Sshrishti

I really do know how to spell, I promise.

Sshrishti is one of many good NGOs in India. Based in Vasant Kunj, it's goal it to provide formal elementary education to children from the slums. This woman started teaching slum children in her home around 2003, and through word of mouth, more and more children began to come. Now, the organization runs learning centers and computers centers around Delhi and other rural villages.

I've been (trying to) teach English there since January, and the space, my lack of Hindi and the overall lack of resources all combine to make the situation a bit hectic.  Still, Sshrishti is always trying to improve what it can offer to the children and all the kids are coming because they want to learn. The resources may be basic, but they make the best use of them. They also get a free midday meal and a minimal amount of health care.

If you want to donate, click on this link and type in "Sshrishti".  This account was just set up, so don't worry if it says that no money has been given to this organization.  I've been told that people should be able to donate with other currencies as well.

The Day of Colors

Holi is my new absolute favoritest holiday. We celebrate the Hindu festival by, of course, attacking each other with color. (You can read about its significance here.) The festivities begin earlier in the week with the occasional water balloon thrown by a child, then a few more attacks on "Choti Holi" (Little Holi), and culminated with a nation-wide color fight and tons of bhang lassi on the much anticipated day.

I stepped outside that morning and was immediately doused with color. The weekend basically consisted of me shooting people from my rickshaw, being overtaken by a band of German children, lots of color (duh), and scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing.

Mid-adventure analysis

 

Since I haven't posted in ages, check out my little article that ran in my school newspaper, The Beacon, this week:  
                                                                                                                                

Over two months since I landed at Indira Gandhi Airport and was whisked off in whirling traffic into the winter of Delhi, India. Since that day, I have picked up some Hindi and learned just how ignorant I am as a US citizen, but mostly I have fallen in love with the many cultures that make up this thriving subcontinent, this hidden beating heart of the world.

If you are looking for a "different cultural experience" while studying abroad, this place will knock you out with its strangeness and then treat you to chai. I have searched for tigers in Ranthambore, prayed and slept and eaten with Sikhs in the Golden Temple, ridden elephants in Jaipur, skied down the Himalayas in Kashmir, danced with Pakistanis at the border…and I have more to go. I am just hoping this is not a dream.

Beyond all that adventure, the things that have made me absolutely flushed with happiness were the people, the dogs, the lives here. We can't help but push up against each other with well over a billion people moving about this country, and we quickly find that the coldness of strangers does not work. People must rely on kindness and care to survive its heaving train cars and alleyways.

At first it was frustrating at times, all that stimuli. People were always questioning me, invading my personal bubble, asking me what I need. They have been so welcoming that sometimes I have to hide under my sheets to just remember my own, lonely breath. For the most part, I've learned to buck up and jump in. After all, India only manages to not rip itself to shreds because of this very hospitality.

And so, I found myself connecting with this crammed place at the strangest of moments: when I shivered through bucket baths and then let the sun beat down on me, when I bopped and bumped and held my bladder all night on the back of a freezing bus, or when I let myself sit on the foul street and talk with the most interesting, kind people.

India has forced me to walk into the places I fear, all those scary smelly spots, and walk out laughing and bubbling inside. This place is not perfect, but it is vibrant. It has me bursting with the sheer joy of being alive. It's only two months (or already two months), and this subcontinent has captured my heart as well. Of course the humidity hasn't set in yet, so my love affair may not last. Get back to me in another two months.

Print version:
http://issuu.com/thebeacon_univ_of_portland/docs/the_beacon_-_march_10_-_issue_19?viewMode=magazine

Online version:
http://www.upbeacon.net/opinion/the-beacon-abroad-1.2104371

Activist, freedom fighter, artist, feminist, actor....

Sarla Sharma in her home

Here's a quick tale about one of the most interesting women I have ever met. We went to visit her and her brother's home because it is a section of a classic Old Delhi haveli, and she just began casually mentioning little snippets of her wild adventure of a life during a long talk over chai. I'm sure there's quite a bit more we didn't hear about, but from what I could pick up her life went something like this:

I was born in this house. We've lived in this house for 300 years.  When I was fourteen I participated in my first protest against the British: we refused to sing the British national anthem in school.  The government said I had to leave the school, because I had organized the protest, but the college was in secret agreement with me and protected me.  My grandfather also started the school so that helped.  It's the Induprastha Hindu Girls School and it's the first girl's school in the country.

At eighteen I joined the Communist Party of India and started up a branch in Delhi and became a freedom fighter.  I got two Master's degrees somewhere around then. I was offered a government job as a college teacher but I refused because the freedom movement was much more important.  To make money I started selling my paintings, and then I picked up a side job as a desk clerk. I also joined and performed with the Indian People' Theatre Association, which was highly political and hugely involved in the freedom movement. 

When Independence happened, I was sent to prison because I was in the CPI.  30,000 people across India were jailed because they were Communists.  They were horribly inhumane and brutal in prison.  I don't like to think about it.  I got out on medical leave after two months because I went on a hunger strike.  

After Independence, I shifted my focus toward helping India advance. In 1954, I ran with the CPI for the Chandni Chowk district of Delhi city council and won by quite a bit. We had the highest voter turnout ever that year, but that was only because I went door to door to each house and escorted the women who weren't allowed to leave their houses to the voting booths.  I was in office for two terms until 1962, which is a little rare for this area.  

I'm really interested in education.  We have the best education here in India, but we're humble about it.  We need to do better at getting that education to everyone in India.  We also are getting really ahead in science, but we're forgetting to think scientifically, especially about science, do you know what I mean? Women's issues are also still holding us back.  I published a book of poems on women's issues a little while back.  I could talk about that for a long time.  Have one more cup of chai, no?

You'll now see a lot of blue and gold

Just came back from staying at the astonishing Golden Temple in Amritsar—the most sacred place for the Sikh religion. It was a peaceful place, and the people there were welcoming and kind. The temple also just happens to house and feed all pilgrims from all backgrounds for free, filling up the stomachs of 60,000-80,000 people a day. 

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Gentle Giant

I was in Jaipur this weekend, about to pay way too many rupees to fulfill my tourist fantasy when our autowallah said that we could go to his friend's house and ride his elephant. This girl is actually quite small for such a creature so we ended up riding her larger friend, Mustana. Her name is Nadia and I am in love.

(Please ignore my squeal at the end. My voice sometimes does that when I run into adorableness.)

Meter se?

Our taxi entering the exit ramp.

 Somebody needs to make a coffee-table book of Delhi driving. It is the most entertaining aspect of my day, mainly because what would be considered a "close call" in American driving happens about 17 times per minute in my autorickshaw.

Autowala

First, I bargain with one of these autowallah's in broken Hindi. (I'm getting pretty stubborn. I shout "Bhuyya! Thik bolo!", and then consult my Hindi book for rude words.) After managing to a. reach a good price and b. cram four fat Americans into a seat meant for three skinny Indians, we set off on a journey never seen on immaculate U.S. roads. At first I was told to just close my eyes, but I'm starting to enjoy the exhilaration of the ride. A tree in thriving in the middle of a one-way road, rear-view mirrors turned in to swiftly squeeze through two buses, driving in reverse on the freeway because you missed the exit, pedestrians rushing through eight lanes of traffic, it's all part of the charm. Okay, maybe I'm going just slightly crazy in India.

Good-day mates.