A right British day out.

Blackpool... Not even the name sounds attractive. If separated into two distinct words, 'black' and 'pool', then one could accurately describe the polluted sea that washes all kinds of filth and debris onto the grimy, sandy shore.

Every summer bank holiday, swarms of northerners flock to Blackpool to enjoy a day out. And this time, on Easter Sunday, we were among them. For many Brits, the northern seaside town conjures up images of the overweight, under-employed, burgeoning working classes of the UK, and we certainly weren't disappointed on our trip...

Make-up.

That fabulous vintage lingerie brand, What Katie Did recently posted an article from this week's Reveal Magazine concerning 30 Things Every Stylish Woman Should Have. As a stylish woman of sorts, I too consider a red lipstick as a necessity. I'm drawn in by various 'big-brand' make-up advertising campaigns that promise longevity of colour and that will not dry your lips out, unfortunately most of these veneered campaigns hide cruel animal testing practices, contain all kinds of dodgy chemicals and may or may not be vegan friendly.

Understandably, some readers may question why someone such as myself would want to go to such perceived extreme lengths to wear vegan cosmetic products. Many of the ingredients in make-up include the following:

* carmine or cochineal- colouring made from ground insect (yum!)

* beeswax (or other bee-related products like propolis)

* lard

* waxes

* tallow (rendered form of beef/mutton fat)

* milk/whey products

* silk derivative

* elastin (from cows)

* animal derived glycerin

* hyalauronic acid

I don't know about you guys, but i wouldn't want to eat any of those products and nor would I want to wear them in cosmetics, which sink into the skin or are ingested (if in lipsticks/glosses).

Indeed, some chemicals in products sold have been linked to cancer, reproductive problems and allergies. So much of what we put onto our skin is absorbed into our bodies and the Skin Deep, the Cosmetics Data Base by the Environmental Working Group recognise the harmful effects that some cosmetics and skin/hair care products can yield. It usefully lists the ingredients and ranks the products, revealing the most harmful ingredients, making us slightly more aware.

The funky and daring Urban Decay are a cruelty free (but not a vegan company), but do offer some fabulous vegan products which are illustrated as such with a 'Marley's paw' (doggy paw-print symbol) on their website. There's a huge variety to chose from and their products are available throughout the UK in bigger stores like Boots and Superdrug. I'm not sure if the products are labelled as such in stores, so it may be worth writing the names of the products you want down off the website and checking them out in store.

What's even better is the vegan 'I love Betsey' XXX shine red lip-gloss with a slight flavouring of peppermint. I shall definitely be looking out for that next time I go shopping.

Kerala to Kathmandu.

How can I even begin to write what I’ve experienced in these last four and a half months?
It would be a great injustice to a trip which has effectively changed the course of my life (in more ways than one) not to attempt to explain what I’ve experienced, but the fact that my senses have literally been attacked, ripped apart and rewoven makes it hard to conceptualize my often neurotic feelings.

A friend of mine asks me to describe the sights, sounds and smells…. the real ‘nitty gritty’ of South Asia. But I don’t want to compartmentalize and any attempt to do so will result in me looking foolish, misguided or naive, in my view.

Therefore, I guess this in itself functions as a disclaimer that these are merely my feelings of looking back in hindsight over the past four-plus months. In an emotionalist-realist sense, they are therefore reasonably valid and true. Or for the more astute readers among you, it’s probably more likely to be my anxiety of not measuring up that makes me so nervous about writing anything ‘really real’ (anything about me, that is).

Where to start? A dark muggy night in Mumbai, I suppose. Sitting cross-legged in an overpriced Mumbai hotel room, awash with insecurity, anxiety and panic.

Being greeted after an exhausting journey to a dark July night, the heavy intensity of Mumbai’s heady concoction of shit, misery, poverty, sex and hope intertwined. I emerged out of the airport and immediately into a taxi, designed to shuffle ‘memsahibs’ like me to their destination of choice. I can’t remember the name of mine, but I do remember feeling incredibly unsafe in that lonely hotel room, but not seeming to care as the cold water poured onto my aching body.

A hectic journey to Kerala followed the next morning. An expensive flight south to ‘God’s Own Country’ (or so the tourist posters say) and a cheap four hour train journey north from Kochi. Exhaustion, vulnerability and being stared at by the majority of people in the carriage. Being rescued by two wonderful nuns from Calcutta who were on their holidays. Floods of relief as I was met by a bearded savior at Calicut’s train station and already being made to feel at ease by his infectious laughter.

A late arrival to the girls’ hostel. Anxiety was returning as interviews were underway. Where was I from? How old was I? What was my husband’s name? Lawyers, microbiologists and zoologists firing questions at me. How was I to measure up? And I, supposedly their teacher? Familiar feelings of inadequacy returned as I tried to answer their questions.

As the caution and wariness (from both sides) began to dissipate and the orientation programme drew to a close, another journey ensued. Up to the Capital with Air India. High maintenance academics, vibrant saris and oily food in darbars.

Frustration began to surface as I experienced one of Asia’s premier engineering institutions. A green haven amidst a sea of poverty. Anger at the obvious paradox of employing children. Confusion over my role. And the hot, hot, persistent heat.

10 days of difficulty. Of observing and photographing. Of observing teaching methods and the frustrating arrogance of a bunch of over-educated Mallus. Feeling ignored and tears on the telephone…

A hopeful return to Calicut. Smiles and welcoming from my hostel mates and to-be students. Clucking from a hijab-wearing mother hen. Continuing lack of clarity and a waning of confidence. Growing unhappiness and nightly phone calls to a night owl across an ocean, half a day behind.

Yoga classes with a yoga fascist (accountant by day and yoga crusader by early mornings and evenings). Speeding down the highway in an auto to be bent into ridiculous positons and be told I was fat. Early morning mongooses and late morning mosquitoes. Itching, toothpaste cures and reading, reading, reading.

Anxieties over the impending new arrival which was causing much excitement among the faculty. A newer model. How was I to measure up?

She arrived bandaged and injured after a car accident in Delhi.

Hospital visits ensued and an unlikely acquaintance made in the form of Dr K.
Worries were immediately crushed as the woman I’d heard so much about became a friend. Mutual frustration over the relaxed approach to, well, everything. Weekly curry and beer at one of Calicuts seemingly only bars.

Love, lust, hope and our futures were discussed, critiqued and analysed by the foreign woman. To say she helped me believe in myself, “to be frank”, is an understatement.

Mutual frustration over the work situation began to reach boiling point. Wonderful students. Fulfilling sessions and tutorials. Developing friendships and building respect. Realising I was learning more by talking to my beautiful Indian hostel mates about marriage, love and their religions and cultures than I ever did in a stuffy academic institution. Experiences of heartache and heartbreak were shared… it obviously cuts across borders.

A much anticipated mini-break. Sea, sun, sand and … ayurveda. Beer on the balcony. Snoozing on the beach. Sunburn. Lush beaches. Squealing hysterically in the Indian ocean and falling among crashing waves. Watching the sunset and aching for something. A metaphorical sunset on part of my past… resulting from a deception.

A return to the Calico-city. Ongoing flirtations. Midnight phone calls. An early morning beach date. Nerves, excitement and spending too much on straightening my hair.
A crush (with a view to chapatti flipping…) and frantic texting for two weeks before being ditched for being, well, white.

Shopping mall trips. Spending Max-money. Eating out. Meeting Micheal. A flourishing friendship with the beautiful Rellu. Gossip, self-discovery (on her part…)

Trips to Alakapuri for aloo-gobi and beer with C. Giggling wildly. “Bollocks”. A chance meeting, a brief flirtation and the most amazing opportunity which changed the course of my career. Thankyou S – I’ll never forget what you did.

A festival – Onam. Experiencing the best of Keralite hospitality. Sari shopping with S and R. “Gaudy gaudy”sarees (Just to piss V off).

Calicut by night. Long streets and glittering non-silk material. Many feasts. Fancy feasting and meeting the legendary Prof. N and a more traditional affair at the hostel—ladies only, of course. Returning the favour… western music and a club atmosphere for our students. Sweat, bollywood tunes and dancing the night away.

A vacation! The Teak Kingdom and the most wonderful Keralities. A winding bus journey in the fresh monsoon air. Close to the hill stations. A rubber plantation and being eaten alive by mossies. A beautiful house with beautiful people.

Serious ‘RandR’, with R and R, the doctor and the microbiologist. Amazing food by an amazing woman. More sari wearing with beautiful R. Day trips and waterfalls. Becoming one of the family.
A hectic midnight journey to Bangalore, feeling sick and convinced the bus was going to crash.
Being published! Continuing frantic texting with F. A stressful arrival and a grubby apartment. Sightseeing. Job hunting. Interviews and galleries. Italian food with an almost Italian lady.
Shopping, shopping, shopping! Clubbing to celebrate a column!

An Iranian and an Indian – a meerkat and a Sam. After-parties with the dentist and the architect. Drunken pool playing in a bachelor pad. A gorgeous dog. Midnight driving through the city. Falling asleep after spending the night laughing hysterically. A hangover. A return to Calicut…

Being wined and dined by a Professor old enough to be my grandfather. An Anglo-Indian, of sorts. A beautiful, beachside apartment gave into awkwardness…

Developing friendships with the boys. Secretive pub meetings. Women, sex, alcohol and drugs were debated. An opening up and questioning of culture. More beer. Vodka in the hospital and a case of pneumonia.

Heartbreak as culture and religion proves too much of a divide. Frustration for not being a good Muslim Indian. Rejection. A putting back together and introspection. A crazy night in a fancy hotel. A miserable next day. Confusion and isolation that hung listlessly and refused to budge.
A fancy meal with two fancy people. Brief hope. Sadness as C left. Pleasure over dinner as fame and interest collided. A barrage of questions as I dined with a 20-something senior and his friends. A beach drive. Revelations in a parked car.

An invitation to dinner and a job offer from a druk Muslim.

Shopping with gorgeous D. A farewell work party. Tears and sadness and presents and cake. Realizing how amazing my students were. Feeling so touched.

A high-society event! Sari-clad, Stepford housewives and the British invader as the ‘date’ of the doctor. Nerves as a British fish out of water. A crush? Perhaps.

Frantic packing. Sadness. Tears (from R too!). A train ride. A plane ride. And Delhi. Sleeping in the airport. Meeting Dr. W and being teased. A new friendship across the ocean developed.
An exhausting arrival in beloved Nepal. Sadness to have left Kerala.

A discovery, a deception and discomfort. Coughing. Pollution. Overcrowding. Snapping and feeling horribly out of place. Sharing a room. A total lack of privacy. No clearly defined role. Visiting Sankhu and experiencing confusion. Nothing ever changes. An obvious, private paradox that age has revealed. Hari. A young woman and a confused, waiting man.
Taking matters into my own hands. An interview. More interviews. An amazing offer. Nerves. Research, writing, publication! Politics, baby! N…

Continuing frustration at home. Meeting the wonderful artist-cum-engineer. Arguments. Resentment and boiling point.

Thamel. A chance meeting with K. High-society, imperial and odd.

Dashain in Sankhu. Controversy over an article. Meat, discomfort and cards! More work, more frustration with G.B at home. Arguments over keys and cooking. An absent family and a much-loved empty apartment.

Dinner at K’s. Followed by red wine. Followed by R.E.M. Followed by hazy memories. Pimms and croquet on the lawn the following day in the White House.

A return of M with a new friend, Ki. Dinner (or a lack of it) at K’s. A nude painting. More wine. More discussion.

Thamel! A night out. The American Embassy! The Radisson! Dancing with the pilot and drinking too much tequila. A questioning of identity with a kiss. Walking off the hangover in the hills of Dhulikhel with I, realizing some home truths about culture. Dinner at the Israeli restaurant and a hot bath and tv in the Radisson. Thankyou Mr American.

Working ridiculous hours. Exhaustion. Frustration. Churning out the articles.

Dinner with B, the environmental engineer. A night walk around the stupa and lighting candles. A classical fullmoon concert and motorcycle rides through the sleeping city. A dance bar and too much rum.

A blast from the past. Spending all night talking to someone I should have let go of a long time ago.

Return of Das Wiesel and the clan. A clean slate. Editing a book. Funding opportunities. Laughter ringing throughout the apartment. Nightly phone calls from someone I began to care about far too much from the land of coconuts and mosquitoes.

A friendship developing with K. More wine. Tihar: saris and candles. An invitation. A thousand dollar holiday for free. Revealing to the other K, the Kerala-K, how I feel and being unable to remember the response.

Confusion, self-doubt. Spending too much time focusing the wrong things.
Career progression. Senior female politicians versus the journalist. Features! Experience. Learning.

Regular coffee and cake with P, the ”bloody Newar.” Exchanging ideas over beer.
A birthday. A cinema trip with P followed by South Indian food and the most thoughtful gift ever… I miss you Mr. Artist.

Drunken dancing with M. Gin, vodka, redbull? Hazy. Champagne and a hotel with M. A walk of shame. Birthday burrito. A party. Cake. An office farewell. Tea with “the boss”.

Turning 25 in the city of hocus-pocus. Ruby red jewellery presents and the exchange of love, gifts and promises. A teary ride to the airport and a long over-due return to the UK, via the Middle East.

Kathmandu, you repulse me and intrigue me. I love you and I’ll see you soon. x

Material girl.

Last night I dream I was aboard a sinking ship. I woke this morning with the sunlight streaming through my windows feeling dazed, confused and exhausted. Being a superstitious girl, I had a wee look on google to see what this meant. According to the geniuses on one particular website, I’m being dragged down by someone or something (certainly true) and feeling suffocated. It also suggests the end of a particular era, which is also true.

I spent a significant amount of this morning thinking about this and the reasons why I feel suffocated and anxious. Many reasons relate to feelings of inadequacy and of getting older without achieving all that I wanted to. Thinking and over thinking becomes exhausting and one can theorize and analyze until the proverbial cows come home without reaching any kind of mental consensus.

I’ve been fortunate to be living with a very inspiring woman. I don’t really believe in all that kindred spirit crap, but this woman and I have very similar views on what we would like our lives to be. She made me realize many things about myself and helped me in the same way burlesque helped me like the way I look. Most importantly, that I’m actually still young and have achieved a respectable amount so far. Before, I was incredibly anxious every time I thought about turning 25 but I’m beginning to realize that I’m young and there’s no need to worry.

24 has been a bit of a mixed year, with soaring highs and crippling lows. From difficult endings and loss during the dark Winter, to hope during Spring and some pretty good things happening during Summer. I’ve learnt a lot and met some pretty great people and am actually looking forward to turning 25 with confidence while I am (hopefully) in Nepal during November.
As it’s a particularly slow day at work, I decided to create a purely fictional, shamelessly shallow wish list of things I would love for my birthday:

A digital piano.

Blonde hair.

A weekend in Paris.

A sewing machine.

Book vouchers.

A maine coon kitty.

A job (preferably with the Guardian, The Hindu or the Indian Express or freelance consulting, editing and writing).

A new bag! (From Matt&Nat)

For my laptop to work... (new keyboard matrix, please).

Make-up (Urban Decay- vegan friendly).

A spa-trip.

Loads of money.

And... Raza Jaffery.

'Mistresses' on DVD

Unlikely, but a girl can dream : )

Confusion.

Following a rather lengthy break from the world of blogging since I've been in India, I found myself feeling guilty at my lack of communication and so this is a guilt-blog. A mixture of factors have influenced this, both private and public, but I'm not going to bore you with those now. Needless to say, sleepness nights, feeling low and nigh perpetual exhaustion don't make for a happy blogger. However, a bit of good news this week has lifted my spirits, rejuvinated my motivation and require me to get my writer's muscles working again.

So, India... It's been six weeks since I arrived in this infuriating, chaotic, disorganized and charming country. Kerala, on the whole, is nice. What isn't so nice is the constant staring as though an alien from the planet Xylotrops has just landed and is wandering down the street. The persistent lack of organization is absolutely infuriating, but that seems to be a characteristic of many such organizations in South Asia from my experience.

What have I been upto? Aside from working Monday-Saturday, being a grammar fascist, yelling at my postgrads and generally complaining about the lack of communication in this organization I have been going out occasionally with Cheryl for curry and a beer, shopping, arranging parties at our hostel, meeting lots of weird and wonderful people and indulging my weakness for self-help books (among other things...). A few weeks ago we spent a heavenly weekend in Kannur (90km North of Calicut), thanks to the very generous Naveen, for a rather decadent mini-break in an ayurvedic clinic opposite the sea. Northern Kerala is famous for its stretches of breathtakingly beautiful, deserted beaches and we definitely weren't dissapointed during our trip. The only drawback was just how romantic and serene the place was and served to remind that I don't have anyone to share that with. But, enough self-indulgent Bridget Jones style whinging...

We are currently in the middle of Onam, Kerala's largest festival (which happens to coincide with Ramadan). This week has consisted of alot of feasting, dancing, singing and general partying, which is always fun. We met even more new people; a particularly special mention goes to Prof. Nayar, a British-Keralan, with the poshest British accent I have ever experienced. He's invited us to his beachside appartment to watch the sunset, which deserves a mention in itself. During the rest of the festival, I will be accompanying Relna to her home in Nilampoor, on the way to Coimbatore which I'm really looking forward to (almost, but not quite, as much as the week-long break!).

I'm constantly rethinking my views and assumptions, the result of which is that I end up confused. I think real intelligence comes from admitting you actually don't know anything at all. Or, maybe, that's my attempt at pretentious philosophical musing. Either way, my knowledge on caste is constantly being questioned, which shifts my perspectives, until something else occurs to move them to a different position again. The same is to be said for gender identity. I'm learning so much about women's identity by talking to my students about dating, marriage, men, their aspirations than I have did during my MSc. Unfortunately, as my understandings are constantly changing, my confusion grows and I become warier of making any assumptions at all. I guess though, that is reflexivity at its best...

So, I shall bid you 'adieu' on that existential note and wish you all a very happy Onam : )

Which way is forward?

Earlier this week I was fortunate attend a lecture by Praful Bidwai, Indian activist, social researcher, political analyst and noted journalist (and unexpectedly, University drop-out) on the current state of the left movement in India.

During my University days I, like many of my contemporaries, disillusioned with the 'system' considered myself left-wing. My ambiguous political inclinations were pseudo-Marxist at best, subtley influenced perhaps by my Grandfather's days as a Trade Union Official, my general distaste with class inequality and my working-class roots. Unfortunately, my brief flirtation with University politics began and ended with the Socialist Students' Alliance, a group of lazy (mostly male) politics students who spent a considerable amount of time getting stoned and complaining about, well, everything and not actually doing anything. Maybe their wasted collectivity was a demonstration against their much despised bourgeois enemies? Who knows. I didn't stick around long enough to find out.

My interest in the left-movement grew during my first visit to Nepal during 2005 which was a period of severe unrest with the Maoist movement gaining ground for the first time in the Kathmandu Valley. However, it was only after beginning my postgraduate study and being introduced to the ideas of inequality and neo-liberal policy, which actually coincided with the recession hitting the UK like an economic tsunami, that I really began to aquire a political perspective (which, if you're interested, can best be conceputalized as 'Feminist-Socialist'). Unfortunately, other than holding quite firm beliefs, discussing them and continuing to learn about the central tenents of Marxism from friends, I haven't really done anything with them nor, it appears, really understood exactly what I was mentally committing to.

Bidawi's lecture was big news here in communist-Kerala. Waiting for the lecture to start I realised I should probably have researched Kerala's political situation before arriving here (speaking of my psuedo-Marxist interest, my younger brother is planning a trip around South America on a motorbike reminiscent of a certain communist hero. Maybe it runs in the family?). Amidst the flashing cameras, the throng of tv cameras and journalists Praful and the leading members of the Kerala Secular Collective (a movement of Left-orientated secularists in Kozhikode) took to the stage.

The thrust of Bidwai's argument concerned his belief in the paradox of globalization and the fact that global principles and frameworks are believed to be universally applicable. Whatever one's political leanings, it's foolish to ignore the impacts of neo-liberal the world over; economic increase does not exist independent from other variables. Nor too, does technological and scienfic progress take place in a vacuum. How do the politically Left relate to such matters that are, in a lot of cases, fundamentally opposed to their central mandate (particularly in the case of economic liberalization)?

The conceputal grounding for India's Left Front is predominantly Marxist-Leninist, today reduced to the Communist Party India (Marxist), All India Forward Bloc and the Revolutionary Party of India. The alliance of Leftist parties that make up the Left Front currently govern both West Bengal and Tripuria, with the Communist Party of India (Marxist) forming the majority in both states. In Kerala, the State Assembly consists jointly of the Communist Party of India (Marxist) and the Left Democratic Front.

According to Bidwai, the Left Front model heavily relies upon the former Soviet Union model with influences from the Socialist movement (particularly in the 1950s and 1960s) who today are (like in the UK) completely scattered but continue to grapple with issues of caste, similarly to the Communists. He's calling for a completely new paradigm - but will the political parties take note?

Perplexing Paradoxes: Exploring IIT’s commitment to social inclusion against a very different reality.

The Indian Institute for Technology Delhi’s sprawling campus is a relative haven compared to the chaos of Delhi. Set amidst 320 acres of gardens with an abundance of wildlife, including peacocks, squirrels (or chipmunks, to us Brits) and birds, it provides a peaceful and relaxed atmosphere for over four thousand students and faculty that live and work on the campus. For those that don’t know, IIT Delhi is one of seven national institutions which form the most reputable Engineering institutes in India. Competition to secure one of the 5500 coveted seats on approximately 700 courses is fierce. The admission process is tough, with around 400,000 potential undergraduates completing the Joint Entrance Examination (JEE) and five day interview process each year. It is little wonder that so many students clamor over relatively few places; The Times Higher Education Supplement (2008) ranked IIT-Delhi 157th best overall universities in their respected World University Rankings.

Following government legislation, IITs have been reserving 22.5% of seats for SC/ST students since 1973 with a marginally different reservation policy (from the quota policy) than elsewhere in India. 15% of the students admitted each year must be of Scheduled Caste origin and 7.5% must originate from Scheduled Tribe backgrounds (however, many of these seats remain empty- some reports indicate up to half of places). These students are required to take the difficult JEE examination like other applicants, but the admission criteria for SCTs is somewhat relaxed (securing 55% in the examination and higher age limits for applying) and those that do not make the grade are offered a ‘Preparatory Course’ before being admitted to the full undergraduate programme. However, once on their individual courses, all students are subject to the same marking system.

I recently found myself at IIT-Delhi (or IITD as it’s known to IITians) as part of a (a non-publicized) response to the events of May 2008 when twelve Dalit students (eleven of which were in the first two years of undergraduate study) were expelled from the institution. The students received a letter reporting that they had been expelled from IIT-Delhi and in response some of formed a group, submitting a petition to the National Commission for the Scheduled Castes (NCSC) arguing that they had been subject to caste-based discrimination. The case highlighted the feelings of many IIT students, who spoke out to reveal that many IIT Delhi faculty members resented the 'easy ride' they were perceived to have and behaved with prejudice towards the SCT students who gained entry through the affirmative action policies (and not, they perceived, on merit). Some even argued that despite good performance, they were still rewarded with poor grades. In response. IIT Delhi issued a report revoking the expulsion of two students and further argued that in their review committee, no case of caste based discrimination was found. The reporrt further reiterated the view that IIT is especially sensitive to the needs of SCT students. Dalit students contested this and student activism, including rallies and the organization of a case filed against IIT at the Supreme Court, led to the readmission of seven of the students.

So. just over two years later I found myself at IITD’s substantial campus (in the substantial heat and surrounded by an abundance of mosquitos...) located in Hauz Khas, South Delhi. In an attempt to illustrate their commitiment towards the inclusion of SCT students, IITD invited the autonomous Kerala government organization, ‘The Centre for Research and Education for Social Transformation’ to conduct a ten day workshop for entry-JEE SCT students (although, surprisingly, nowhere was the term ‘SCT’ used). Ninety three students (although only around ten were girls- but that’s another story...) attended the programme developed with modules to improve communication skills, introducing students to personal and professional development, promote the importance of working as a team and imbuing students with the necessary knowledge and skills to enable them to adapt easily to the challenges of IIT life. There was also a theatre workshop, designed to weave in the elements of body language, role play, confidence building and the practical lessons taught in the other modules into a practical performance presented to the Directors and senior faculty on the final day.

Despite IIT’s outward commitment to providing a socially inclusive learning environment for its students and undertaking affirmative action to prepare this new batch of SCT engineers for the rigors of study at such a renowned institute, I discovered that the same cannot be said for its treatment of staff. It was during my first day staying at the IIT Faculty Guest House that one of my colleagues pointed out a very tiny baby, no older than about six months old, lying amidst the dust on a very tattered piece of cloth. I thought no more about it, realizing that parents probably do take their very young children along to work with them if they have no other choice. However, the following day, on going for breakfast, I noticed very young boys aged between about twelve and seventeen working on the building site in the substantial heat, carrying back-breakingly heavy piles of bricks, sheets of glass and building materials.

According to the International Labor Organization, there are approximately 12.6 million out of a total of 253 million children working between the ages of 5-14 in India. The practice of child labor contravenes international legal frameworks such as the Article 32 of the widely ratified Convention of the Rights of the Child which ensures children have the right to: " be protected from economic exploitation and from performing any work that is likely to be hazardous or to interfere with the child's education, or to be harmful to the child's health or physical, mental, spiritual, moral or social development."

Sadly, it is widely acknowledged that it is the children of the socially excluded and marginalized communities, the poorest of the poor, who experience such exploitation. In real terms this translates to lower-castes and Dalits who form a substantial amount of India's deprived. The disadvantages and cruelty involved in child labor are widely acknowledged as affecting children’s physical, emotional and intellectual development. The practice has been denounced in India and the international community alike and in many states the legal age to begin work is fourteen (which contradicts the ILO suggestion of fifteen and the CRC legislation that recognizes all individuals below the age eighteen to be children).

The reality of the situation is that laws are frequently ignored and children continue to work in grueling and harrowing conditions, mainly due to the heartbreaking fact that it is an economic necessity for many children in India to work. Low literacy, poor health outcomes, gender disparity and social exclusion all contribute to the fact that a third of India’s population live below the poverty line, according to the UNDP. Many parents have no choice but to send their children out to work instead of sending them to school, despite what they may otherwise wish. Indeed, it is widely recognize that the poor in India have at their disposal a ‘portfolio of assets’ which they are required to manage to keep them fed. Unfortunately, children often translate to a form of human capital, which can be sent to work for a wage.

Approximately 14% of Delhi’s sprawling population live below the poverty line according to the newly developed Multidimensional poverty index. One only has to step outside the IIT compound to be hit head-on by street children, begging men and women and very visable poverty. It is impossible to predict exactly how many children are working in Indian cities such as Delhi, Save the Children’s Marc Silver explains. Although, one only has to browse the local news to discover how many children are ‘liberated’ from the shackles of labor each day to gain an insight into the scale of problem.

When teaching began, I was horrified to discover that the ‘tea boy’ (or chai wallah) was also a young boy, dressed in dirty, old clothes and no more than about fourteen years old. I mentioned this to my colleague and asked whether we should mention this to the Director and Dean, both of whom we had met previously that day. I was told not to and that an anonymous letter would be written on our return to Kerala- there was obviously a reluctance to ‘rock the boat’. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; a government organization committed to social change and inclusion effectively not wanting to challenge the institutionalized power of IITD (presumably because IIT were providing them with excellent business and exposure...).

On questioning the matter further, it was later brought to my attention that IIT do not directly employ children but instead go through a contractor, thus absolving them of any responsibility. Unsurprisingly it is incredibly difficult to find information on this. Surely the highly praised academics at IITD realize that it is the marginalized groups that partake of child labor out of economic necessity (exactly those students IITD have invested money in trying to empower!)? Despite the legality of employment above the age of fourteen, it is only poorer sections of society that work at such a young age and it would be unthinkable for many Indian families for a fourteen year old to be working on a building site when they could be studying…

This very obvious paradox shocked me. Exactly what kind of example is this setting to the rest of the world? India’s premier engineering institution, one of the world’s best learning environments employs children to complete their manual building work and bring the tea. What horrified me further was the student’s ignorance towards the boy, somewhat younger than them, who brought the tea- many didn’t even acknowledge him or find it strange that he was working there and had to actually be prompted by the faculty to say ‘Thank you’. When one considers the very effective, organised and prompt student outcry and activism in swift response to the expulsion case of 2008, it is almost perplexing why IITD's students, some if India's brightest and most capable young talent, have not come forth and protested the presence of child labor on their campus.

Do they too fail to notice the links between caste and social exclusion and child labor and social exclusion; that it is the poorest (and most likely the lower caste) children who work instead of attending school? It is definitely not the case that students lose their caste identity on joining IIT, one only has to recall the outcry concerning the explusion of Dalit students and accusations of discriminations heavily hitting the faculty. Why then are IIT students chosing to ignore the presence of child labor on their campus? Perhaps it is a case of 'ignorance is bliss', that once admitted to IITD and the subsequent stresses and pressures of academic study, students are simply unaware of what else is happening on their campus? On considering the outcry in 2008, this is definitely not the case. Perhaps it is a case of student elitism and students are only concerned with their studies and their fellow students, broader issues of poverty become inconsequential? Either way, the students of IITD need to sit up and take notice.

The depressing fact remains: IITD employs children to working in the grueling Delhi heat, in the shabbiest of clothes for (I presume) very little money. Okay, so maybe I’m not being fair... Maybe, just maybe, the chai wallah attends the on-campus school allocated for the faculty’s children (unlike the builders who spend all day toiling in the heat outside). Call me a cynic and a pessimist, but I think that’s unlikely…