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?
Sunday, 25 July 2010
Thursday, 15 July 2010
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…
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…
Sunday, 4 July 2010
Sunday 4th July.
Very long and tiring day today. Woke up early and ate a breakfast of chapatti, curry and black tea and read the paper. Had a shower and spent some time in the kitchen talking to some of the students. I asked where I could use the internet and was informed that one of the Aunties lived nearby and was abruptly taken to her bright orange painted house, with a cute porch and very lush looking garden. I had already been made aware that her husband was sick and was feeling quite rude to be there at all. Relna said it was okay and Auntie (or Amma ‘Mother’, as she insists I call her) reassured me that I can go there any time to use the internet. She introduced me to her husband, Mustafah. It transpired that he had been suffering with throat cancer for the past year and had spent time in hospital, during which time the radiation had made him deaf in one ear and almost deaf in the other. He was a frail looking man, but spoke with excellent English, encouraging me to visit their house often. He was obviously educated, with an impressive array of books in their living room and quite a nice looking guitar. Apparently, before his throat affected his speech, he was quite the singer too.
Auntie showed me around their brightly colored house, which was really nice. I’m not really sure what I was expected of the houses in Kerala, I suppose I expected them to be less ‘modern’ than British ones and caked in dust and grubbiness. Her house, however, was lovely. After I used the internet, Auntie presented me with a plate of adda, a kind of cake prepared with rice flour, sugar and coconut inside. The outside tasted soft, with coconut shavings stuffed into the middle. There was an entire plateful on banana leaves and still not being sure of the etiquette (and purity/pollution regarding touched food) I was not sure whether to eat all of them, or whether any I left would be regarded as polluted and thus thrown away. Or indeed whether I would be considered greedy if I ate all of them. A rather difficult predicament. Seeing as through Auntie knew I had recently eaten breakfast, and trying to reason with myself that there was an entire plateful and furthermore, since Dalits and Adivasais were living and eating together, I figured that the purity/pollution dichotomy was irrelevant. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind when I ate two and said she would finish them later.
On the walk back to the hostel (a very short walk, since it was around the corner) she asked whether I was a Christian. I’m learning to say yes, because it causes too much hassle with people giving me pitying looks when I say I do not believe in God (or, am not sure whether God exists…). I enquired about her religion and she informed me she was a Muslim, so I needn’t have worried about any Hindu rules relating to food consumption.
I spent some time reading, waiting for Vinod to collect me. Auntie’s daughter, Wafa, came to visit me. During our conversation she revealed she was 14, which shocked me, as I could have quite happily believed her to be a postgraduate here at the hostel. Her English was very good and she was very self-aware and smart, much more so than I had been at 14. She mentioned that her twin was her opposite in many ways- shy, quiet and reliant on her.
Vinod arrived after lunch (chapatti and curry) with the other project coordinator, Nirmal. We were driven to older Calicut city to collect some uniforms and then taken to a youth hostel where CREST was conducting an 18-day course for students who had just finished school and were soon to be starting at various Engineering colleges around Kerala. All were Scheduled Castes/Tribes. Nirmal introduced me to all 42 of them, and I was then stared at like a zoo exhibit. A couple of the more outgoing ones stepped forward to ask me questions and I in turn asked them questions about whether the course had helped them, where they would study, what they would be studying and whether they were excited. One boy in particular, I could tell, would be a particular handful at college. “Excuse me, but I want to tell you I think you have beautiful eyes.” The little charmer. He would be studying Mechanical Engineering. Strange really, since all the Engineers I know from the UK are useless with women and not charming at all.
I was then introduced to CREST’s other Vinod, a youngish looking man in charge of communication skills. I listened in on his workshop, which seemed to be a very inspirational speech designed to drive home the need for the students to retain clarity, work together, not lose confidence and to continually be asking “why?” when faced with any obstacle (academic or social). I was quite inspired actually. After this, I returned to the staff area and introduced to the English Literature/Language teacher, Anita, who was watching a British film whose name eludes me.
Vinod and Nirmal seem to be quite the comedy duo and delighted in telling me about when Vinod and his millionaire Delhi-based friend travelled to South Kerala to see Amma (a holy woman) who provides the unorthodox method of giving out hugs as ‘healing’. Apparently Vinod and his friend were travelling very cheaply about 20 years ago as backpackers and waited diligently in line for their ‘hugs’. One of Amma’s English assistants told Vinod to ‘get on the knees’ for Amma at which point Vinod, mishearing, sat on Ammas lap, instead of in the correct prostrating position. At this point the crowd was in uproar at his supposed cheek and her throng of immediate assistants tried to pull him off, at which point, for balance, he threw his arms around Amma’s neck, effectively hugging her- causing the crowd to get even angrier. He then made a quick escape with his friend. He really is quite a character.
The staff here (that I have met so far) are really very smart and well humored. There was a discussion on pov-tourism, the new phenomenon where tourists come to India to witness the poverty, whether to be taken around slums, photograph deprived people or just ogle at those marginalized from society.
Vinod mentioned the political element, where people come to Kerala to experience the Communist (Marxist) party that is in power here. He joked that he could sell flags abroad for money.
It was decided that I needed to go shopping. Not by me, of course, but by Nirmal and Vinod. Anita, the English lecturer was given the duty of taking me to a rather lavish shopping centre to get clothes more ‘suitable’ as we would be going to teach in a rather prestigious Engineering institution (Asia’s best, apparently) in Delhi and as there is to be a strike tomorrow, it was decided we go there and then.
I was shocked to be taken to a very British shopping centre, complete with underground parking, escalators and all manner of shops. Anita took me to the place she does most of her shopping (aside from the exorbitantly priced FabIndia which I briefly visited with Nirmal and Vinod earlier in the day to collect part of the uniforms). This particular shop seemed to be playing on the idea of ‘ethnic’ clothes, with tunic tops worn over either leggings or jeans. I picked out a few salwar-kameez type tops with some Indian style bottoms to try. It was the weirdest experience, asking fashion advice from quite a prestigious lecturer.
We then returned to the hostel where the course was being held and continued watching the film. The younger Vinod has apparently just married and had to leave, due to his very “demanding” wife, which the rest of the faculty found hilarious. Nirmal wanted Anita and I to go up to the roof to experience his confidence-building workshop. The kids were stood around in a circle and when he threw a ball at one, they had to get into ‘character’ in front of everyone and then choose someone else to get into character with them. The result was hilarious. A tallish boy pretended to be a beggar, and then chose someone else who was an old woman, and then there was a wedding, Punjabi dancing, until everyone on the roof was effectively acting or dancing- including Anita and I.
Then the students had a run through of their presentation for tomorrow, which consisted of a 45 minute play that ran cohesively together, chronicling either a sad or inspirational occurrence personal to them. It was pretty hard not to cry in parts, due to the nature of what was being expressed and the anguish with which they expressed themselves. There were arranged (unwanted) marriages, a girl who had run away from home, a stabbing, and society’s indifference to tragedy, drug addiction, disability and child labour. At the end of the performance, Anita and I were asked to comment/critique their performance which we did. I was very impressed. Apparently the intensive course has really made a difference to their confidence and many of them now feel much more able to assert themselves when they begin college. I’m quite excited to see their graduation from the course tomorrow, including their depictions of these 42 personal stories and how much therapeutic value this method has effectively had.
I returned to the hostel at about 9ish, where Relna informed me their shopping had not been very successful but did say that they had been for dosa and said that next time I really must accompany them, which was kind. I managed to remember the Malayalam from the night before ‘Neranyo’ (I’m full- essential vocab when faced with never ending offers of South Indian cusine), ‘Nanee’ (Thanks), ‘Shuberatri’ (Goodnight- almost the same as in Nepali). At the airport I purchased a phrasebook, which I’m going to try and spend some time learning more of, but it seems a very difficult, topsy turvey even, language to follow).
Auntie showed me around their brightly colored house, which was really nice. I’m not really sure what I was expected of the houses in Kerala, I suppose I expected them to be less ‘modern’ than British ones and caked in dust and grubbiness. Her house, however, was lovely. After I used the internet, Auntie presented me with a plate of adda, a kind of cake prepared with rice flour, sugar and coconut inside. The outside tasted soft, with coconut shavings stuffed into the middle. There was an entire plateful on banana leaves and still not being sure of the etiquette (and purity/pollution regarding touched food) I was not sure whether to eat all of them, or whether any I left would be regarded as polluted and thus thrown away. Or indeed whether I would be considered greedy if I ate all of them. A rather difficult predicament. Seeing as through Auntie knew I had recently eaten breakfast, and trying to reason with myself that there was an entire plateful and furthermore, since Dalits and Adivasais were living and eating together, I figured that the purity/pollution dichotomy was irrelevant. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind when I ate two and said she would finish them later.
On the walk back to the hostel (a very short walk, since it was around the corner) she asked whether I was a Christian. I’m learning to say yes, because it causes too much hassle with people giving me pitying looks when I say I do not believe in God (or, am not sure whether God exists…). I enquired about her religion and she informed me she was a Muslim, so I needn’t have worried about any Hindu rules relating to food consumption.
I spent some time reading, waiting for Vinod to collect me. Auntie’s daughter, Wafa, came to visit me. During our conversation she revealed she was 14, which shocked me, as I could have quite happily believed her to be a postgraduate here at the hostel. Her English was very good and she was very self-aware and smart, much more so than I had been at 14. She mentioned that her twin was her opposite in many ways- shy, quiet and reliant on her.
Vinod arrived after lunch (chapatti and curry) with the other project coordinator, Nirmal. We were driven to older Calicut city to collect some uniforms and then taken to a youth hostel where CREST was conducting an 18-day course for students who had just finished school and were soon to be starting at various Engineering colleges around Kerala. All were Scheduled Castes/Tribes. Nirmal introduced me to all 42 of them, and I was then stared at like a zoo exhibit. A couple of the more outgoing ones stepped forward to ask me questions and I in turn asked them questions about whether the course had helped them, where they would study, what they would be studying and whether they were excited. One boy in particular, I could tell, would be a particular handful at college. “Excuse me, but I want to tell you I think you have beautiful eyes.” The little charmer. He would be studying Mechanical Engineering. Strange really, since all the Engineers I know from the UK are useless with women and not charming at all.
I was then introduced to CREST’s other Vinod, a youngish looking man in charge of communication skills. I listened in on his workshop, which seemed to be a very inspirational speech designed to drive home the need for the students to retain clarity, work together, not lose confidence and to continually be asking “why?” when faced with any obstacle (academic or social). I was quite inspired actually. After this, I returned to the staff area and introduced to the English Literature/Language teacher, Anita, who was watching a British film whose name eludes me.
Vinod and Nirmal seem to be quite the comedy duo and delighted in telling me about when Vinod and his millionaire Delhi-based friend travelled to South Kerala to see Amma (a holy woman) who provides the unorthodox method of giving out hugs as ‘healing’. Apparently Vinod and his friend were travelling very cheaply about 20 years ago as backpackers and waited diligently in line for their ‘hugs’. One of Amma’s English assistants told Vinod to ‘get on the knees’ for Amma at which point Vinod, mishearing, sat on Ammas lap, instead of in the correct prostrating position. At this point the crowd was in uproar at his supposed cheek and her throng of immediate assistants tried to pull him off, at which point, for balance, he threw his arms around Amma’s neck, effectively hugging her- causing the crowd to get even angrier. He then made a quick escape with his friend. He really is quite a character.
The staff here (that I have met so far) are really very smart and well humored. There was a discussion on pov-tourism, the new phenomenon where tourists come to India to witness the poverty, whether to be taken around slums, photograph deprived people or just ogle at those marginalized from society.
Vinod mentioned the political element, where people come to Kerala to experience the Communist (Marxist) party that is in power here. He joked that he could sell flags abroad for money.
It was decided that I needed to go shopping. Not by me, of course, but by Nirmal and Vinod. Anita, the English lecturer was given the duty of taking me to a rather lavish shopping centre to get clothes more ‘suitable’ as we would be going to teach in a rather prestigious Engineering institution (Asia’s best, apparently) in Delhi and as there is to be a strike tomorrow, it was decided we go there and then.
I was shocked to be taken to a very British shopping centre, complete with underground parking, escalators and all manner of shops. Anita took me to the place she does most of her shopping (aside from the exorbitantly priced FabIndia which I briefly visited with Nirmal and Vinod earlier in the day to collect part of the uniforms). This particular shop seemed to be playing on the idea of ‘ethnic’ clothes, with tunic tops worn over either leggings or jeans. I picked out a few salwar-kameez type tops with some Indian style bottoms to try. It was the weirdest experience, asking fashion advice from quite a prestigious lecturer.
We then returned to the hostel where the course was being held and continued watching the film. The younger Vinod has apparently just married and had to leave, due to his very “demanding” wife, which the rest of the faculty found hilarious. Nirmal wanted Anita and I to go up to the roof to experience his confidence-building workshop. The kids were stood around in a circle and when he threw a ball at one, they had to get into ‘character’ in front of everyone and then choose someone else to get into character with them. The result was hilarious. A tallish boy pretended to be a beggar, and then chose someone else who was an old woman, and then there was a wedding, Punjabi dancing, until everyone on the roof was effectively acting or dancing- including Anita and I.
Then the students had a run through of their presentation for tomorrow, which consisted of a 45 minute play that ran cohesively together, chronicling either a sad or inspirational occurrence personal to them. It was pretty hard not to cry in parts, due to the nature of what was being expressed and the anguish with which they expressed themselves. There were arranged (unwanted) marriages, a girl who had run away from home, a stabbing, and society’s indifference to tragedy, drug addiction, disability and child labour. At the end of the performance, Anita and I were asked to comment/critique their performance which we did. I was very impressed. Apparently the intensive course has really made a difference to their confidence and many of them now feel much more able to assert themselves when they begin college. I’m quite excited to see their graduation from the course tomorrow, including their depictions of these 42 personal stories and how much therapeutic value this method has effectively had.
I returned to the hostel at about 9ish, where Relna informed me their shopping had not been very successful but did say that they had been for dosa and said that next time I really must accompany them, which was kind. I managed to remember the Malayalam from the night before ‘Neranyo’ (I’m full- essential vocab when faced with never ending offers of South Indian cusine), ‘Nanee’ (Thanks), ‘Shuberatri’ (Goodnight- almost the same as in Nepali). At the airport I purchased a phrasebook, which I’m going to try and spend some time learning more of, but it seems a very difficult, topsy turvey even, language to follow).
Saturday, 3 July 2010
Saturday 3rd July.
Woke up early from a knock at the door from the hotel staff. At 8.15 I was driven to the airport to take yet another flight. The inside of Mumbai’s domestic airport was a far cry from the chaos of the city. I sat and read my book (thanks Adam : ) and people-watched. I figured that I should probably eat something, as it had been more than twelve hours since my last meal. I managed to find a fast-food establishment in the food court. I can’t remember the name, but it was some kind of South Indian eatery. I ordered masala dosa (like a rice pancake filled with potato), which was so much nicer than any I have sampled in Rusholme.
As expected, the flight was delayed. I’ve not seen many white tourists yet and I was apparently the only non-Indian on the flight. The flight itself, all two hours of it, was turbulent and not pleasant. The air-hostesses wore particularly short skirts and a mask of make up. What else can you expect from an airline run by a sleazy looking, fat little politician. The airline also has a beer brand of the same variety…
As expected, the flight was delayed. I’ve not seen many white tourists yet and I was apparently the only non-Indian on the flight. The flight itself, all two hours of it, was turbulent and not pleasant. The air-hostesses wore particularly short skirts and a mask of make up. What else can you expect from an airline run by a sleazy looking, fat little politician. The airline also has a beer brand of the same variety…
Upon arrival at Kochin, I paid the 220 rupees for a pre-paid taxi to the station in Ernakulum city. It seems a lot like when I arrived in Goa initially, very lush and green. The station itself was small, crowded and sweaty. Lugging my three bags around whilst being continually stared at was not a pleasant experience. Nor was queuing, English-style, waiting at the information desk. Men kept ignoring me and pushing in front. So far, I’ve been polite to everyone, but I’m getting close to snapping. I then had to wait in another line to book at ticket. 50 rupees for the four-hour journey to Calicut seemed okay, but as I was buying on the same day, I could not reserve a seat. I briefly used the internet before getting the train after a two hour wait. Some little man seemed to think I should follow him to the correct carriage, which I did, and then was subsequently refused on, because I did not have a seat reservation. I then had to find another carriage, which was a horrible task as all along the platform people were hanging out the train, trying desperately to stay on. Overcrowding seemed completely natural. An elderly woman told me to get on a certain carriage. So there I stood, trying to watch my bags, next to the open door of a speeding train. That was a particularly stressful experience.
Train journeys, it seems, must be met with a certain sense of humor. Most of the people around me seemed jovial and in good spirits, despite the heat, overcrowding and persistent smell of, well, shit. Two nuns, one of whom could speak English, offered to put my bags on the shelf, which took the effort of about four people to do. After standing for an hour, cramped and wondering whether the journey would ever end, the younger of the two Sisters offered to share her seat with me, which was humbling. It was then I noticed that they were sat opposite a Muslim family, which struck me as very strange indeed. The fact that they were laughing and joking with each other seemed stranger still. The nun and the youngish man next to her asked about what I was doing in Kerala, how long I would be staying and why I was travelling alone. The last bit of information seemed to worry the Nun in particular, who then made it somewhat of her mission to look after me for the rest of the three-hour journey.
I reached Calicut at around 10ish and was ushered to the entrance by the Nuns and offered the use of their mobile (which hilariously had a photograph of the Virgin Mary on the screen) to call Vinod. Ten minutes later, the Indian version of Santa Claus bounded up to me, introducing himself with immaculate English and thanking the Nuns for watching out for me. I was then taken in the CREST jeep to the girl’s hostel and during the journey was given far too much information about CREST to digest after such a long day, about the impending journey, or “invasion” to Delhi and about what I would be doing. Not more cross-country flights, surely?
Down a winding track off a main road, the vehicle stopped and I got out to a large, gated house where I was introduced to the two Aunties (a cook and matron) and some of the girls I would be apparently looking after. My room was really luxurious compared with the grubbiness if Mumbai; spacious, large desk, lots of windows, double bed, two fans and en suite bathroom with shower. I was really pleasantly surprised. My room is downstairs, through the dining area, a small room not really big enough for the 24 girls (or, rather, women) who reside here and the room where one of the Aunties sleeps is opposite mine.
Vinod departed, briefly making arrangements to collect me the following day and providing me with a sim card for my phone, which does not seem to want to text UK numbers unfortunately. I ate chapatti and curry, with soy (the kind that looks like chunks of beef or chicken) and was introduced to some of the postgraduates. One in particular, Relna, seemed particularly outgoing. She had studied biomedical sciences before coming to this course. Other girls have studied Law, Yoga, Literature and Commerce. In comparison, my choice of courses do not seem quite as ‘practical’, which made me doubt my ability to be of any use here at all.
At about 11.30 I said my goodnights, after being taught some brief Malayalam and went to unpack and read.
Friday, 2 July 2010
Friday 2nd July: Welcome to India.
It's 00.16 and I'm sitting on the bed of the grubbiest hotel I've ever stayed in. After a gruelling journey of over 24 hours, visa bureaucracies, the hassle of booking a domestic flight and then finding somewhere to stay in Mumbai that wasn't a complete rip off, I'm mentally and physically exhausted. I'm currently experiencing the 'India is such a shit/What the hell am I doing here alone?' phase of my trip. Upon leaving the airport I was met with the hot, stuffy, humid night air into which was woven the putrid smell of filth. Welcome to India, indeed.
There are people and scruffy dogs everywhere, the traffic doesn't seem to follow any logical plan (do people actually take driving tests here?!) and indeed the taxi I collided with an auto-rickshaw and a tram on the way to the hotel. I'm very much reminded of my first impressions of Nepal, when arriving almost 6 years ago into the warm night air, anxious and feeling my senses tug in a multitude of directions. Yet, somehow, I don't feel as capable as I did then. Maybe on that occasion I was with a group and the second time returning to see friends. I'm in a totally new place, albeit for one night and feeling pretty miserable. Having too much excess time to think is never a good thing for me.
Why oh why did I choose to specialize in India and Nepal? I'm beginning to wish my career aspirations were different. I'm lonely, tired and stressed. I miss Siobhan's logical reasoning- I don't feel mature enough to be doing this alone. Not to mention hot and sick of the persistent whirring of the air conditioning.
Because nothing in India is ever simple (in my experience, anyway), my flight tomorrow is to Kochin, a city in Kerala located a few hours below Calicut. Unfortunately there don't appear to be any trains running after I arrive, so I may have to spend six or more hours on a bus. I'm hoping Calicut will be nicer and less chaotic than Mumbai. I didn't like it the last time I was here and I certainly don't like it now. I feel a million miles away from everything and particularly vulnerable as a female travelling alone. Yet, I also have personal reasons for making this trip (aside from the Internship and work experience, I mean). I'd like to learn to enjoy my own company and not feel the need to rely so heavily on someone else. I'd much rather be in a less sleazy hotel doing that, though.
Hopefully tomorrow will be better and I'll sound less like a spoiled Westerner...
There are people and scruffy dogs everywhere, the traffic doesn't seem to follow any logical plan (do people actually take driving tests here?!) and indeed the taxi I collided with an auto-rickshaw and a tram on the way to the hotel. I'm very much reminded of my first impressions of Nepal, when arriving almost 6 years ago into the warm night air, anxious and feeling my senses tug in a multitude of directions. Yet, somehow, I don't feel as capable as I did then. Maybe on that occasion I was with a group and the second time returning to see friends. I'm in a totally new place, albeit for one night and feeling pretty miserable. Having too much excess time to think is never a good thing for me.
Why oh why did I choose to specialize in India and Nepal? I'm beginning to wish my career aspirations were different. I'm lonely, tired and stressed. I miss Siobhan's logical reasoning- I don't feel mature enough to be doing this alone. Not to mention hot and sick of the persistent whirring of the air conditioning.
Because nothing in India is ever simple (in my experience, anyway), my flight tomorrow is to Kochin, a city in Kerala located a few hours below Calicut. Unfortunately there don't appear to be any trains running after I arrive, so I may have to spend six or more hours on a bus. I'm hoping Calicut will be nicer and less chaotic than Mumbai. I didn't like it the last time I was here and I certainly don't like it now. I feel a million miles away from everything and particularly vulnerable as a female travelling alone. Yet, I also have personal reasons for making this trip (aside from the Internship and work experience, I mean). I'd like to learn to enjoy my own company and not feel the need to rely so heavily on someone else. I'd much rather be in a less sleazy hotel doing that, though.
Hopefully tomorrow will be better and I'll sound less like a spoiled Westerner...
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