The American Poor

One of the social workers’ favorite question to ask me, aside from my marriage status, is what the American poor live like, or if there any poor at all in our country. They expect everyone in a place as rich as U.S. to be living in a picket-fenced home. And I have a hard time explaining to them why it’s actually quite the opposite. And that many people are suffering now as a result of the market crisis. But one way to help them understand is to compare the relationship between the sub-prime borrower and the corporate lenders to the relationship between the poor illiterate villager and the local moneylender. Both of them charge high interest for those who don’t know better or who have no choice but to pay. And in both cases, the borrower ends up poorer as a result of the lending tactics. So they ask, “what happens to these poor people?” Well, not much help are given to them, because policy-makers call the downturn the “market correction” that we need in order to have a healthy capitalist system. But even though years of unemployment, homelessness, and insecurity may be seen as a dip in the market cycle for an analyst, it means great suffering and uncertainty for individuals. And someone living in a wealthy “free” state should not have to be subjected to this suffering. Or else, what do we really mean by freedom. Is unfettered consumer frenzy freedom? If that’s the case, we should replace the Emma Lazarus poem under the statue of liberty with a plaque welcoming us to the land of purchase power instead
A more secured economic system doesn’t have to be counterintuitive to basic human rights and a fair judicial system. A system which would regulate lending better, provide healthcare security, free quality education, and basic necessities such as food, clothing, and shelter to the needy seems in fact more consistent with my understanding of human rights. No one willing choose to be unemployed by mass lay-offs, or to see their savings disappear with the crumbling stock market and housing crisis, or to be left homeless. The freedom to choose only makes sense if there are viable and good choices, not the desperate ones some have been pigeon-holed into.

Tibetan Point of View

This was circulated by a Tibetan I met in Dharamsala. There is most likely some exaggeration in this, but it tells a very different story from the media.

"I have just met a Tibetan guy who could make it here Kathmandu from Lhasa yesterday. He was in Lhasa from 8th to 19 of March, so he witnessed the Chinese brutality in Lhasa. All the Tibetans who dare going out are caught by the Chinese police. Now all the prisons in Tibet are full and they are transporting many Tibetans to China. Dead bodies are piled in prison cells with people who are still alive. Many of them are heavily wounded but none of them is getting any medical treatment. Many people are dying miserably slow death in prison cells. Some people committed suicide knowing that they would be killed inhumanly by the Chinese. Tibetans are tied up in lines at police stations in Lhasa and the police are doing all kinds of inhuman things on them. Human blood is flowing at all the police stations like slaughter houses. Even more horrible thing is that all the limbs of all the Tibetans who are caught by the Chinese are broken. Some Tibetans with all of their limbs broken were dropped at the door steps of their families. Many Tibetans think it's better to be dead than alive with all limbs broken. Now Tibetans live in walls and constant fear. Police are searching protesters door by door everyday. Some of them even can't get inside as they don't have proper papers. Every street and door are guarded by the police. All the monasteries around Lhasa are sealed and nobody is allowed to go in and out so people are running out of food supplies and starving but the Chinese only care about their so called stability and harmony. Yesterday they invited some Chinese brainwashed media persons in Lhasa to show how harmonious they are and how calm Lhasa city has become with all the Tibetans sealed inside walls. Many Tibetans suspect that the Chinese killed lots of people one night in front of Jokhang temple as there was constant gunfire whole night long and tanks were running all around. So do you think the Chinese are harmonious enough to deserve an international game for peace? Don't you think you have moral responsibilities for your fellow humans who are dying for simply expressing their views? Don't you think you are silently supporting the brutality of China by just sitting there without saying anything at this moment?"

Slow-Cooking

There is a timelessness felt living in a foreign country where the language is incomprehensible. The buzzing of people’s voice and inflections, start to sound like the cicadas’ evening serenades. I hear only the beats and the inflections. The most memorable statement is a hearty laugh. And the chaotic and colorful street scenes keep the senses twirling around the new sensations. Perhaps that’s partly what gives India its inexplicable “spiritual” feeling for foreigners. This feeling is actually the calm and peace your mind finds when it meets total chaos- when overwhelmed with every sensation, it reacts to none. But then again, this blanket statement doesn’t recognize that there are moments where you can find genuine tranquility in the surrounding amidst the sea of people. Like during the early morning walking through the crowded Velakani market, I came across an area where there was complete silence. It was along a 100 meter dirt path to the church entrance. The worshippers were all on their knees, making the slow procession towards their altar, muttering prayers as the move. And as my mind fell in synch with the sway of their procession, my cell phone started ringing. My mom was calling about my tax return, reminding me of the brewing life back home that I had left to slow-cook on the back burner.

For Vani

Profile of Nagapattinam Locals

These two boys came to greet me during a Tsunami houses-opening ceremony. The one on the right has a devoted pet parrot that never leaves his side.

Vasandha is 45-year old widow. Since her husband passed, she’s been working as a coolie laborer on construction site to support her family. Women are often used for transporting the rock and sediments to the site because they are much cheaper than machinery. Her silver-lining is her son, who received a scholarship for vocational school. He’s left for another province to work as a caterer and she lives alone, but she’s happy that his life will be easier than hers, hopefuly.

Moorthy is a fisherman. He spent a few years in Dubai fishing for foreign companies and learned some tricks. The house he lives in was built completely by his own hand. Here, he is accosted by his three children.

Fishermen spend a lot of their free time, mending their fishing nets in preparation for the next trip to the sea. This grandfather has found an ingenuous way to babysit while fixing up his nets.

This naked one-year old stumbled into the room, no joke, brandishing a knife. His parents said he’s their only child and they hope for many great things from him.







The local farmers have it pretty good. They have a diversify portfolio of coconuts trees, groundnuts, vegetables, rice paddies, and livestock so they are less vulnerable to the elements. Soonaja lives with husband, one of sons, daughter-in-law, and 2 grandchildren on 5 acres that feel like Eden. When we arrived on her farm, she plucked fresh coconuts from her trees to serve us. The women sat around shooting the breeze. When she found out I was still unmarried, she tried to set me up with her son. But, she was politely turned down (my horoscope did not mention any impending arranged marriage in coastal village)

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Caught in heavy and unseasonal rainstorm, this local truckdriver offered to give us ride, but first we had to help get his truck back on the road.

Cell phones are becoming cheap and rampant. This little one is quite technology savvy

Dalites are social and economically excluded caste. They have a difficult time breaking out of their position. Even if they try to start a small business selling milk or vegetables, the neighbors from higher caste refuse to purchase from a shunned caste. But, the children are just as happy and carefree, completely unaware of the social shackles that bind their future.

Sunrise Along Velakani Beach

The Phoenix

I traveled to Nagapattinam to speak with the beneficiaries of DPG’s rural programs- self-help group formations and Tsunami shelters. One the second day there, I attended the local DPG Women’s Day Celebration. The ceremony went for an hour in a rigid format of speeches and tallying of DPG achievements in Tamil. When I was almost zoned out of the event, a middle-age woman with unexplained scars on her face and neck made herself noticed. She stood up before us and started speaking in a soft but deliberate tone. From what I can gather of her gestures and sprinkled English words, she was introducing herself. She had a story to tell and as she spoke, her voice grew louder and more assertive. At times, she sounded angry, and at others she sounded happy and triumphant. She pointed the mic at timid women in the crowd and had them tell their own stories as well. She sounded completely possessed and she in turned possessed the crowd. At the peak of her dialogue with the audience, she made them tap their left hand with one finger from their right, then two, then three, until they were clapping fully. It was a simple device to show the power of a united voice. Minutes after she asked them to put their palms together, the women were still clapping, for her and for themselves. It was the closest I’ve seen to a standing ovation since arriving here. This woman’s passion and outrage was apparent even to the deaf and dumb spectator who did not understand a word of Tamil.

After the event, I approached her. I hesitated at first unsure if she spoke English, but my instinct told me that I would not be met with the same affirming but blank smile common from Indians who didn’t understand. In fact, she spoke clear and impeccable English. She introduced herself as Seethalaksmika, the head of a small NGO name Phoenix, found to benefit children and women. They have no hand in forming or funding SHGs, but their primary mission is to motivate women. I was confused by this, “Isn’t that what all the NGOs involved here are doing?” But there was no time for her to further explain herself, as swarms of self-help group members surrounded her, eager to speak to her and shake her hand. She gave me her address and invited me to drop by her office. “Anytime,” she said. She worked until 7pm every evening. Strange, I thought, in a place where everything but hotels and restaurants are closed by 5. I left with a promised to visit.

All week, during my field visits, I kept her in mind, hoping to meet her again. But each day, my 10km travels into the villages took more than four hours because of long bus waits and circuitous routes. Getting back well after dark everyday, I was unable to see her. Finally, on the last day, a few hours before my overnight bus departed, I had some free time and hitched a ride on the back of a social workers motorbike into town. Her office was a narrow and poorly-lit corridor on the first floor of a decrepit building. Inside, there was a row of computers, but only herself and one assistant worked there. When I came in, she recognized me immediately and gave me a warm hearty welcome. We sat down in her office and began with the usual formalities, introductions, and how-do-you-dos, but that was shortly interrupted by a phone call. After she hung up from the call, Seetha smiled at me but her face was strained by sadness. She explained,

“My mother collapsed a few days ago. The doctor all said it was due to her weak lungs. But she never had this symptom before, so we sent her to Chennai to get a second opinion. The doctor discover she had a lump and found out it was fourth stage lymphoma. It’s developed in the last few years because of her other sickness. My whole family is now in Chennai with her. I don’t think we can afford the chemotherapy, so we will have to see what the doctor says.” Her eyes were glistening with tears, and she paused, but then came to and continued her story.
“She was caught in the water during the Tsunami and swallowed the salt and sand into her lungs. She has suffered a great deal since then. She lost her house, but because she was not a fishermen, the government would not giver her anything for treatment and shelter So many people suffered- Dalites, farmers- but the relief agencies, the NGOs, the government refused to help them because they did not understand the situation, believing that only fishermen working in the sea were affected. I was the first person to speak out against this. Back then, Phoenix was not a organization, it was just a movement. I started this with a number of friends many years ago because there was no one working to change to mindset of the women. The NGOs build and give money, but if the women have no one to teach them to speak to them, they are not motivated to change their situation. They absolutely need to see another woman just like them who has overcome these obstacles. I too have suffered a lot. Ten years ago, I got these scars when my in-laws threw acid because I did not pay the dowry. When I was pregnant and alone, my home flooded but no one helped. When the Tsunami came, everything I owned was swept away. That is why I am qualified to speak to them. A year ago, the movement was formed into a trust, so that government officials and other villagers would cooperate when we asked difficult questions. We don’t get any funding from donors or NGOs. The entire office, including the row of computers for training the village women, is funded by my friends who believed in this cause. Anything I earn from honorariums or working with other NGOs, I also give to Phoenix. My friends say I should worry more about my son, take better care of him. I try. I work other side jobs, tutoring and selling insurance. All the women working with Phoenix have high degrees, MBA, engineering, Masters in Philosophy, but we chose not to use our degree and joined this movement because this is important. If I am not here, who will run this organization, who will speak to these women?”

When she finished, I saw clearly why in spite of the presence of so many large NGOs and funding organization, Seetha’s tiny movement was vital. During my visits to the villages the past week, I noticed rural Indian women were more hopelessly resigned compared to their urban counterparts. Before joining the SHGs, many were confined to the house, not even allowed to move freely within their own village. Despite cheap loans and training to teach them to start businesses, many were reluctant to anger their husbands. And few, almost none, spoke out against violence at home. There are many social injustices in India, both gender and caste-based, but the more oppressed an individual is here, it seems the more submissive and less willing she is to change her position. At the bottom of this hierarchy are the Dalite women, discriminated against both as women and as a shunned caste. When I asked them what their hopes are for their children. Out of a group of 8 women, not one of them had an answer. They were all silent with their heads downcast until one finally said,” We don’t hope. We live day to day.” And so women like Seetha are vital for making social changes because they instill both the hope and the indignation necessary for a revolution. I remember one of the self-help group members, who heard Seeetha at the function, told me during an interview, “I admire the women who speak to us. They make me want to tell others my story and to help other women.” This lady recently became a treasurer of a village-level SHG federation and she plans to lead her SHG in a collective business when the funding becomes available.

Women’s Day Street Art

Members of Women’s Self Help Group competed in the contest. They used anything they could find from their homes and kitchen to create their murals- chalk, colored sand, flowers, spices.