This is, or so I always imagine to it to be, the pinnacle of my trip. I am going to Dharamsala, the Tibetan exile capital in
February 21, 2008
Trip to Dharamsala
February 18, 2008
Sorry for preaching...
A thought occurred to me yesterday while reading Utopia which made me angry, so angry that I grunted out loud. Overpriced medicine in the US - virtual monopolies which are given to private enterprises as incentive for research. The gov't argues that without this monopoly, research would not progress. But how come the defense industry can have booming research and advancement supported solely by government funds. If it's so important to maintain the defense dept for the welfare of its citizns, why the hell don't they promote people's internal wellbeing also by sponsoring research for affordable medicine....Uggg
February 17, 2008
Mamallaparum
Mamallaparum is “a 7th century port city of South Indian dynasty of the Pallavas around 60 km south of Chennai.” (source: wikipedia) During the wealthiest period of its civilization, the Dravidians traded with people from as far as Rome in this port city. What remains in this area are beautiful monolithic sculptures carved to the gods, and an overactive beachside tourism industry.
I wanted to visit the site, so I went to the Chennai bus station in the morning and armed with a Tamil pronunciation of “Mahabliparum,” I found my way to a rickety local bus that broke down a few times along the way. I was worried I would miss the stop, so an hour before, I tapped the person next to me and used my magic word. He shook his head and I kept tapping every time the bus stopped at another town, until he said “okay, I will say to you.” So, realizing I’ve perhaps pushed the limits of his kindness, I shut up and looked outside the window.
The areas 1 to 50 km south of Chennai was pretty consistent landscape. Over-developed land lined with a layer of unprocessed plastic garbage. But, I knew we were arriving in Mamallaparum before even my neighbor had a chance to “say to me” because 5km before we arrived the landscape instantly transformed into well-preserved fields and farmlands, like a time-warp into a more idealistic era. Ironically, tourism has shielded this area from some of the more nasty affects of commercialization.
The sites themselves were extremely overrun by tourists, and I couldn’t help thinking as I saw gardeners watering the hills of manicured lawn about the droughts a few km away in central Tamil Nadu. But, all these thoughts subsided when I saw the temples – they were indescribeable, but I will try anyway. From my vantage point, it looked as if the sand on the beach had risen up to take the form of nature- life-like animals and deities. Like a majestic sand castle that was built at the dawning of civilization and now, with the beating of the salty coastal water, is slowly disintegrating and returning back to its original form.
The scene along the road entering Mamallapuram
The surrounding beach. If not for the tourist industry, most of the inhabitants here would be primarily fishermen
The Shore Temple
This row of resting cows guarding the shore temple reminded me of the live ones that I saw lying on the road outside between two direction of traffic.
Although the other Dravidians temples are no longer places of worship for Hindus, Arjuna's Penance, a humble temple in the middle of town, is still visited by devoutees.
Halls of Arjuna's Penance
Sculptures along the Five Rathas
A korean tourist enjoying the relics under his parasol
Behind the five rathas temples, a rest in the shade from the burning sun
This was the first time since arriving to India that I’ve seen a public trash bin, which probably accounts for this area’s uncharacteristic cleanliness. It was such a novelty item that the government took great care to make sure it was noticed
I wanted to visit the site, so I went to the Chennai bus station in the morning and armed with a Tamil pronunciation of “Mahabliparum,” I found my way to a rickety local bus that broke down a few times along the way. I was worried I would miss the stop, so an hour before, I tapped the person next to me and used my magic word. He shook his head and I kept tapping every time the bus stopped at another town, until he said “okay, I will say to you.” So, realizing I’ve perhaps pushed the limits of his kindness, I shut up and looked outside the window.
The areas 1 to 50 km south of Chennai was pretty consistent landscape. Over-developed land lined with a layer of unprocessed plastic garbage. But, I knew we were arriving in Mamallaparum before even my neighbor had a chance to “say to me” because 5km before we arrived the landscape instantly transformed into well-preserved fields and farmlands, like a time-warp into a more idealistic era. Ironically, tourism has shielded this area from some of the more nasty affects of commercialization.
The sites themselves were extremely overrun by tourists, and I couldn’t help thinking as I saw gardeners watering the hills of manicured lawn about the droughts a few km away in central Tamil Nadu. But, all these thoughts subsided when I saw the temples – they were indescribeable, but I will try anyway. From my vantage point, it looked as if the sand on the beach had risen up to take the form of nature- life-like animals and deities. Like a majestic sand castle that was built at the dawning of civilization and now, with the beating of the salty coastal water, is slowly disintegrating and returning back to its original form.
The scene along the road entering Mamallapuram
The surrounding beach. If not for the tourist industry, most of the inhabitants here would be primarily fishermen
The Shore Temple
This row of resting cows guarding the shore temple reminded me of the live ones that I saw lying on the road outside between two direction of traffic.
Although the other Dravidians temples are no longer places of worship for Hindus, Arjuna's Penance, a humble temple in the middle of town, is still visited by devoutees.
Halls of Arjuna's Penance
Sculptures along the Five Rathas
A korean tourist enjoying the relics under his parasol
Behind the five rathas temples, a rest in the shade from the burning sun
This was the first time since arriving to India that I’ve seen a public trash bin, which probably accounts for this area’s uncharacteristic cleanliness. It was such a novelty item that the government took great care to make sure it was noticed
February 13, 2008
UN Report
On account of its status as a "consultative" NGO, the UN asked DPG to write a report summarizing all the work achieved from 2004-2007. The document needs to list in bullet-point format exact number of cured hungry people, number of children educated, number of women empowered...It's like a recipie list for saving the world. First put two pounds of universal healthcare, then add one cup of free education, and a dash of clean water. Bake in a 100'x150'x200' conference room for 10 years at maximum pressure. Allow it to cool until capitalism assimilates. Then sprinkle in human rights to taste. The only difference is, in a recipie book you get a photograph of the final prodct. But this report only allows a 5-page 12-point font double-spaced text summary of DPG's povery-eradicating creme brulee.
On a side note, a book I just read by Amartya Sens, mentioned that if countries measure their poverty rates (or success at eradicating poverty) with body counts, they tend to focus relief efforts on the richest of the poor as they would be considered the most "effective" use of the fund. But then resources would not be allocated according to the greatest need. It's hard to tell if this applies also to work done on a grassroot level.
February 12, 2008
Morning Commute
The Kilpauk area, where I live now is a lush street, populated by a number of upper middle-class house. There's a sitting toilet, hot showers, AC in the bedroom, cable television and warm homecooked meals every night. So, when I return there every evening, it is as if I've commuted from the colorful chaos of Chennai back into the vanilla suburbia of the States. Here, I let my guard down again, so much so that once, I returned to my old forgetful habits and left my keys outside the door. And, little by little, though I barely noticed it, I lost the acuteness of senses that I had when I first arrived. There's something about convenient living that seems to take away from the act of living itself. As if, the waves from the TV and AirCon cancel out the waves in my head. The minute I step out of the room, with the first honk of traffic and the first flapping sari flying by me on a scooter, my senses return immediately. Perhaps the key is to spend more time in the randomness and unpredictability of the morning commute.
February 11, 2008
Rainy Day around Tuticorin
Rice Paddies
Stuck in traffic
Old man armed with cane and umbrella
Goat taking shelter from the rain at the beach
People hanging out at the Temple of Prasadam
Devoutees in discussion. Every day, many come to the temple to shave their head and fast for days, weeks, or months in dedication to god.
Goats paradise...nuzzling in front of a garbage pile
February 10, 2008
Tuticorin Site Visits
Tuticorin- a small town surrounded by fishing villages. These communities, before the Tsunami, lived in thatch huts, which were destroyed every year with the Monsoon. Although rain is common in Tuticorin throughout the year, these huts did not provide any protection from it. This area was not damaged as severely as Nagappatinam (a town further north), and I have not heard about any lives lost, but the Tsunami was still able to bring funding to help them set up permanent housing. The permanent housing has established deeper roots in the community, allowing the formation of Self Help Groups. The people said that one the greatest impact the NGOs have had on their lives was learning how to sign their names. The signature gives them an identity and that allows them to deal directly with banks for loan. This one scribble had been their key deterrence from getting financial assistance from institutional sources.
Thatch houses that fishermen lived in before permanent shelters built
Housewives in the new Tsunami housing area
Outside the community center, women gathered for SHG meeting
Children playing a game call Pompondom (sp?), an age-old Tamil game that resembles the Dredle.
A fishing net which SHG loans have helped to repair after Tsunami
Baby Neem Tree. The tree, known for its medicinal properties in India, are grown by every Tsunami house
A deep sea diving fishermen gives us a demonstration
HFO- In addition to visiting the Tsuanmi Area, I also had a chance to visit more mature Self Help Groups, formed by Human Formation Organisation (HFO) in 1999. With the aid of translation by the head of HFO, I was able to get detailed accounts and stories from so many women. One common link underlying all of these stories was that the SHG exposure and networking has transformed a hopeless acceptance of hardship to a proactive will for change. Women who were housewives before are running for political office, rallying workers to join unions, and forming watch committees against domestic violence. Whatever they cannot achieve as an individual due to social and economic limitations, they can now do as a group.
Widow, with five children, has been continuously denied pension because she cannot afford the bribe they demand. HFO is helping her with legal action against the bureau.
A new SHG business set up by 12 women to make sanitary napkins
Proud owner of a successful SHG group business, with contracts from the railway to wash bedsheets
Self Help Group meeting. The lady on the far right, since her SHG began, has taken up an informal position as the elderly counsel for families in her area.
A small shop developed by a woman through microfinance loans
Thatch houses that fishermen lived in before permanent shelters built
Housewives in the new Tsunami housing area
Outside the community center, women gathered for SHG meeting
Children playing a game call Pompondom (sp?), an age-old Tamil game that resembles the Dredle.
A fishing net which SHG loans have helped to repair after Tsunami
Baby Neem Tree. The tree, known for its medicinal properties in India, are grown by every Tsunami house
A deep sea diving fishermen gives us a demonstration
HFO- In addition to visiting the Tsuanmi Area, I also had a chance to visit more mature Self Help Groups, formed by Human Formation Organisation (HFO) in 1999. With the aid of translation by the head of HFO, I was able to get detailed accounts and stories from so many women. One common link underlying all of these stories was that the SHG exposure and networking has transformed a hopeless acceptance of hardship to a proactive will for change. Women who were housewives before are running for political office, rallying workers to join unions, and forming watch committees against domestic violence. Whatever they cannot achieve as an individual due to social and economic limitations, they can now do as a group.
Widow, with five children, has been continuously denied pension because she cannot afford the bribe they demand. HFO is helping her with legal action against the bureau.
A new SHG business set up by 12 women to make sanitary napkins
Proud owner of a successful SHG group business, with contracts from the railway to wash bedsheets
Self Help Group meeting. The lady on the far right, since her SHG began, has taken up an informal position as the elderly counsel for families in her area.
A small shop developed by a woman through microfinance loans
Host in Tuticorin
Without their imagination cluttered by plastic toys, gadgets, and media, the children I’ve met in India seem to lead a carefree and unfettered existence**. They are let free on the streets, without fear of strangers, to run around barefoot and barebodied.
The hosts that I am staying with has two adorable daughters. Because their mother runs a small business in the evening, in addition to her day job at DPG, they are cared for by their Aaji, grandmother. The eldest, age 5, is named Shrimira, after mother Mira, a French woman who traveled in India in the early 1900s, and was inspired by a Guru she met to stay. She herself became a Guru for others. The entire family are devotees of Mother Mira. The young one, age 3, is named Shrilakshima, after a Hindu goddess.
I spent my afternoon and evening at Tuticorin in the company of these two children. They immediately accepted me as one of their own, calling me Aaka, “sister.” Although, I can only communicate a few words to the eldest, we can understand each other naturally. The younger one, I communicate with through a combination of facial gesture, finger pointing, and head patting.
The children have already begun to develop a consciousness of the self and they will bicker about anything from who gets the tennis ball, to how many coloring pencils they are each gripping in their fingers. But even the most dramatic and motional moments will quickly dissipate to the attention required for playing. Without any playthings to call their own, they also spend less time over the anxiety of property.
The younger one is much more willful and has a greater tendency to break out into tears, screams, or laughter. But, at an age, when speech is still forming, she already shows an innate sense of sympathy. She would lightly touch the mosquito bite scars on my arms and ask where it is from. And when I washed my hand at the tap, she would say in Tamil “this is salty water”, her Aaji explained that the tap water is too polluted for handwashing. And anything from throwing a ball at her to giving her a kiss can make her giggle uncontrollably.
The older one is more contained and dreamy, often becoming too absorb in dancing, music, or coloring to notice anything else. During the afternoons, we walked around the seemingly forlorn and lifeless shrubberies and she would discover and name for us all the different species of plants and flowers around her home.
After playtime, Aaji will lay out a plate of food for each of us- usually something simple and coconutty, which she spent hours preparing. Even the rice flour for the dough is grounded up at home using a small stone mill. And while we eat, she would clear the house, sweep the front, and light incense for her prayers. The simple melody of their life continues into the evening until bedtime. A mat is laid out on the living room floor, and the two children crawl in with Aaji. The younger will usually run around and play catch for another hour before sleeping. When the lights finally go out, the night is filled with the rhythmic sounds of sleep, one loud snore, followed by two tiny ones. Even if it is transient, their life and love for each other seems to be one form of true happiness.
** This way of life only applies to those from low-income families. Middle-class and upper-class families are much more like the west.
The hosts that I am staying with has two adorable daughters. Because their mother runs a small business in the evening, in addition to her day job at DPG, they are cared for by their Aaji, grandmother. The eldest, age 5, is named Shrimira, after mother Mira, a French woman who traveled in India in the early 1900s, and was inspired by a Guru she met to stay. She herself became a Guru for others. The entire family are devotees of Mother Mira. The young one, age 3, is named Shrilakshima, after a Hindu goddess.
I spent my afternoon and evening at Tuticorin in the company of these two children. They immediately accepted me as one of their own, calling me Aaka, “sister.” Although, I can only communicate a few words to the eldest, we can understand each other naturally. The younger one, I communicate with through a combination of facial gesture, finger pointing, and head patting.
The children have already begun to develop a consciousness of the self and they will bicker about anything from who gets the tennis ball, to how many coloring pencils they are each gripping in their fingers. But even the most dramatic and motional moments will quickly dissipate to the attention required for playing. Without any playthings to call their own, they also spend less time over the anxiety of property.
The younger one is much more willful and has a greater tendency to break out into tears, screams, or laughter. But, at an age, when speech is still forming, she already shows an innate sense of sympathy. She would lightly touch the mosquito bite scars on my arms and ask where it is from. And when I washed my hand at the tap, she would say in Tamil “this is salty water”, her Aaji explained that the tap water is too polluted for handwashing. And anything from throwing a ball at her to giving her a kiss can make her giggle uncontrollably.
The older one is more contained and dreamy, often becoming too absorb in dancing, music, or coloring to notice anything else. During the afternoons, we walked around the seemingly forlorn and lifeless shrubberies and she would discover and name for us all the different species of plants and flowers around her home.
After playtime, Aaji will lay out a plate of food for each of us- usually something simple and coconutty, which she spent hours preparing. Even the rice flour for the dough is grounded up at home using a small stone mill. And while we eat, she would clear the house, sweep the front, and light incense for her prayers. The simple melody of their life continues into the evening until bedtime. A mat is laid out on the living room floor, and the two children crawl in with Aaji. The younger will usually run around and play catch for another hour before sleeping. When the lights finally go out, the night is filled with the rhythmic sounds of sleep, one loud snore, followed by two tiny ones. Even if it is transient, their life and love for each other seems to be one form of true happiness.
** This way of life only applies to those from low-income families. Middle-class and upper-class families are much more like the west.
February 5, 2008
Train Ride to Tuticorin
Yesterday evening, I rode on the train for the first time. I must admit I was nervous and did not know what to expect beyond the scene in Darjeeling Limited when the conductor explained to a crowd of frustrated passenger that the train took a wrong turn and was now lost. So I arrived 2 hours early, and was so cautious that I ended up taking the wrong seat.
When I found my berth, later, inside three indians were already seated - an old couple returning from treatment in Chennai and a man wearing specs, who spoke impeccable English. When, this man learned that I was here working with a microfinance group, his eye immediately lit up. It turns out he is a manager of NABARD (National Bank for Agricultural and Rural Development), one of the first banks to pioneer microfinance in India. In fact, he is living in Tuticorin now, working with Self Help Grops. His bank lends to smaller credit divisions at 7-8% interest, and those in turn lend to the SHGs at a reasonable rate of 12-13% interest. He has worked directly with DPG's partnered NGO (the one I am going to visit) with loans to set up a Garment cooperative, owned and perated by the
village women. The bank also provided the grant for the craft-training. In addition to his knowledge of microfinance operations, he was also well-versed in Indian history, religion, Eddie Murphy, and Jackie Chan. He seemed very optimistic about the changes coming through India. In fact, he described his own personal experience with the empowerment of women. According to him, at home his wife and daughter are "in charge." "No I can't make my wife stay in the kitchen. If I do that, she will leave me." said the modern Indian man.
In the evening, the conversation ended, the beds came down, and the sleepies crawl into bed. I tied down my luggage, then shortly after, tied in myself. Each passenger is neatly shelved in their designated space. A white sheet cover is used to keep off the dust. And plastic straps over the side of the bed ensure that the human cargoes do not roll off its shelving space.
6:30 A.M. we arrived at the station. I waved goodbye to Kumar, the NABARD manager, but he invited me to dinner at his house so perhaps I will see him again real soon.
When I found my berth, later, inside three indians were already seated - an old couple returning from treatment in Chennai and a man wearing specs, who spoke impeccable English. When, this man learned that I was here working with a microfinance group, his eye immediately lit up. It turns out he is a manager of NABARD (National Bank for Agricultural and Rural Development), one of the first banks to pioneer microfinance in India. In fact, he is living in Tuticorin now, working with Self Help Grops. His bank lends to smaller credit divisions at 7-8% interest, and those in turn lend to the SHGs at a reasonable rate of 12-13% interest. He has worked directly with DPG's partnered NGO (the one I am going to visit) with loans to set up a Garment cooperative, owned and perated by the
village women. The bank also provided the grant for the craft-training. In addition to his knowledge of microfinance operations, he was also well-versed in Indian history, religion, Eddie Murphy, and Jackie Chan. He seemed very optimistic about the changes coming through India. In fact, he described his own personal experience with the empowerment of women. According to him, at home his wife and daughter are "in charge." "No I can't make my wife stay in the kitchen. If I do that, she will leave me." said the modern Indian man.In the evening, the conversation ended, the beds came down, and the sleepies crawl into bed. I tied down my luggage, then shortly after, tied in myself. Each passenger is neatly shelved in their designated space. A white sheet cover is used to keep off the dust. And plastic straps over the side of the bed ensure that the human cargoes do not roll off its shelving space.
6:30 A.M. we arrived at the station. I waved goodbye to Kumar, the NABARD manager, but he invited me to dinner at his house so perhaps I will see him again real soon.
February 3, 2008
Traveling Foot
I've treated myself to doing nothing this weekend. So, in place of a written post, here's a drawing of an appendage.
Zero Hour for St.Thomas
Last Friday was the monthly staff meeting and the CEO, Solomon carried in his container of unusual managerial styles (filled with snickers bars). After passing out the candy, he spends an entire first hour of the two hours in an activity named Zero Hour, when any of the staff can bring up any questions to anyone else. I believe it named as it was intended to have Zero productivity and Zero relevance to day-to-day office activities. One staff asked me "if so many Indians go to America to receive an education, why would American come to India for internship?" Another asked "Madam Rosy, why the government passed a law against littering," which is second-natured for most people here. And I followed up with a question as to " why, if the government passed a law against littering, there are still no public garbage receptable anywhere in Chennai?" Then, Samadhi asked very seriously,"why is oil prices going up?" And Solomon spent some time explaining the concept of supply and demand. Solomon also asked me to ask a question and I, still curious about the pervasion of religion in this city, asked how Christianity came about in India? According to him, Christianity arrived here in the 1st Century AD (around the same time that Buddhism disappeared), on the coast of Kerala, brought here by St. Thomas, one of the Apostles. Coincidentally, Keral is also known by Indians as "The Country of God" for other unrelated reasons. It also believed that, St.Thomas then spent the rest of his life establishing the religion in the region. He died in Chennai, chaseed by an anti-Christian mob, and the very place he died is where the current day St.Thomas Church stands. So, based on what he says all these different relgions have co-existed for a few milleniums. Later on, bringing up the same topic with the family I am living, they also added that, since the religion was founded, all these different religious branches have existed peacefully in South India. And it has only been recently with, politicians stirring up the people to rally their votes , that they've seen more local religious conflicts. Similar, but on a more tempered scale, to Kenya.
Side-by-side religious murals. Hindu diety and Christian saint represented by the artist with the same face.
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