Six Soaked Socks

Before

Happy Thanksgiving! As promised, here are the before and after photos from the oh-so-skillful painting/beautification project.

After

In the last entry I was worried about seeing Kathputli Nagar after all that accumulating rainfall. This turned out to be a well-founded concern; it was quite an epic journey. First, I had to pay the rickshaw driver a small fortune just to get to the slum neighborhood because the roads were so flooded. We glided through the steaming swampy streets of Jaipur at a leisurely pace like lovers on a canoe (though my lover kept spitting out the sides of the tuk-tuk and calling people sister-f***ers in Hindi). Once we pulled up to Kathputli Nagar  he refused to drive into the area for fear of getting his auto stuck in the mud, so I begrudgingly paid him (enough rupees to marry off his first daughter) and began the slippery trek into Kathputli Nagar on foot.

Last week my translator explained to me that 'Kathputli Nagar' means 'puppet settlement' in Hindi, which adequately describes the illegitimate status that the slum holds in Indian society. It is also a perfect way of describing the eerie surreal feeling I got from walking through the flooded neighborhood. Since the rain was so devastatingly quieting throughout the city, I expected Kathputli Nagar to be something of a ghost-town, combed only by stray cattle. However, it was quite the opposite. Animals and people were roaming about, clamoring to the tops of pitcher's-mound-sized garbage hills that line the road, walking barefoot through the icy brown pools, and carrying on with their commerce. If I haven't said it before, Indians are tough people: they don't need toilets, old women carry lumber on their heads, men sleep in  bicycles and whole families sleep in road medians, they fast even when they're malnourished, and they work 6 days a week.

Before

After

By keeping to the road's perimeter and walking mainly on the trash hills, I made it to the entrance of the alleyway. In order to reach the school you have to walk about 40 paces down a winding dirt alleyway, which is so narrow that even Keira Knightley would have to turn sideways a few times (questions about how I managed will not be well received). Once you reach the metal door you must climb up onto a large boulder (their version of stairs) below the school's door in order to reach the concrete doorway, which is elevated about 2 feet off the ground. Without the stone, the door would be unreachable, floating in the middle of a concrete wall like something from Hogwarts.

Navigating the alley as children chase after you screaming is difficult enough, but add rain to the equation and you feel like you are getting 'punked'. As I stood at the alley's entrance in stagnant puddles of opaque chocolate water, I couldn't help visualizing what was being lapped into my ankles: the frequent fresh mounds of cow dung (I hope you weren't eating) and the week-old curry-dinner trash, I half expected Ashton Kutcher and his camera crew to rush out at me laughing. Instead, a lone child's flip flop drifted towards me surrounded by some unidentifiable collection of green froth. There was nothing to do but wade through it.

On the one hand, the river/alley was only about 3-4 inches deep, but on the other hand my sneakers were specifically designed to 'breathe and ventilate,' and this was slum water. It's nothing like the puddles in the United States; we don't urinate (legally, at least) and defecate in our roads with our farm animals.

I think I have blocked out the next 40 paces or so because I really don't remember much; I will have to recount it for you 20 years down the road when some soft-spoken therapist pries the memory from the foggy depths of my mind. However, when I finally arrived at the school and took off what was left of my sneakers at the door (which is the custom in all establishments in India), I was touched to see six pairs of soggy shoes lined up, and six little girls sitting cross-legged with wet brown socks, waiting.

Though participation in my program is small (the slum population is estimated to be at 2,000 people and only about 15 girls come to the female empowerment classes), they are a dedicated bunch. The girls could have easily lied in their beds all day, but they are fiercely loyal to their commitments, to their futures, to "getting out" of the slums, and to their education.

As soon as I arrived the girls stood up like a flank of mini-mothers and began fussing over me. "Your shoes! So wet!" they exclaimed over and over as they crowded around my feet, pushing to yank off my soaked socks despite my adamant protests. Sometimes I feel more like their pet than their teacher.

The girls were grateful that I had showed up, and that's when I realized why they were so thankful: they truly feel that they don't deserve any kind of schooling or attention from adults--especially not cool, white, Western adults (yep, I said cool). The least bit of effort means so much to them.

Kathputli Nagar, pre-rain

After they were satisfied that I was dry and okay, we spent the rainy afternoon learning 'adjectives'. We practiced by describing the beautiful women in the pages of the magazines (only the ones that I had deemed appropriate enough to rip out and bring). Each time we came to a model in the advertisements the girls would say 'stunning like Lindsey' or 'she is very pretty like Lindsey'. They persisted like this all class even though I begged and ordered them to stop. I know that they don't actually think I am like a model (although you can see where they got confused), but this flattery is just one of the many ways they show their immense appreciation for me trekking through the slum sludge to teach them. Even though the girls are acutely aware that they have nothing to offer me in return, they do their best to show gratitude and to let me know how happy I have made them. Nothing goes under-appreciated; they are so thankful that they make giving easy--addictive even. They make me want to be better, to walk through filth everyday, just because they deserve the best.

Traveling Tuesdays

First a brief update on my life, and then I will explain the exciting new changes that have been taking place in class. For those of you who aren't following the weather in Jaipur (I can't imagine what could be more important than tracking a stable desert climate, but...), it has been raining for the past 2 days. Since Rajasthan is a desert, the cities are not equipped to handle rainfall. There are no sewers, there is no drainage system, and very few people own raincoats or umbrellas. The result is a massive flooding of the streets that resembles something of a minestrone soup--the water is brown from all the sand and dirt, and it floats the street's litter (which looks a little like the spinach in the soup) across the city with considerable force. Bikes and fruit stands are abandoned on the side of the road and sit in stagnant muddy pools. Yesterday I saw a man walking barefoot and shivering through the swampy streets, holding what looked liked a dish rag over his head.

Given that things are such a mess in the paved city streets, you can imagine how nervous I am about seeing the dirt roads and trash heaps of the slums -- in sneakers! Yesterday was a religious festival (I think it was the Muslim Eid Festival), and everyone was busy sacrificing goats, so naturally we did not have class. But I will report back on the conditions in Kathputli Nagar after today's lessons, wish me luck!

And finally, the good news. We just got hot water in the house. I'm not going to lie, I am smiling right now; I can't wait.

But enough about me, there are some great new changes in class. Firstly, I have implemented a suggestions box. Actually, it is technically a suggestions "bag" since I could not find any boxes. The girls wrote down questions, comments, and ideas, and I will be checking the bag every Friday to try and make sure the class is still enjoyable and helpful for them, which is of the utmost importance since attendance is voluntary.

Secondly, there is a new addition to our lessons known as "Traveling Tuesdays" where the class "goes to" two different countries. This Tuesday was the United States and Denmark, so Mette, a Danish volunteer, and I painted our flags (50 goddamned stars? Are you kidding me???) and drew maps of our countries. We also made information sheets with facts such as our country's leader, capital, family size, religion (how does one explain the Red Sox sect?), and hobbies. Even though many of you are probably embarrassed to see the McDonald's french fries in this photo, the girls loved them. However, they were horrified to find out that in the West we eat cows; you should have seen their faces, it was as if someone had just told them we grill our own mothers in A1 sauce. They were so upset that I had to assure them that I do not eat beef (white lie, forgive me!) before we could continue the lesson.

However, to be honest, the concept of "Traveling Tuesdays" was received with mixed sentiments. Some girls were elated and asked a million questions with their eyes glued to the maps, while other girls seemed to be more interested in the fries and whispering to each other. Despite this, I think it is important that we keep the tradition for the simple reason that it exposes the girls to the world beyond Rajasthan and reminds them that this earth is wonderfully large and full of possibilities. The discussions about other cultures led the girls to ask questions about 'love marriages,' marrying age, family size, divorce, and a million other things that are non-existent in their own culture. Overall it was an eye-opening lesson that inadvertently touched on many of the feminist ideas I came here to discuss--and all over some good ol' McDonalds fries!

*Note the finished walls in the background of the photo--more pictures to follow!

Apparently Newsworthy

Thanks to a flattering article (on the front page!!!) in the Daily Item Newspaper of Lynn, MA about my outreach efforts here in Kathputli Nagar, it looks like we are going to pull off a successful book drive. The journalist covering the story emailed me a week ago and even contacted my mom (despite my warnings about Joyce's passion for stretching a quick conversation into a 4 hour affair), and she helped to spread the word about the book drive I am planning. Incase some of you are too lazy to read the article, the gist of it is this: the girls need books badly; we re-read the same story, "A Grand Feast," every week, and I am so sick of hearing about those little mice and their stupid little dinner problems.

For those of you who would like to donate, you can drop-off or mail any old childrens books to 18 Whittier Ave. Saugus, MA 01906. (A $5 donation is suggested but not required, since shipping to India is very expensive and books are generally heavy.)


But without further ado, read my fifteen minutes of fame for yourselves:
http://www.thedailyitemoflynn.com/articles/2010/11/15/news/news01.txt

And once again, many thanks to Chris Stevens and the rest of the staff on the Daily Item for helping both the book drive and the struggle to raise awareness.

Too Many Cooks

Patricia, the school volunteer

Seeing all the newly painted houses for Diwali got me thinking: paint is cheap, painting is easy, and new paint makes a huge difference. Last week I set the ball in motion and contacted the volunteer who teaches elementary school in the mornings there. Before we knew it we had 2 liters of Canary yellow, 1 liter of Magic Blue, and sandpaper in hand, ready to tackle the school.

Left: before,  Right: after

We started with the outside, which is really just one small wall. This proved much more difficult than we thought because the previous painter had covered the walls with red and green hand-prints, as well as the alphabet, fruits, and the numbers on the inside walls. Not only was the sanding much more laborious than anticipated, but also, the audience. Crowded in the tiny alleyway where the school is located, a rowdy group of about 30 Indians, mostly men, formed to watch us paint this wall. They stood behind us with arms folded, shouting directions in Hindi and pointing furiously to spots we hadn't painted yet. Occasionally someone would grab the brush right out of my hand, dip it in paint, and fervently demonstrate proper brushing. There were so many people we could barely move, and it was louder than a Kid Rock concert (remember him??). The children had good intentions as they tried to help, but muddy hands and bare babies' asses on the wall was the last thing we needed. Although the ordeal was finally completed after 8 hours, we decided that in Kathputli Nagar there are just 'too many cooks.'

Since I stashed my camera about halfway through the project (the kids in Kathputli Nagar are  all divas--they can't control themselves around the limelight) I won't have pictures of the finished paint job until next week, but I feel confident in saying the classroom looks 10 years younger and 100 times cleaner. The kids could barely contain their excitement, and my hope is that this makeover will attract some new girls. At the very least the space is on its way to becoming a clean and comforting place where the children and young girls can go to escape the dirt and chaos of the slums.

Christmas on Prozac

Sorry it has been so long since my last post, our camp computer broke and I just now found the time to get to an internet cafe. I have much news. First of all, yesterday I turned 23 years old--with nothing but grace and dignity, I promise.
Second, as those of you who are following Obama's whereabouts know, this past weekend was a very special time in India. Just as Americans begin planning for the Christmas season as soon as bathing suits hit the sale racks (by the way, Thanksgiving deserves a new date--look at all that space between the 4th of July and Halloween!), so too does India begin planning for their big holiday, Diwali.

Diwali, also known as the Festival of Lights, marks the return of the valiant Lord Rama after his victory over the evil demon, Ravana. The celebration usually lasts for 5 days with the biggest day being Friday, November 5th at sundown, when families gather to pray, feast, and celebrate with fireworks.

The preparation for Diwali is like nothing I have ever experienced; it takes months. First, the houses are scrubbed and scoured relentlessly for a couple of weeks. Next the inside and outside walls are repainted bright colors and strung with lights and candles. Everyone--even many girls in the slums--gets a new dress for the occasion, and the week beforehand is spent at home making numerous tiny sweets to give out to neighbors, friends, and families.

With all these preparations, class attendance has been painfully low. I found myself in a difficult situation because it is important to show respect for the local religion and traditions, but it is also crucial for the empowerment project that I not lose much ground. In the end I compromised and gave Wednesday through Monday off for Diwali, as long as the girls promised to come up until that time. Despite their promises, attendance petered off in the last two weeks. The silver lining? Most of the girls sincerely wanted to attend the lessons, but their parents were the ones refusing. One of my poorer students, Rinku, brought her infant brother with her to class everyday for a week and rocked him in her lap for 2 hours as she listened to the lessons. Another girl was forbidden to come because she was supposed to be cleaning for Diwali, but snuck out to class every time her parents left for the market. These tiny efforts meant everything me.

To celebrate the girls' hard work and to remind them of how special they are, I threw a Diwali party. I found a CD player and bought decorations, sweets (thanks for the Kit-Kats, Chip), and juices. I also bought them each a little bracelet in the market and told them it was a reminder of their 'spectacular' (one of our new adjectives) academic accomplishments. For 2 hours we danced ourselves silly--I have never seen the girls happier. (However, not a single girl indulged in a drink or snack that could be taken home. When I asked why they would not open a juice box they all just kept hugging me and saying "big big thanks Lindsey," and eventually, I gave up.)

The girls were so grateful they did not know how to fully express their gratitude; instead, they kept feeding me--stuffing chips and candy into my mouth, all fighting to be the one who got to share with me. In my few weeks here I have found that this slum community holds a strong sense of  propriety and these young girls are no exception.