Cool and Phool

That title is a lie. "Phool" means flower, but I'm actually going to talk about fruit, or "phal." It just didn't rhyme as nicely.

I am currently sitting in my friend Marena's apartment in Orakhan, Uttarakhand. Uttarakhand is in the Himalayas, so I am surrounded by gorgeous green mountains right now. I came up here to hang out with some NGOs. ...But to be more honest, I am using the NGO visits as an excuse to escape the heat of the plains and the pollution of Delhi for a bit. And the cool weather and clean air have been sooooo nice. Definitely the break I needed. Returning to the mountains feels oddly like returning home, thanks to my stint in Shimla. For some reason (probably the natural beauty), I always seem to feel happiest up here in the Himalayas.

view from near an NGO

The area around Orakhan is home to many different types of fruit trees (apple, pear, peach, plum, apricot, etc) and Marena is determined to take full advantage. She taught her host mom how to make peach jam (but her host mom made it a bit too sweet, with a 1:1 sugar to peach ratio--meaning one kilogram of sugar for each kilogram of peaches) and fried up some apple pie samosas with her coworkers. Nom nom nom. Marena should open a phal ka dhaba.

(I'm very tempted to bore you with details of Himachal Pradesh's successful fruit and fruit products business that has basically lifted the state out of extreme poverty (along with hydropower) and how it would be smart for Uttarakhand to replicate this. However I will restrain myself, as I have given you many boring development-related blog posts recently.)

Marena chomping on a peach tree.

The cool, clean air, delicious fruit concoctions, and beautiful mountain views have rejuvenated me, and now I'm prepared to do some serious field work in Jharkhand. More to come.

Is "Self-Help Group" a misnomer?

For those of you unfamiliar with the terminology of international development, a "self-help group," or SHG, is a group of women who take out microloans to start up small businesses. The idea behind taking out loans as a group rather than as an individual is that a woman would feel responsible toward the rest of her group to continue contributing her share. Thus a group is less likely to default on loan repayment than an individual. (There has been some criticism, particularly in Bangladesh where this system was pioneered, that this structure not only takes advantage of but reinforces the culture of shaming one another.) The goal of SHGs is to empower women to take control of their lives and raise their families out of poverty.

But the name "self-help group" can be misleading.

These women do not help themselves, at least not initially. NGOs help these women (or perhaps the NGOs would argue that they help the women help themselves). The most successful SHGs can and do wean themselves off of the NGO and become a self-sustaining enterprise, but my impression is that the NGO is usually hovering somewhere nearby, ready to swoop in should the women need them.

These groups, for the most part, do not form on their own; they are organized by NGOs (I say for the most part because in Jharkhand I met an incredible group of women who did in fact start their own group--but only after witnessing the successes of an SHG in a neighboring village. And they had to approach an NGO for help in how to organize themselves). If an NGO does not give an SHG enough support, not much will happen. An organized group of women is unlikely to start any sort of economic activity on their own--and not because they don't want to, but because they don't have the resources and know-how to. They do not have access to information about how to take out a microloan or how to take care of accounts. Even if they did have access to such information, it would likely be in written form, and many of them are illiterate (only thirty-something percent of women in Jharkhand are literate). Additionally, most likely they need training in whatever economic activity they engage in.

I met two SHGs who were organized by NGOs and then not given adequate support. One group had received absolutely nothing after they were brought together, and three years later, they're still waiting for even the first capacity building session. They don't even know what kind of livelihood activity the NGO wanted them to engage in. When I asked them what kind of activities they might be interested in, they just shrugged.

The other group actually did receive training in an income-generating activity: soap and detergent making. This was seven years ago, and nothing has happened yet. When I asked them why they hadn't utilized their soap-making skills since the training, they explained that they did not know how to acquire capital. They received training in keeping accounts, but what accounts were there to keep? Apparently the NGO forgot a crucial component: linking the SHG to a bank. And thanks, again, to lack of access to information, the women have no idea how to create that link themselves.

So are self-help groups really self-helping? I say no. They are help-receiving. However, my friend Marena disagrees and is quick to point out that for these groups to be successful, these women must be deeply committed to helping themselves improve their lives--in this sense, they are self-helping. In her words, "In terms of the self generated finances, I think it's true to it's name. I think that the fact that they can and very often fail shows that success does require the participants to help themselves/commit to it." Fair enough. 

All of this is not to say that SHGs are a bad thing. Quite the opposite. If the women are given appropriate support, SHGs can be a powerful method to raise women and their families out of poverty and to mitigate gender discrimination and domestic violence as women finally gain the courage to project their voices.

I visited an SHG  in Kin Village, Hazaribagh District, Jharkhand that had been established 17 years ago and runs a business making and selling glass bangles. These sassy women displayed much more confidence than most village women I meet. They explained that when the NGO initially tried to recruit women they were a bit resistant to the idea, as those who joined the group were seen as "characterless" by others in the community. These women decided to ignore the stigma and accepted training in bangle-making, accounting, bookkeeping, marketing, sales, etc. As part of this training, some women learned how to read and write numbers (but there was only one fully literate woman in the group, and she was in charge of bookkeeping). When this SHG and the NGO agreed they were ready, the NGO facilitated the giant leap to take out that first microloan--and nothing has been the same since. 

I asked these women what has changed in their lives. They joked about their past lives wearing veils by playfully pulling each others' saris over their faces, which apparently have not been covered in years. Their husbands no longer make any decisions without consulting them first--after all, most of the families' money is now earned by the wives! Thanks to their breadwinning status, these women have been able to successfully convince the men in the village to outlaw child marriage and have stopped all illegal liquor production and gambling. They have also raised awareness about domestic violence by forming a theater group that walks around the village acting out scenes of women being beaten by their husbands (the husbands being played by women wearing fake moustaches and turbans), thereby successfully publicly shaming the men into ceasing (or at least reducing instances of) such behavior. The NGO that initially organized this group took little part in any of these wider social changes--the women felt empowered by their financial security to fight to make their village a better place to live. The NGO's primary role had been the initial stages of capacity building, and after a few years the SHG had grown into a successful self-sustaining business and the women into social activists. 



the theater group. the "men" are women rocking fake moustaches and turbans.

This NGO also organizes the SHGs into larger groups--representatives from each SHG join clusters at the panchayat level, blocks at the block level, and federations at the district level. These structures provide additional support, such as monitoring finances and raising awareness about rights (among other activities), for these women. The federation's expenses are paid for by annual membership fees from the members. Hazaribagh's federation consists of 932 SHGs (13,546 women), and the cumulative annual income from these SHGs is about 550 lakhs (55 million) rupees, or US$1 million. The NGO insists setting up these higher-level organizations is crucial to the success of individual SHGs.

I had one final question for the women of Kin Village: of all their accomplishments, what achievement are they most proud of? "Our daughters can read and write."

Aaaaand that opens a whole other can of worms: educating the girl child. I'll save that for a later post.

Under Construction: Please excuse the mess.

As much as I liked my previous blog name, Adventures of an Energy-Wallah in the Mad, Mad World of Delhi Shimla, I thought it was time for a change. I know I could have just crossed out Shimla too and changed it to a more generic "India" and maybe changed Energy-Wallah to "Grad School-Wallah" (I might not even work in energy... it's unclear), but I thought that would get pretty messy. Plus I've been in the mood for change recently (I even replaced my eight-year-old glasses!!).

I will be experimenting with a few different blog templates, backgrounds, titles, and title photos over the next few days until I settle on something I really like. I apologize if you come to this blog and it's a complete mess. I appreciate any input on how much you like or hate the changes.

Thanks for putting up with me!

Photo(s) of the Day


[Note: I'm not a particularly good photographer, and this page is not meant to "show off" my "work" or anything like that. The purpose of this page is simply to share a little more of my experience in India with you.]

January 9, 2011

Kinnauri women in their traditional green hats show off torma (Buddhist ritual cake)
Kalpa, Kinnaur District, Himachal Pradesh
Photo taken November 5, 2010
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January 7, 2011
 
 Salima, a Gujjar tribeswoman, milks one udder while the 10-hour-old calf drinks from the other udder
Chamba District, Himachal Pradesh
Photo taken October 7, 2010
  oh hai! I can haz maize fodder?
Chamba District, Himachal Pradesh
Photo taken October 5, 2010
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May 3, 2010

Today's pictures go together, the same thing from different angles:


   one-horned rhino, Pobitora Wildlife Sanctuary, Assam
Photos taken December 28, 2009.
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April 12, 2010

Sorry, the Blogspot image uploader hasn't been working for me for over a week now. I don't really know why. In any case, it is becoming obvious (and it was pretty expected) that this feature of my blog would not really be updated daily. Here are some photos to make up for my photo absence:
Poster of Dalai Lama and President Obama outside of the Dalai Lama's residence and temple, McLeod Ganj, Himachal Pradesh
Photo taken March 24, 2010

headless bronze statues at a workshop at Norbulingka Institute, Dharamshala, Himachal Pradesh
Photo taken March 25, 2010

 Hindu temple turned mosque turned Hindu again (note both Hindu and Muslim features), idol to Mother India, in Daulatabad Fort near Aurangabad, Maharashtra
Photo taken March 20, 2010
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March 30, 2010

It's been a week, so technically I owe you seven photos. Well, I'm too lazy to choose seven, so here's one:

a typical corner in a Himalayan Buddhist monastery. Rumtek Monastery near Gangtok, Sikkim.
Photo taken December 30, 2009.

Alice convinced me to finally upload and organize all my photos. Once I do that, maybe I'll post an extra 6 photos. ...but that might take a while.
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March 23, 2010

Inside a blanket warehouse in Bhogal Market, Jangpura--back when blankets were needed. I wonder what kind of goods are stored here now that the temperatures have hit the high 30s Celsius...
Photo taken November 14, 2009.

I'm going to Dharamsala with my parents for a few days, so I will not be posting another Photo of the Day for a while.
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March 22, 2010

Sorry for not posting the past few days. I was in Aurangabad, Maharashtra with my parents for the weekend. To make up for it, I'll post 3 pictures today.


As part of the Gorkhaland statehood campaign, Gorkha students block the road at the Sikkim-West Bengal border (note that the small green sign under the Shyam Steel billboard says "Welcome to West Bengal"--the students would later cross out "West Bengal" and write "Gorkhaland"). This meant we had to walk across the border to enter Sikkim, as our shared jeep could not pass the sitting students.
Photo taken December 29, 2009.

The crowd loves The Raghu Dixit Project at the South Asia Rock Festival at Purana Qila, Delhi.
Photo taken December 10, 2009.

A sign in Connaught Place that is obviously being ignored.
Photo taken December 18, 2009.
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March 19, 2010
 
shopping for bangles in Lad Bazaar near the Charminar, Hyderabad (Lad Bazaar has an endless number of bangle shops, and they all have insane lighting like this one).
Photo taken February 13, 2010.


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March 18, 2010

 Imam Zamin's tomb in the Qutb Minar Complex, New Delhi.
Photo taken February 6, 2010.

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March 17, 2010




women from different tribes (sorry I don't know the tribes' names) dressed in traditional attire at the Adivasi Mela in Bhubaneshwar, Orissa.
Photos taken January 26, 2010.

Jharkhand's Illegal Coal

Sorry I haven't blogged in the past month. I wish I could say it was because I didn't have access to Internet, or I was too busy even in the evenings, but that would be a lie. The real reason? I've just been super lazy.

To recap: since arriving in India, I have spent 2 weeks in Delhi, a week in Ahmedabad with day trips into rural Gujarat, a few days in Pune, a few days in rural Karnataka, and a week visiting villages in Jharkhand.

While traveling around Jharkhand, it is impossible to miss the hundreds of "koyla cycle wallahs" plying the highways. The koyla ("coal") cycle wallahs are men who push bicycles carrying huge loads of crudely-coked coal in jute sacks. My first thought upon noticing these men was this can't possibly be the Big Coal supply chain. Don't the coal companies use trains or at least trucks? They must make millions of dollars a year, so surely they can afford a more efficient transport system than men pushing bicycles! In fact, doesn't their business require a more efficient mode of transport?


koyla cycle wallahs on the Ranchi-Hazaribagh highway

 koyla cycle wallah gliding downhill (they walk the bikes uphill and sit semi-sidesaddle downhill)

My first stop in Jharkhand was Hazaribagh, where I stayed with my friend Surabhi. I asked Surabhi what the deal was with the koyla cycle wallahs. She launched into a rant about how India isn't a developed country like the US and here industries just are not mechanized the way they should be. It may very well be true that India's industries are not mechanized enough, but I didn't believe this could really be the answer in this case.

I joined an NGO called PRADAN around some villages (more to come on that in a future post), and I asked the employees there about the koyla cycle wallahs. They told me that these people are part of an illegal coal mining industry and sell the coal on the black market--so, in fact, I was right to think they were not employees of major coal mining companies. I tried to further probe--where do they get the coal from? are they stealing from the companies' mines or did they dig their own illegal mines? who runs these operations? is there an illegal coal cartel? where are they taking the coal to? who are the customers buying coal from the koyla cycle wallahs? how much money do the koyla cycle wallahs make from one cycle worth of coal? how much coal are they carrying on one bike? how many hours does it take to transport the coal? how many times a week do they do this? where are these guys from, local villages or are they migrants from other regions of India?--but the PRADAN employees told me they did not know anything more.

A few days later I visited villages with another NGO, the Gene Campaign, and I asked them all these questions as well. They told me that the koyla cycle wallahs are their own employers and there is no one orchestrating the operations. They said the koyla cycle wallahs participate in every step of the supply chain: they go into the mines themselves, cut the coal from the rock, coke the coal, load up their cycles, transport the coal, and sell the coal to consumers. The operations, according to this employee of Gene Campaign, are not run by anyone, and the mines are illegally constructed by local villages. It takes 2 days to transport the coal from the mines to Ranchi, and the koyla cycle wallahs earn Rs 1800 in one trip.

Some of this just didn't seem right to me. How could these men really do every part of the supply chain? Their bikes just have so much coal on them, more than could certainly be carried out of the mine by hand (or more likely, on their heads) in one trip. If this activity is illegal, then what would stop someone from stealing the coal off your bike while you go back into the mine for a second or third or tenth load? Plus it would just be terribly inefficient.

A quick Google search brought up this incredible article that answered all my questions: Coal Distribution Network Through Bicycles in Eastern India. According to this article, the koyla cycle wallahs are just one element of the supply and distribution network: different people cut the coal from the rock, carry the coal out of the mine, coke the coal, transport the coal (that's where the koyla cycle wallahs come in), and sell the coal. There is a coal mafia that steals coal from the legal major mines and transports the coal in trucks, but it operates at a much larger scale than the koyla cycle wallahs and does not seem to be involved in their operations. Instead, the illegal mines belong to the villages, and the coal from these mines meet the cooking, heating, and kiln demands of smaller users, such as households, tea shops, dhabas, and local workshops, who cannot acquire coal from either the state-owned companies (most legal coal goes straight to major power plants) or the mafia. The police collect bakshish (bribes) in exchange for turning a blind eye to their activities. Some of the mines are old abandoned mines originally built by large state-owned companies, and other mines are inexpertly dug by villagers. In both cases, the mines are extremely dangerous, because they are not structurally reinforced in any way. Collapses and accidents are not uncommon, and miners have zero safety equipment--no helmets, no headlamps, nothing. The mines are dimly lit with smoky kerosene lanterns. An average mine can produce 10 tons of coal per day. About 1000 koyla cycle wallahs deliver this coal to the town of Hazaribagh daily--and that's only one town. Throughout Jharkhand there must be several thousands of men involved. (Seriously, if you find this blog post interesting at all, you should really read this article.)

 
illegal coal supply chain (source here)

While walking along the highway, I spotted some koyla cycle wallahs taking a break and decided to talk to them. They thought my curiosity was strange and funny, but they were very friendly and patiently answered all my questions. They told me that they purchase the coked coal from a depot located near the illegal mine for about Rs 300, and they sell it to a distributor in Ranchi for Rs 1500 (or do they make a profit of Rs 1500, meaning they sell it for Rs 1800? I didn't have a translator with me so I might have missed or misunderstood some details). The distributors then sell the coal to people who would not otherwise have access to legal coal supplies, as I mentioned earlier. The load they carry on the bikes weighs 240 kg (~530 lbs). It takes 30 hours of walking over two days to reach Ranchi from the mines, and they ride the bikes back to the mines in one day. They make this trip twice in a week. The koyla cycle wallahs are all adivasi (tribal) and belong to villages surrounding the mines (so no, they are not migrant workers), and they often travel in small groups. All activities stop during the monsoon, as some of the mines become filled with water and these men must tend to their fields. The men I interviewed said their families grow rice and some vegetables.

Even if we assume the lower profit of Rs 1200, this is significantly more than the koyla cycle wallahs could make in a week of wage labor. The going rate in Jharkhand for labor is Rs 120/day. If you work all seven days in a week, you would earn Rs 840/week--versus Rs 2400/week schlepping coal. The income doesn't even compare, so it is clear why someone with no employment opportunities would choose this work, despite the dangers.

When I asked the koyla cycle wallahs what they use the extra money for, they told me they spend it on higher quality food for their families and their children's education. One man told me that the nearest secondary school was several kilometers away from his village, and the daily public transportation is expensive. He wanted to ensure his sons could go to this school so that they would not also have to become koyla cycle wallahs to support their future families (this man didn't mention whether or not he had daughters, and I didn't want to ask because that could have come across as accusatory, like how could you not educate your daughters?).

Arundhati Roy, a very outspoken author-activist who considers herself a champion of adivasi rights, famously wrote back in 2009, "will someone who's going to the climate change conference in Copenhagen later this year please ask the only question worth asking: Can we leave the bauxite in the mountain?" Well, Roy, I have a question for you: What if the adivasis don't want to keep the bauxite--or in this case, coal--in the mountain? What if mining, whether in legal state-owned mines or in small illegal village-owned mines, presents relatively lucrative employment opportunities that adivasis would otherwise not have? (If you click on the link, you'll see that she argues the Naxalite (Maoist) insurgency is evidence that adivasis do not want these mines. The truth about the Naxalites is more complex than she lets on. A lot of intimidation goes on to force villagers to support them.)



a similarly dirty industry--the legality is unclear--exists in the villages: stone crushing near quarries. all the haze in the photo was produced by the stone-crushing machines. people who work here can get lung cancer.

 a closer view of the stone-crushing machines. women do most of the heavy lifting here (note that woman carrying a dish of rocks on her head). sorry for the blurriness; I took this photo from a moving motorcycle.

In a related story, sometimes the Naxalites hijack coal trains and take the driver and goods hostage until the companies cough up a heavy "levy" to allow their train to continue to its destination, as was in the news yesterday (thanks Vincent for the link!). These Naxalite activities are separate from the mafia I mentioned earlier.

In an unrelated story, on the road toward Jamshedpur, a.k.a. "Tata Nagar" (it's a town completely created by Tata where they have many of their major factories, such as steel and car production) ("nagar" means town), I noticed there is an unusually large number of trucks. These trucks must be part of the huge Tata supply chain. I was bored during my travels so I started playing the license plate game, but only with trucks (all of you Americans reading this must know what I mean by the license plate game: I was counting the number of states the plates belonged to). During this game I noticed a disproportionately large number of NL, or Nagaland, license plates, and zero other license plates from the Northeast states. And then I noticed that the drivers were most definitely not Naga (Nagas look more similar to Southeast Asians than to "mainland" Indians, for lack of a better term). Upon investigation, I discovered the reason behind this profusion of NL plates: Nagaland's truck taxes are the cheapest of all the states in India, so many transport companies register their vehicles in Nagaland, even if they have no intentions of running operations in the state. Or at least this is what I was told by someone who runs a manufacturing equipment supply firm in Jamshedpur. Jharkhand was the first place I've ever noticed so many NL license plates, and I play the license plate game quite often--I wonder why trucks in other regions of India don't take advantage of the low Nagaland taxes to the same extent.

Alright, well, I think I have bored you sufficiently. I'm out.

State of the State of Bihar

I'm going to spare you the gruesome story of my salmonella (I know, it's rare for me not to jump at the chance to discuss diarrhea) and instead grace you with a boring discussion of Bihari politics.

Last week I met up with Vincent, an old friend of mine from Pondicherry University. We hadn't seen each since 2007 (5 years!!) so it was really great to catch up with him. Vincent is a journalist working the Jharkhand beat for The Telegraph, a Kolkata-based newspaper (but he doesn't actually live in Jharkhand; he is based in Delhi). Being a journalist, he's way more knowledgeable about Indian politics than I could ever dream to be. Of course, that's why I love talking to him!

I mentioned to Vincent that I would really love to work in Bihar, because there seems to be great opportunity for impact. Bihar is near the bottom on pretty much every count (education, health, income, etc) like their neighboring states, but governance in the state has been rapidly improving thanks to the efforts of the Chief Minister Nitish Kumar, who has earned the nickname "Mr. Clean" for cracking down on corruption. Surely there is greater opportunity for impact than in horrendously corrupt Jharkhand, I thought. Vincent's response? Bakwaas. (Bullshit.) Bihar has not improved nearly at the rate advertised--key word: advertised. Apparently Kumar has a very good PR team and some friends in the media.

But what about all those articles in The New York Times lauding Kumar's work in the state? (See here, here, and here). Vincent counters with a recent, more critical article by Outlook India here. (Sorry I'm being lazy and referring you to news articles rather than explaining things myself.)

Now I'm confused and don't know what to believe. How effective have Kumar's initiatives really been? What is the state of the State of Bihar?

I recently met with the founder of an agricultural NGO that works in the Hindi belt, and I asked her about the state of the state. She told me that Kumar is, in fact, making serious progress in Bihar--but admitted that Bihar is still quite corrupt, there is still plenty of work to do, and "some may disagree with Nitish's approach."

Nothing is ever simple or straightforward in India.

(In any case, I don't have any contacts in Bihar, so I most likely won't be working there anyway.)

"Praise be to Allah, the rains are here!" ...or are they?

I'm in Delhi!! And the last few days have been super hot, like 115 F. I've only been here three days, so it doesn't really bother me too much yet (though the heat does make me very sleepy), but everyone around me has been enduring these temperatures since April and is anxious for the monsoon to begin--which is why yesterday's sudden downpour was cause for celebration.

The rain came very quickly. When I exited Cafe Coffee Day in Khan Market, it was sunny. By the time I negotiated an auto ride home (probably 3 minutes later), it was cloudy. About 30 seconds after stepping foot in the auto it started to drizzle, and by the first traffic light, the rain was coming down in sheets. Thicker than sheets. More like comforters. When we reached the Ring Road (perhaps 10 minutes later), it had flooded to become the Ring River.

At that first traffic light, my autowallah took the stopped-at-a-red-light opportunity to celebrate. He exclaimed in Urdu, "Praise be to Allah! The rains are here!" He did a little dance in his seat and put on a Bollywood song at full blast. Children ran outside to play in the downpour. And of course, being in an auto with open sides, I became drenched in seconds. Even my underwear and bra were soaked through. I don't think I've ever gone from sweating to shivering in such a short time span before (thank you, wind).

The weather certainly felt like the onset of the monsoon. But weather.com says it's going to stay hot and dry with zero precipitation for the next 10 days (actually, it forecasts "haze." Oooohh Delhi pollution, how I missed you. ...Not). So is the Weather Channel wrong (it didn't predict yesterday's storm!), or is Allah just playing with our hearts?

Here's hoping the Weather Channel is wrong.

I'M BACK!

Oh India, you thought you were finally rid of me. But you were oh-so-wrong. Only ten months after I left you, I'm coming back for more. Your monkeys can steal my underwear, your geckos can claw my face, your mosquitoes can infect me with dengue fever, your bandhs can trap me for days, your dense fog can cancel my travel plans, your FRRO officers can make me jump through bureaucratic hoops. But no matter what you throw at me, you can't ever get rid of me. I will keep coming back.

This means, of course, that my blog is coming back, too.

I've recently been awarded a fellowship to conduct research promoting sociotechnical solutions for bottom-of-the-pyramid communities. Pretty vague, I know, but that's because I don't have more details to share right now. Basically, I'll be spending my summer, from June 3 to August 19, running around India exploring project opportunities. Keep an eye on this blog for more to come as things develop.

India, I'll see you Sunday.

America, 5 1/2 months in.

I've been back in the States for about 5 1/2 months now, and it's been great catching up with family and old friends. I guess I didn't realize just how much I missed them all until I saw them again. Here are some pictures from the last few months.

PS: I ended up deleting my OKCupid account the day after I posted the last blog entry.

How I accidentally joined a dating website. ...and why I might stay.

(apologies to those of you who may have received emails from me about this)

As many of you know, OkTrends is the greatest thing ever. If you don't know what that is, you should click on that link. Here it is, again. And again. Seriously, go to the site already! If you're being stubborn and not clicking on the link (or maybe you just don't want to be taken away from my blog?) (if that's true, right click and open it in a new tab), basically OkTrends does fairly serious social science research using the huge OkCupid member base for data. OkCupid, if you don't already know, is a dating website, so this social science research is about, well, dating.

I was reading an article on OkTrends about what makes a good profile picture (according to user preferences, attractiveness rankings, and messaging patterns), and at the end they advertise a little app they created to tell you which is your best profile picture--without saying that you needed to be an OkCupid member to use the app. I clicked on it because it was 2am (...kinda like right now), I wasn't thinking clearly, and I thought, "hmm, it would be cool to know which is my best photo" and BOOM! it automatically created an account for me, somehow pulling my info and photos from Facebook.

I've been unable to delete or deactivate my OkCupid account, because apparently you need to be a member for at least a week first. Now a week has passed, and I no longer know if I even want to delete my account. Not that I have any interest in online dating, mind you. It's just really nice to get an email a few times a day that says "UserX is checking you out! We're letting you know because he rated you 4 or 5." That's out of 5, by the way. It's a sweet little ego-booster to receive periodic emails telling you that some guy thinks you're hot. ...even if it's a little creepy.

Speaking of creepy, gems like this message keep me entertained:

Even though you have nothing in your profile, you pics say it all about you...
I don't know if you know, you seem to be somewhat like Kareena Kapoor character in Jab We Met...
I'm new in Boston, work & stay in Cambridge...I wish if we could be in touch.
Please don't be shy...worst case scenario, we end-up getting married...LOL

For those of you who don't know, Kareena Kapoor in the movie Jab We Met looks like this:


We're pretty much identical twins.

I kind of also want to comment on "worst case scenario, we end up getting married LOL" but I don't think I have to. I think that speaks for itself.

And another gem:

hey, how are you? so i have no idea what the correct protocol for this online dating thing is...but im going to be real with you. you have a gorgeous smile and beautiful eyes!

When someone says "I'm going to be real with you," I kind of expect something negative to follow. Or I think of that Dave Chappelle skit, "When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong."

It will probably surprise none of you that almost all of the guys who have sent me messages are Indian (including both of the above messages). One of the few exceptions was an Irish Sikh guy. Yes, you read that correctly. Irish Sikh. Think purple turban with bright red beard. I don't really know what to make of that.

I actually don't have anything in my profile, other than photos. I'm guessing I'm getting the attention from Indian guys (or guys interested in India) because some of my photos are taken in India, and I'm wearing a salwar kameez in two or three of them. And my screen name is a Hindi word.

As a result, India is ranked second on my "match map" (basically, the countries in which you have the most matches) after Sweden (Sweden seems random to me). Meanwhile, Pakistan is ranked second for worst matches, trailing Malaysia. Interesting, because India and Pakistan have similar cultures and, one would think, similar guys. Also interesting because the countries are arch-nemeses. Interesting yet again because I've filled out zero information about myself, so I'm not sure how OkCupid is coming up with any matches for me in the first place.

By the way, the verdict on my profile pictures? This one is the best:


I'm guessing because motorcycle = badass. Even if it's kind of a small, old, beat-up motorcycle.

So, what are your thoughts? Should I stay on this dating website, if only for the ego-boosting "someone thinks you're hot!" emails and amusing yet slightly creepy messages? Or should I delete my account, now that the first week is up and I don't have any real interest in online dating?

Time zone changes are confusing. For everyone.

Dad: "You're never online anymore."
Me: "What are you talking about? I'm online all the time."
Dad: "But at 6 in the morning, the computer would make a ping sound and a box with that silly picture of you scuba diving would pop up. You'd say [puts on high-pitched fake girl voice] 'hi,' and it was so cute. I miss our early morning Google chats."
Me: "Uhh... that's because I was in India, and it was 3:30 in the afternoon."
Dad: "Right. So what? You're telling me you're not awake at 6am anymore?"

Not anymore. A month out of India, and I'm over the jetlag and adjusted to US Eastern Standard Time. Which naturally means I can't get out of bed before 10am.

Living bilingually

I leave India in less than 24 hours. I should probably write some sappy post, but I don't have the emotional energy for that right now. It induces too many tears. I'll try to write something when I get home, I suppose.

One of things I'm going to miss most about India is living bilingually. Now, don't take this to mean I am bilingual and fluent in Hindi. Abso-freakin'-lutely not. I am faaaar from fluent and am reluctant to even call myself proficient (though people tell me my high intermediate/low advanced/able-to-get-by-and-have-slightly-above-basic-conversations level actually is the definition of proficiency).

Regardless of my proficiency or lack thereof, I will miss the frequent code-switching into Hindi. I'm going to miss joking about the dearth of shakarkand (sweet potatoes) with my local subziwallah (vegetable salesman), interviewing members of the Gujjar tribe about their way of life while walking in the foothills of the Himalaya, asking my tabla teacher about the tabla-making industry, chatting with families sharing my compartment on trains, and even, yes, bargaining with autowallahs. I'm going to miss all of the basic, everyday interactions that take place in Hindi, from ordering daal-chawal for lunch to flagging down a cycle-rickshaw to shopping for kurtas.

I'm also going to miss speaking in Hinglish, from false-flirting with Ahluddin to discussing Arundhati Roy's pro-Maoist politics with Surabhi. And of course, I'm going to miss injecting individual Hindi words into my English speech (or "chutnefying" my English, if you will)--although I'm not sure this will be an easy habit to drop when I get back to the States (I apologize in advance!).

Living in another language, even if only half the time, is a lot of fun. And in case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm going to miss it.

...I'm going to be that weird white girl who seeks out Hindi-speaking people at the Indian grocery store, aren't I?

Community Destruction Day

I was looking through my old posts, and found this little gem from back in January that for some reason I forgot to publish:

Electricity goes out quite frequently in my office in Shanan. The power outage usually lasts anywhere from 10 minutes to 2 or 3 hours. But one time, back in October, the power went out for the entire day. During a power outage, we cannot do work because, obviously, the computers are off. Instead of working, this is what happens:

some people read the Hindi newspaper

others sit around looking badass

and some people gossip (shh! don't tell!) and laugh

and others pretend to do work (here, Harsh and Mudit are translating something into Hindi that has already been translated)

and some go crazy with the boredom

but really, I have no idea what's going on.

On this particular day, our boss decided that if we couldn't do work, we might as well do something else useful: Community Clean-Up Day. People in Shanan litter, so we should pick up the trash. Sounds like a good idea, right?

Wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

I knew something odd was up when a coworker grabbed a box of matches before going outside. Matches meant fire. And why was fire necessary for picking up litter? Oh no, I thought. They're going to burn the trash! Because that's environmentally-friendly. I grabbed my pollution mask in preparation. And it was a good thing I did, because my suspicions were right: people threw the trash they had picked up into an ever-growing fire.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, my coworker Dinesh came running toward us wielding a machete. Where did he get a machete? And why did he require a machete in the first place? To my horror, I watched as he started hacking at a tree.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" I yelled in English, too shocked to think in Hindi.

But Dinesh could not hear me over the roar of the fire.

"I think he's cutting down the tree," Shatabdi explained.

"Yes BUT WHY?!" I cried.

"I... don't know."

Then Harsh and Negi explained, "there is a lot of trash in that tree."

So let's get this straight. Instead of picking out the individual pieces of trash from the branches, Dinesh decided it would be more efficient to CUT DOWN THE TREE.

Wait, I think we need to back up even more. The goal of the day's activities was to clean up the environment. Instead of helping the environment, we were KILLING it. Oh, so that tree has a lot of trash in it? I have a brilliant idea! Let's just get rid of the tree altogether! Then surely the trash will be gone too! ...I guess that logic makes sense. Except that I thought we were ridding the environment of trash to save the trees?! Cannot. Comprehend.

Now, cutting down the tree was not enough. As I have mentioned earlier, the standard way to dispose of garbage is to burn it. Since there was trash in this tree, naturally the tree must also be kindled. The tree that never should've been cut down in the first place. The tree that, if it must be burned, could have been at least utilized to fuel a traditional stove.

The tree, though small, is still a tree. The fire grew quite large and probably threatened the surrounding houses, fields, and natural vegetation, hence threatening not only the environment, but also people's shelter and livelihood. But the worst was the immense amount of smoke. The entire village became enshrouded in it. Even my pollution mask was rendered useless as the smoke from the forest-and-trash fire penetrated through its filter and into my lungs. Great for people's health. Basically, Community Clean-Up Day had very quickly become Community Destruction Day.

Dinesh pushing the tree down the hill after his final chop, amid the smoke from burning trash

burn, baby, burn! felled tree on fire

final scene of destruction: trash and tree burning

All this turned out not to matter, because a construction project that started in December has completely leveled that hill. Nothing is left but a pile of brown dirt. [NOTE: Since January, that pile of brown dirt has become a paved parking lot for bus servicing and repairs.]

At the time, I was furious. Like tomato-red-face, steam-coming-out-of-ears (or was that just smoke from the burning trash?) furious. But now I cannot retell this story without laughing like a crazed hyena. Seriously. I could barely type this post I was laughing so hard. I'm sure there's some lesson to be learned from all of this, but I'm not quite sure what that lesson is.

Transition: it sucks.

Bad news: I leave India on August 11. Waaaaah I don't want to leave!!

Good news: I land on American soil on August 12. Pretty excited for a fully-automatic washing machine and dryer (no more handwashing clothes! no more monkeys stealing my underwear off clotheslines!) and showerheads with hot water (no more cold bucket baths!). Ok, and maybe I'm excited to see my family and friends, too.

From India to the United States, from working/traveling to studying. This transition is going to be super tough. I'm already dreading the giant American grocery stores (reverse culture shock is worse than the initial culture shock) and the endless problem sets (I've always hated homework, and now I'm out of the habit).

I'm handling this transition terribly. Just thinking about the fact that I'm leaving India sparks a flood of tears. I'm going to be a complete mess in the airport. I'm already a mess.

I'm spending my last 10 days traveling around North India visiting some friends, to say my final goodbyes. I already said my goodbyes to a few people in South India, including Prashanth and Indrani (but I made the grave error of not going over to Tamil Nadu to say goodbye to some Pondi people), and a Delhiite who won't be around later, Anand. The prolonged process of saying goodbye really, really sucks. Not only because the whole leaving-India thing feels drawn out this way, but also because the goodbyes could be permanent. I like to think it's not, but I really don't know if or when I'll be back in this country, my home for two years. And it is precisely this uncertainty of return that is giving me a nervous breakdown about leaving.

In conclusion, transition sucks. :'(

Man vs. Elephant. And waterfalls.

Yeah, it's been a while again. Sorr about the absence. (And sorr about the absence of y in "sorry.") I've been really busy traveling around with Ben and then Maria and Nadeen, which means limited Internet access. I check my email and update Facebook regularly, I just don't spend enough time at a computer to actually write a blogpost. So here's a short one.

I visited my good friend Prashanth a few days ago. He has moved from the adivasi (tribal) villages of Narmada Valley, Madhya Pradesh to the elephant-infested area around Katur village, Karnataka. Yes, elephant-infested. He now works for the Wildlife Research and Conservation Society (WRCS) in man-elephant conflict. Elephants are lured from the forest by the delicious scent of man's agricultural livelihood and devour vast swaths of rice paddies. So the humans respond as they usually do when under attack: shooting the enemy. Clearly all this is no good for either side of the war. Prashanth's job is to draft a peace treaty and get both parties to ratify. Inter-species conflict resolution, if you will.

How does one resolve an inter-species conflict? Well, Prashanth researches various eco-friendly elephant deterrents, and he disseminates information to the farmers about the deterrents that work. For example, elephants hate chilies. Can't take the heat, I suppose. So one plan would be to plant a field of chilies in between the rice paddies and forest to create a buffer zone (or to continue the metaphor, a DMZ). Prashanth's organization will provide a particularly potent variety of chilies for the farmers to plant. Another thing elephants hate are bees, so farmers could start beekeeping. Not only would honey bring them an additional source of income, they'd have an entire army of stinging soldiers to defend the crops from intruding elephant marauders. And the benefit for the elephants is, of course, not getting shot. The elephants have plenty to eat in the forest anyway, so it's not like they're really getting the stiff end of the deal.

Prashanth's work is particularly important because this problem exists all over India, not only in Karnataka. Assam sees the highest number of man-elephant conflict incidents--many of which end in deaths of humans, not only elephants--but it is difficult to experiment with deterrents there simply because the elephant population is way too large. North Karnataka provides a good, small sample size. If Prashanth's techniques work here, then they can be tested in areas with a denser population of elephants.

Plus Prashanth gets to track elephants in the wild as part of his job. Which is effing awesome. ...I just hope he never gets killed by an elephant in musth.

While I visited Prashanth, we drove on his motorcycle into the Western Ghats to Jog Falls, the highest uninterrupted plunge falls in India. The primary forests of the Ghats were so unbelievably, beautifully lush, as they always are during monsoon, and the mountain air was refreshing and cool! A great, much-needed break from the heat and humidity of the plains. Despite a minor spill (that felt oddly slow-motion; I was able to tuck my knees into my chest before the motorcycle fell on top of me), we survived the day almost intact (I scratched up my elbow when I fell off the bike) (thank god for helmets!). Here are some pictures:

a self-portrait at Jog Falls. Prashanth doesn't know how to smile.

At the hydropower viewpoint, men admire the wonder that is electricity generation. They did not understand how a river could generate electricity, so Prashanth and I explained it to them. Ok fine, maybe Prashanth did most of the explaining--I don't speak Kannada! In any case, these guys were in awe, and I loved it. It's true, electricity really is an amazing thing! I need to be in awe of infrastructure more often.

We scrambled over slippery rocks in the rain to the top of the waterfalls. This is the vertigo-inducing view over the falls. This picture doesn't really do it justice because I was too nervous about dropping my camera to actually position it correctly.

Prashanth at the top of Jog Falls. (from where the previous photo was taken)

just chillin'. with a 1000-foot drop only inches away.

walking trash bags, as viewed from Prashanth's motorcycle

Lost Tribe of Israel: Still Lost (at least for me)

Ok fine, I'll tell you one story. Just one.

I went to Manipur and Mizoram in search of the B'nei Menashe Jews. They belong to the Kuki, Chin, and Mizo tribes straddling the India-Burma border (but most of the Jews are on the Indian side) and they believe they are a Lost Tribe of Israel.

Well, they're still lost. At least for me. Because I couldn't find them.

In Manipur, I discovered that most of them live not in Imphal, the capital and where I was staying due to safety reasons (to travel beyond the Greater Imphal area requires armed police escorts to protect you from insurgents and dacoits) (what?! dacoit gets a red squiggly? is that not an English word?) (just checked, apparently that word is Anglo-Indian, derived from Hindi, and only used in India. I mean bandits), but in a rural area far away. So I never met them.

In Mizoram, I found one of their synagogues and the Israeli missionary center* (which also houses a synagogue), but both were closed. And it was Shavuot! The synagogues were closed on a holiday! I don't understand. Maybe they've all already migrated to Israel.

I might not have met any Jews, but I did meet Christians who believe they descend from Israelites. I walked into the headquarters of an organization called the Chhinlung Israel People Convention (CIPC) supported by something called Beth Israel International. I walked into their office because I incorrectly assumed from the org's name that they were Jewish.

The CIPC is trying to convince the UN to recognize them as a Lost Tribe of Israel, although I'm not sure what that accomplishes exactly. These Christians claim they have no interest in living anywhere but Mizoram (unlike the Jewish members of their tribe, who explicitly say they want to move to Zion). When I asked why they're lobbying the UN for this recognition, they said it was because they wanted to feel secure in their identity, to know where they're really from, and for that it was necessary for the world to recognize their identity and origins.

They showed two different sketches of their migration from Israel. The first was a map of the world, with a straight line from Israel to Northeast India that crossed the Himalayas twice (first onto the Tibetan Plateau, then back into the foothills). Um, unlikely. I don't think groups of people migrate in straight lines over millennia, and crossing the Himalayas once would be incredibly difficult, let alone twice. Isn't that why in Himachal Pradesh the Indo-Aryans are in the wetter, greener side of the peaks and the Tibeto-Burmans are in the other drier side in Spiti? Because it's rull hard to cross the mountains? Ok I have to admit I know zilch about human migration, and I'm sure humans have migrated across many mountain ranges, but it does seem unlikely to me that the Kuki-Chin-Mizo would have crossed the highest mountain range on Earth twice.

The second was a flowchart diagram that listed the locations along their route. This made more sense. From Israel they went to Assyria and northeastward into Mongolia, then southeastward through China to the coast, then southwest to Vietnam, then northwest through Burma and into Northeast India. More of a zigzag-y loop than a straight line and this makes sense with their genetic makeup (similar to Burmese).

However, to me Israel seems like an arbitrary starting point. Technically all people originated in Africa. To get from Africa to Asia on land, one would have to cross through Israel. Israel is at the Africa-Asia junction; by foot, there's just no way around it.

Speaking of genetics, the CIPC people gave me a scientific paper, apparently published in a reputable journal, about a study exploring any possible DNA connections between Kuki-Chin-Mizos and Jews. The result? There is no connection. The Kuki-Chin-Mizo have no Jewish genetic markers. Clearly CIPC never actually read the article, or else they wouldn't have given it to me as evidence that they descend from Israelites.

Other questionable evidence they gave me, entitled "Historical Evidence," was a long list of quotes by 19th and 20th century Christian missionaries. Well, for one, telling people they are a Lost Tribe of Israel is a key tactic of missionaries (though I don't really get how that works). Secondly, these quotes say that the cultures of Tibet, Burma, Siam, India, and China all resemble the ancient traditions of the Israelites, which is a bit hard to believe. These missionaries don't explain how or why the traditions are similar, they simply state "the cultures are similar" without evidence. They would have failed the persuasive writing unit of my 10th grade English class. ...although apparently quality argumentative writing is not necessary to convert millions of people. I guess telling people Jesus will save them is enough.

I no longer know where I was going with this. Just that I never met the Jews but that the Christians who share their Lost Tribe belief were interesting to meet, despite the fact that their beliefs are based on tenuous evidence (at least according to my Western way of thinking). But you know what? Maybe the evidence doesn't matter. If these people want to be Christian or Jewish and truly believe that they are, then indeed they are. If they don't care that much of their traditional culture has been lost in the process, then I shouldn't care either. It's not my culture to care about, and I always hate when Westerners lament the loss of certain elements of life in developing countries to which they don't belong. Cultures have always been and always will be dynamic, and honestly Judeo-Christianity has brought a lot of good to the region (like literacy and the end of headhunting and inter- and intratribal warfare), no matter how much missionary activities bother me.

By the way, you can expect my blog absence to continue for a while. I don't think it would be fair to Ben to make him wait long hours in an Internet cafe while I write blog posts.

*Yes, Israeli missionaries. I know, Jews aren't supposed to proselytize. But I don't know what else to call people who enter a community with the intentions of replacing the local culture with their own set of customs--and actually carry out Ashkenazi Orthodox conversions, mikvah and all. The missionary center had photos of Mizos dressed in traditional Orthodox clothing, even with tzitzit.

Good Morning, Vietnam

It's been ridiculously long since I updated this blog. Here's what's been going on:

- Late April I finished up my Hindi classes.
- I went to Nepal for three weeks to trek to Everest Base Camp (no, I did not climb the mountain, despite what some of you keep saying cough Jhanvi cough) in the Khumbu and hang out with Molly.
- I traveled around Ladakh for a week.
- I traveled around the tribal states of Nagaland, Manipur, and Mizoram in Northeast India for two weeks.
- I spent this past weekend in Delhi and got to hang out with Harsh, Alice, and Maria, who I hadn't seen in a whole year!
- This morning I landed in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), Vietnam, and tonight my brother Ben is arriving and we'll be traveling around Vietnam and the Philippines. And I'm super excited!

I have lots of stories from the last 6 weeks of traveling, and I really regret not posting them before, because now of course there's too much to post and I forget what I wanted to say. Sooo yeah, sorry.

I should probably post pictures, but alas I unloaded my memory cards on my laptop and don't have them with me in Vietnam. However, I did send a few photos to my parents and I still have them in gmail, so here they are:

view of the Everest Range, with Ama Dablam in the middle, and the Khumbu Glacier from near the summit of Kala Patthar (18,500 feet)

Mt. Everest is the dark peak in the middle. The pretty peak on the right and closer is Nuptse.

So I guess the entire point of this blog post is to tell you that I am not dead (yet).

PS: FYI, Facebook is apparently blocked in Vietnam. So if you want to get in touch with me, Facebook is really not the way right now.

Diarrhea Diwali

Recently I have, unfortunately, been a victim of explosive diarrhea. Whatever, it's India, that happens. I had the following Hindlish conversation with my Hindi teacher:


Teacher: आपकी तबीयत कैसी है? / How is your health?

Me: आज... बहुत अच्छी नहीं | / Today... not so good.

Teacher: क्यों? क्या हुआ? / Why? What happened?

Me: हिन्दी में "explosive diarrhea" का मतलब क्या हैं? / What is the meaning of "explosive diarrhea" in Hindi?

Teacher: हम "explosive diarrhea" नहीं कहते हैं | Diarrhea का मतलब "दस्त" है | / We don't say "explosive diarrhea." The meaning of diarrhea is "dast."

Me: लेकिन मैं "explosive" कहना चाहती हूँ | यह साधारण दस्त नहीं था | / But I want to say explosive. This was no ordinary diarrhea.*

Teacher: ठीक है | आप "ब्लास्ट" कह सकती हैं | / Ok, you can say "blast."

Me: दस्त का ब्लास्ट? / Diarrhea blast?

Teacher, laughing: हाँ जी | तो क्या आपने दवा ली? / Yes ji. So did you take medicine? ("take medicine" = "davaa li")

Me: Diwali? DIARRHEA DIWALI?! BAHAHAHAHAHA

Teacher, laughing: I was asking if you took medicine.

Me: OOOHH, DAVAA LI!! BAHAHAHAHA

Teacher: आपको कभी कभी ज़्यादा ध्यान देनी की ज़रूरत है | / You need to pay more attention sometimes.

Me, still doubled over in laughter: माफ़ कीजिये | दस्त के ब्लास्ट मेरे मन में थे | ब्लास्ट | दिवाली | समझ गए? समझ गए?! / I'm sorry. Diarrhea blasts were on my mind. Blasts. Diwali. Get it? Get it?!

Teacher: समझ गया | It was Diwali in your toilet. / I get it. It was Diwali in your toilet.

Me: YES. YES IT WAS.


Further research has revealed to me that "explosive" in Hindi is विस्फोटक, "visphotak." So explosive diarrhea would be "visphotak dast." But I kinda prefer the ring of "dast ka blaast." Either way, these are not not the most useful phrases I've ever learned in Hindi.

*Explosive diarrhea is, arguably, ordinary diarrhea in India.

Moti Me vs. Waif Kaif

My friend Molly recently wrote a great blog post about body image in Nepal. Check it out here. I had been thinking about writing about this for a while too, so now that she's started the conversation, I'll chime in.

The other day the gym-wala complimented me on losing weight. The gym-wala said to me, in Hindi, "aapko weight loss hua!" I find this linguistically interesting because it literally translates to "weight loss happened to you!" whereas I would have translated from English "aapne weight loss kiya!" ("you did weight loss"--in English weight loss is something that we do, not something that just "happens" to us. Well ok maybe it does just happen but that's not how we would phrase it.)

What I find even more interesting is that he said "weight loss" in English--and this is a person who could not hold a conversation in English. There actually is a way to say this in Hindi ("vajan kam ho jana" = "to reduce weight"), but he chose the English. Often (but definitely not always), phrases borrowed from English are for concepts that are new to India and thus not expressible in the local language. Computer, mobile phone, TV, etc. The fact that this man decided to use the English phrase "weight loss" to me means that weight loss, as a goal that people work towards, is a concept imported to India from the West.

How was this concept imported? My guess is through the usual vehicle: Bollywood. While Bollywood is certainly unique from Hollywood, I do think Bollywood producers look to the West, especially to the US, to see what's "cool." Bollywood then projects these Western ideals and trends not only to the 1.2 billion people of India (according to the new census) but to all of South Asia, from Pakistan to Bhutan to Sri Lanka, and arguably to audiences all over Asia Pacific.

I'm not going to go into an extended discussion about body image in India, because I think one look at Bollywood's sex symbol Katrina Kaif, often voted the "sexiest woman in Asia" (who is actually not Indian, but British and raised in the US, with one Indian parent), says it all. Or maybe you need to see her most recent song, "Sheila Ki Jawani" ("Sheila's Youth"):



You should really click on that video. Not only because of its implications about how Bollywood projects women, but because it is a fun, catchy song with a good beat (you will understand my love-hate relationship with this song--I love the music but hate the lyrics).

This song easily shows up on the filmi songs channels at least twice an hour. Autowallahs, dukans, and dhabas blare the song. You can't escape it; it's ubiquitous, and has been for months (despite the fact that its movie Tees Maar Khan was a box office bust). And the message being conveyed to Indian women on a constant basis isn't even subtle: Katrina Kaif's body is the definition of sexy, the ideal woman's body. Men are supposed to want her, and women are supposed to want to look like her.

Interesting, related fact about Kaif: she didn't speak a word of Hindi when she entered Bollywood. All of her lines were dubbed up until last year (when her Hindi finally became passable). How can an actress act without speaking? Isn't that half the job? Her entire film career is based on her looks, her fair skin and skinny body, not on any acting talent.

By the way, I don't think it's fair for Katrina to represent the Indian vision of beauty; she's half Caucasian (and her Indian half is from the fairest of Indians: Kashmiri), and without those white genes, it's really not possible for an Indian woman to ever be that light-skinned. She is, quite literally, the unattainable ideal. As the lyrics of the above song say, "I know you want it but you're never gonna get it, you're never gonna get my body." True words, right there.

Switching topics slightly: a day before I got the compliment from the gym-wala, some Indian guy commented on a picture of me and my friend Neha in her Facebook photo album, saying "u looking gud but who is this aunty wid u??" Apparently, these days not only is being overweight not sexy, but is also associated with being an "aunty," which is a whole other stereotype in itself.

Although the stereotype annoys me, I actually think being overweight has been very useful in India. I get significantly less attention from men than my thin expat friends. Men don't stare at me (as much), men don't catcall or wolf-whistle at me (as much), and I don't get any stalkers or gropers (most of the time). My belly has probably kept me safer. So being a Firangi Round-Round isn't all bad! :) But of course I don't have a wildly successful Bollywood career.

How I became a cricket fan

Two nights ago India won the Cricket World Cup Finals!!!!!!1!

...and I actually cared.

Yes, I have become (probably temporarily) a cricket fan. A fan of a sport with which I used to confuse croquet (the names are similar and both games are British, ok?).

Despite popular belief in the US, cricket is not the British Commonwealth's version of baseball (though it does appear to be played only in Commonwealth countries). It's pretty different, and perhaps smarter. Just because both sports use a bat doesn't mean they're the same. Would you say that lacrosse is the Native American version of field hockey just because both involve sticks and netted goals? Probably not.

Anyway, my first-ever cricket experience was in fall 2007, when I watched a match with Madhavan and other Pondy Uni boys. It was the T-20 World Championship, India vs. Pakistan, and India won. This was the first T-20 championship ever, I believe (T-20 means 20 overs, so the match is shorter; it's a relatively new form of the game that is much faster and more exciting to people like me who (a) don't fully understand what's going on and (b) cannot sit through an all-day sporting event). Madhavan taught me the rules of cricket, and I became acquainted with Sachin Tendulkar, MS Dhoni, and Yuvraj Singh, who was a particular beast in that tournament, and other major players. I had a blast watching the game with my friends in Kalapet's closest thing to a sports bar, and then the whole country literally had a blast--or rather, thousands of blasts--when they celebrated with fireworks (their usual M.O.). I even bought a commemorative poster of the winning team.

Admittedly, I never watched a cricket match since then. I securely stored that game and my newly-acquired cricket knowledge in my Pondy Uni memory bank and hung the poster on my dorm wall, and went back to enjoying the American sports I grew up playing and watching. I did try to go to an Indian Premier League (IPL) game in Delhi with Alice, but, uh,

that didn't end so well

and we missed the game.

I neglected the sport for another eleven months, until this year's World Cup tournament, when the excitement was impossible to ignore.

I have become a fan of cricket because of the way the sport brings people together, at least in India. I can't think of any sport that could bring Americans together the way cricket has brought Indians together. Every single Indian, at home and abroad, was cheering for the cricket team in this World Cup. Do Americans, as an entire nation, ever rally around one team? Half the country doesn't pay attention to the Olympics, and those who do are all watching different sports. When Americans watch the soccer/football World Cup, they are cheering for a variety of teams, including European and Latin American teams. Few people seem to seriously care about the US soccer team. (This is actually one of my pet peeves: Americans who never care about soccer until all of a sudden "omg Portugal!!" and it's like um 1. you never watch soccer in the four-year span of time between World Cups and 2. you're not even cheering for your own country, or maybe you are but really you act like you care more about other teams.*) I guess the closest example of when Americans banded together around a sport was the 1980 Olympic hockey final against Russia, but honestly I suspect that the movie "Miracle" dramatized the reality (hockey is one of the less popular sports in the US, and as my mom says, she and her friends didn't even bother to watch the game). Basically, I can't think of any single global sports tournament in which the entire American population feels heavily invested.

Walking down the street during the India-Pakistan semifinal match was like walking through a real-life movie. (I didn't watch the entire match because I just can't watch cricket for 8 hours. I'm not quite there yet.) Half the businesses were closed because the owners were at home watching the game, and the other half that were open had brought a TV into their shops, and small crowds had gathered to watch. The subzi- and phal-wale (vegetable and fruit salesmen) at a street corner near my favorite cafe were all huddled around a small black-and-white TV that had somehow been connected outdoors. Rickshaw-wale (rickshaw drivers) were also huddled around their own tiny outdoor TV. Every pair of eyes and/or ears (some people only have radios) in India was glued to the match. Whenever there was a big play, a collective "wooo!" of excitement or "aaah" of disappointment, an aggregated sound coming from all voices in the country simultaneously, could be heard, sometimes along with dholak (drum) beats.

The millisecond the Ind-Pak game ended with an Indian victory, the entire country erupted in celebration. Immediately, people flooded the streets to light firecrackers, like Diwali to the extreme. An entire nation was partying together.

This was all repeated during the India-Sri Lanka final two days ago. After Dhoni hit the final 6, I partook in the festivities, racing out to the streets of Varanasi with my host family to ignite firecrackers. That these matches took place on Indian soil (semifinals in Mohali near Chandigarh, finals in Mumbai) makes the wins even more special.

I find something simply magical about all this. It's more than about cricket. It's about spirit, about pride in one's country. Say what you will about Indians, they are a proud bunch of people. (It's also about politics, especially against Pakistan. In general, Indians have a love-hate relationship with their politics, but no matter if they're loving or hating, they're addicted.)

Something else I have found very interesting is the reaction on Facebook. Foreign-born South Asians are exclaiming excitement via their statuses just as much as South Asian-born South Asians (at least among my group of Facebook friends). I find this interesting because I didn't expect Indian-Americans to be following the Cricket World Cup. After all, does cricket even air on TV in the US? Is there even a cricket Little League? When and how would these Americans have become familiar with the sport? I would have assumed that because they grew up in the US they would be more interested in American sports (and maybe many of them are more interested in basketball or football than they are in cricket), but I'm pleasantly surprised to find that many of them are just as interested in a decidedly non-American sport.

The fact that they are following cricket means that they must have grown up watching cricket with their fathers, who probably watch cricket as one of several means to stay connected to the motherland. I'm sure that Indian parents struggle to raise their children in America according to Indian values and culture, but one thing many of them have been successful at is instilling a love of cricket, in a culture where cricket doesn't even exist. This cricket victory was important to more than Indian-born Indians. It was important to the Indian diaspora as well, to the entire Indian people. (What, exactly, is this importance? I'll leave that analysis to the NYTimes. See

here

.)

Now for a nice little story to end this ridiculously long post (sorry for the length!):

Yesterday morning, as I was taking a rickshaw to my Hindi class, I passed a parade of green, white, and orange face-painted people carrying a homemade styrofoam-and-glitter replica of the World Cup trophy, waving Indian flags of all sizes, dancing to the song "Chak De India" accompanied by dholak players, and lighting firecrackers. As this parade winded through the

galiyaan

(alleys) of Varanasi, the crowd would grow ever larger, with more and more people from all castes and classes dancing together around the poorly-but-very-lovingly-constructed trophy.

When I saw this parade, I did the most unexpected thing: I started crying. Not just crying. SOBBING. The rickshaw-wallah stopped and looked at me to check if everything was ok. I was fine, I insisted. But I wasn't. I was crying because it suddenly hit me that I'm

actually

leaving India in a few months. I don't know why seeing this parade triggered that realization, but as a result I was a mess all day yesterday. I just can't handle leaving this country. Another reason for my tears was that this makeshift trophy brought back memories of home. This was something I could see my brother Ben doing when he was young. Seven-year-old Ben absolutely would have made some little Stanley Cup trophy and trotted around the house with it in a Capitals jersey (he didn't actually do this, but he did several similar things, such as making himself a Chicago Bulls NBA championship ring. Kids can be adorable). So while the parade made me sad that I was leaving India, it also made me realize how homesick I am. Opposite and confusing emotions, I know.

Unfortunately I don't have any pictures because, well, I suck. I don't take my camera with me when I walk around Varanasi. Fail. However, you can enjoy this picture I stole from AP:

Indians celebrate with fireworks in the streets.

*You could say this applies to me re: cricket and India. However, the US does not have a cricket team that plays at World Cup level (

Molly

informs me the US has a cricket team, mostly comprised of South Asian immigrants, but they can't compete at a high level). If it did, obviously I would cheer for the US. Also, I have been living in India for two years and I believe that gives me sufficient ties to be an India fan. If you're an American who cheers for another country in the soccer/football World Cup because you spent some time there or have other connections, then you do not fall into the category of people who bother me and I apologize if I have offended you.