. He also assumed (probably correctly) that asking neighbours wouldn’t amount to anything because they wouldn’t want to be involved in someone else’s problems. BUT when a car accident occurs on the street, the whole road will stop and get out and beat the person who caused it. When there is a fight on the street, everyone who is around will join in. When you are “in” you are really in. When we told a few of our Indian friends and families what happened, they have vowed to get retribution and taken strong steps to help us solve our situation, sometimes by giving us a place to stay for a night, or a nice meal, or in bigger ways by pulling strings to find a new place to stay. This isn’t apathy at all but rather the opposite – and in a circumstance even further removed from the immediate situation itself, where they have even less chance to make a difference.
In the meantime, any donation of music, movies, etc are appreciated :)