Poonam

Jodhpur, India

After catching the Number 1 Bus, which is naturally the last route out of the four or so to visit my stop, I gracelessly topple onto a side bench nearly impaling my forehead on the safety railing running along the centre of the roof. The passenger area is inconveniently designed for a 6 foot 2 Westerner, let alone anyone taller than 5 foot 8. I slump forward clutching my backpack in an upright fetal position, protecting against both the notched backrest and the remnants of my lunch that are enjoying a raucous party in my stomach to which I have not been invited. Needless to say, my mind is solely occupied with the fantasies of a self-sacrificing and bountiful toilet, upon which to relocate the festivities.

The monotony of my end-of-the-day bus ride soon takes hold. Horn cacophony and the inefficient sputtering of engines tumble through the open windows and past my ears. The fair collector’s ceaseless destination chants, no longer chime with the resonance of something foreign. Breeze, the only luxury, temperamentally flees at every stop, leaving stale, trash-permeated air in its wake. Passengers come and go … some clearly shocked to find pale skin on their evening commute. Among the most bewildered, there is usually one bold enough to attempt a conversation in broken English. I am accustomed to the typical questions: name, country, destination and purpose. Nevertheless even at the end of a long day, I attempt to answer with as much feigned enthusiasm as I can muster.

Tonight is no different. As I approach my stop, an unsure voice from across the aisle interrupts my nebulous condition:

“What county you come from?”

Displacing my lavatory fantasies, I acquiescently raise my head to find a smartly-dressed, young Indian lady staring back at me, with nothing less than eager inquisitiveness. My jaw nearly hits the floor, as all I can manage in response is a perplexed stammer. It’s not as if I have been a social leper to the opposite sex for the first 23 years of my life, and am suddenly faced with the daunting proposition of “first contact;” rather, since my arrival in India, I have been socialized with the idea that unrelated men and women do not commingle, as it can be misconstrued as an advance. There are certainly areas in this country where such strict social norms have given way to more liberal practices; however in Rajasthan, this backwards custom still persists.

I momentarily regain my composure and adroitly point to the flag pasted near the bottom of my knapsack. Slightly embarrassed, she professes that she “does not know flags.” I inform her that I’m from Canada and working in Jodhpur with an NGO.

“What is your name?”

“Jack, and yours?”

“Punam.”

She asks if I have travelled within Rajasthan at all; I reply that I have only been around the city. She immediately delves into a list of key attractions: Jaisalmer, Jaipur, Agra, Udaipur ... She pauses briefly, “you must go to Udaipur, it has gardens so beautiful.” I ask if Jodhpur is where she grew up:

“Yes, my home.”

This shocks me further still, but then makes me smile, as I have just bore witness to a wonderful exception from the state’s inelastic social order. The bus closes in on my circle, and I am all too soon forced to exchange hurried pleasantries. I disembark and merrily commence my walk home, no longer feeling the full effects of the party in my stomach.

T.I.I.

Jaisalmer, India

Just under a month into our respective internships, the FSD Jodhpur staff organised an intern retreat. We were headed to Jaisalmer, located in the Northwest of Rajasthan about 8 hours from Jodhpur. Known as “The Golden City,” it is famous for its peasant-occupied fort and majestic camel rides through the Thar Desert sand dunes. Our method of transportation to Jaisalmer was a wagon … no and I know what you’re thinking, not a camel-drawn wagon, but a station-wagon. With ten people in our entourage, including our driver, it was quite a squeeze.

Unfortunately, the ride to our destination is my last memory of the trip not involving a bed and/or a severe bout of nausea. The dinner from that evening must have battled it out with my stomach overnight, and I am disappointed to report that dinner won the right to be flushed, rather than digested.

Over the course of my first month here in India, situations such as these have been categorized as “T.I.I.,” or in its full form “This Is India.” Yes, for those of you who have seen the movie “Blood Diamond” starring Leonardo DiCaprio, this is a blatant rip … Although, I have presented it with a new twist: “Africa” has been supplanted by “India” to symbolize the excruciatingly frustrating events, which must simply be accepted while living in this country.

Examples of the former included mundane exercises, such as: sitting on a bus and having someone drastically alter their seating position just to stare at you blatantly; or being absolutely stuffed, while still being force fed one more roti (i.e. round flat bread). More convoluted examples include: trying to discern which train to take, when the list is written in Hindi and organised by train names which have no relation to their destination; or searching for a dietician to run a workshop, when the person searching for you is actually one themselves, but forgets to inform you of this fact until the day before the workshop. To the unfortunate: where after flushing a toilet, the pipe connecting the tank to the bowl becomes dislodged, and before you can zip up and move away, your bare feet are swimming in toilet water. And now for the absolutely absurd … having someone whip it out and go to town, while riding a motorcycle, not once … no, not twice … but three distinct times. Fortunately, I am very happy to credit the last example to my fellow-intern Leah, who is both incredibly patient and markedly hilarious.

In any case, as you may have guessed … Jaisalmer was a bust. However while lurching around the city, I serendipitously stumbled across the guileless essence of T.I.I.:

T.I.I. ... cold, refreshing and fun for the whole family!

Jack Benny Said It Best ...

Jodhpur, India

“ … I don’t deserve this.”

It is nearly midnight and I am sitting in the upper terrace of my home. With my vision eliminated, my ears present me with a sound-scape eerily similar to that of a military coo. There is a hushed rumble off towards the horizon; although, sporadically a piercing shot along with an accompanying vibration ring out from within our colony. Fortunately upon re-establishing my fifth sense, I am presented by an erratic, yet delightful home fireworks montage. Diwali, the Hindu festival of light, has arrived with full force.

I have just returned from a private celebration at the Maharaja Gaj Singhji's main residence, Umaid Bhawan Palace. Since he and his wife are both trustee's of the Jal Bhagirathi Foundation, I was incredibly fortunate to have been invited. The attendees were a who's who of the Maharaja's close family as well as some high-profile guests, myself not included. I had been to the Palace as a tourist earlier in the month, but was restricted to the museum portion, since entrance to the Hotel within the Palace costs Rs. 3000, which is equivalent to about $60 USD. And that’s just to set foot in the building ... staying there costs substantially more, something my negative income from JBF cannot afford.

In any case, the Palace was breathtaking ... it is situated on the crest of a hill, which provided a captivating view of the Mehrangarh Fort and the Old city. Rotating one's self 180 degrees, the Palace’s warm glow euphemized the sheer opulence of the structure. The gardens were exquisite and immaculately kept, and the live entertainment included a traditional Rajasthani band with a boy of maybe 5, who could move better than I could ever hope to on a dance floor. Due to the reduction in light pollution, a gaze upwards provided a pristine, heavenly tableau … and out of the corner of one eye, I happened to catch a shooting star, perfectly completing my Disney moment. The only misplaced element was the cuisine, where they had taken the peculiar decision to serve Mexican … the miniature quesadillas and burritos were incapable of living up to their surroundings.

Returning to the terrace, perhaps it is the majestic nature of my immediate experience or rather my slight intoxication from access to an open bar, regardless a sense of serenity blankets my consciousness. How fortunate am I? Not only in relation to my birth endowment (i.e. Westerner, white and wise parents), but with regards to my present circumstance. Basically, I have been given the opportunity to develop the foundation of a new NGO. My project and my host organisation have more depth than I could have envisioned. My supervisors are approachable, energetic and have given me the freedom to tackle challenges in any way I so choose. I have visited many rural villages and experienced the joy and hardship of its people. None of these things were guaranteed, nor even apparent when I accepted this internship.

The responsibility afforded to an awkward, inexperienced university graduate, especially one who drank too much and studied too little, is astounding … truly, I do not believe I could or should have this type of opportunity yet. What qualifications or accomplishments of my own warrant such fortuitousness? Honestly … I do not know; that question simply renders my mind void … incapable of expressing more than a pause and a cheeky grin.

Lacking Swedish Berries

Jodhpur, India and environs

With JBF having an international reputation, they occasionally receive guests of a similar stature. Today we were graced with the presence of Victoria, Crown Princess of Sweden, Duchess of Västergötland … (good luck trying to pronounce that last one). Basically, we were hosting royalty. As much as I have utterly no emotional connection to the antiquated and impotent aristocratic systems of Europe, I was oddly excited for my first “Royal” experience. In order to mark such a majestic occasion, I set myself the task of procuring a photo of myself with a real-life, modern-day princess.

We arrived at the field visit site about 15 minutes before the actual motorcade; although, we were mistaken twice for being important ourselves. The site was a bustle of activity with a small traditional Rajasthani band, a group of iconic water-bearing women, and enough paparazzi to make Brittney go bald, take 2. When the motorcade finally did arrive, it turned out to be less of a motorcade and more of just two plain jeeps … one with those tiny hood flags signifying someone of political heft and one without. After she stepped out, I finally observed the true meaning of a media scrum … it was like a rugby match all the way to the tent setup on the other side of the lake. Once seated, she received flower garlands, a rainbow turban and many kind words from the local leaders. Near the end of the ceremony, she stood up and applauded the efforts of the community for its progress towards water sustainability. Shortly thereafter we were off to location number two, and I was yet to have an opportunity to get my desired shot.

Victoria (bottom left) and me (behind the camera)

The second stop was a virtual repeat of the first; moreover, I was stymied again photo-wise. Normally, on these visits we are tended to rather attentively; however, now that there was a white person of greater status in attendance, our typical luxuries were sorely neglected. Frustratingly, we had to settle for a non-shaded, standing-room only space at the back of the tent. Seriously though, it was a special treat to be ignored for about a three hours.

By this point we were to return to the office and I had given up all hope of my fairytale photo op. However over lunch, my boss told me that Abi and I could see the Princess off later in the afternoon. We squeezed into the back of a car and snaked our way through the city towards the Jodhpur Airport. We ended up waiting about an hour for her to arrive, but I convinced myself that it was all worth it for the shot.

She was proceeded by her blood-haired, blue-eyed body guard, who had made the uncomfortable decision (for both me and him) to wear the least ergonomic pants possible. Regardless, after being involuntarily memorized by the mechanics of his clothing, I rose, camera in hand, ready to seize the moment. Upon spotting the camera, I was immediately rebuffed by tight-pants, which threw off my sense of determination (and orientation). She had taken four steps past me, before I was able to regain some sense of composure. With my opportunity slowly eluding my clutches, I tried one last ditch effort to snatch it back … However, all I could muster was four unconfident, quivering words aimed at the back of her head: “Have a nice trip …” She stopped abruptly, turned her head clearly perplexed, and immediately upon catching my gaze, smiled and leanly exclaimed “Thank you” before resuming course to the VIP lounge.

Out ‘n’ About

Jodhpur, India and environs

Work day number three has arrived and yet again we are off to the field … not that I’m at all complaining. Our host is Ganpat, who produces and directs Marwar Media, a subsection within JBF’s advocacy department. They are currently in the throws of shooting a new film promoting female participation in primary education. Our introductory destination is Gove Upper Primary school near the village of Poli Kylan.

After an hour and a half drive, our jeep’s engine sputters to a halt; meanwhile, its dissonance is promptly replaced by the low hum of excitable children. We round a bend and enter the school yard; it consists of nothing more than a dusty field and a lone, scanty-looking tree. The low hum has rapidly blossomed into an effervescent rumble, we fear ourselves to be taunting the precipice of hysteria, but fortunately the loose energy turns into inquisitiveness as we approach further. As with most other appointments in India, the shoot is delayed; the school teachers have yet to arrive. While we wait, a blanket is laid out for us to sit. We gladly accept, but soon realize we have just emerged on the wrong side of a zoo exhibit, displaying: bleached man and woman, omnivore and king of the food chain, normally inhabits swaths of Europe and North America, but has invaded all other continents and the moon as an alien species, prefers over-consumption and extravagance to sustainable eco-footprints, exhibits complex verbal communication and vaguely-moral social structures, easily groomed for their money and expensive electronics (… or thereabouts).

Stuck at the front of the class

Eventually, the instructors arrive and we are grateful to be released back into the wild. Almost immediately, we are invited to join the mid-standard classroom where some instruction-related shots are taking place. I am offered a front-row seat, while Abi coyly shuffles to the back of the room. After two minutes of incomprehensible lecturing, I begin to settle in; the experience is reminiscent of my physics classes at Queen’s: shortly upon its commencement, I am hopelessly lost and confused. The shoot drudges on for another hour, after which I am ready for a nap, shower, and trip to the Queen’s Pub. Unfortunately, those wishes go unfulfilled; however, we are gifted some time to interact with the kids. Nothing concrete is exchanged; although, we engage in a simplified version of Simon Says … lacking both a “Simon” … and “Says.” It was more of a “Let’s Mimic the White People” Game … long story short: fun had by all!

With our school visit at an end, we hop back in the jeep and head towards the open road. However, with a film crew no less opportunistic than a pack of hyenas, we are mired with ceaseless stops and starts to interview all types of rural characters: a man walking a cart filled with dried corn, a man traveling by camel hitch, three men on a tractor unaware that Mo-vember is still weeks away, etc. We eventually pass a group of 30 men and women harvesting a field of bajra. Before I can comment on the nature of the women’s colourful sarrees, the jeep screeches to a halt and then proceeds to reverse into on-coming traffic. I verbally fumble: “W- … Wow, they’re colourful.” Alas, Abi is the only one to catch my penetrating analysis, given that the crew have long since bundled out of the jeep, slipped through the barbed-wire fence, and commenced their interviews.

Mmmm ... street-melon

Before we move on, the harvesters generously offer us some watermelons, which I’m sure represent a tangible portion of their livelihoods. Nonetheless, the crew start breaking them open on the side of the jeep or with their hands, any fashion to get at the sweet interior. Everyone gets a half to themselves; though, not as perfect as the watermelons found in Western supermarkets, they are naturally refreshing in the hot afternoon sun. There is something rebellious about standing on a highway, slurping watermelon and seeing how far one can launch the seeds …

Children enjoying the thrill of chasing
after our jeep in Moolki Dhani

Our last stop is a village called Moolki Dhani. We are no longer pursuing interviews; rather, the crew is here to present one of their earlier works on sanitation. In order to inform the village of the evening’s entertainment, they setup a mic and an amp in the back of the jeep and we drive around “50’s political style” getting the word out. Honestly, the results of this exercise seem to produce nothing more than an immense amount of noise and dust. Although in the end, the turnout is quite reasonable for the size of the village. The film is entirely in Hindi, and as my interest wanes, I realize just how tired I am from all of the day’s events.

So Here Goes: SHGs

Jodhpur, India and environs

Our second day at the Jal Bhagirathi Foundation (JBF) began with an introduction to Sateesh, who is responsible for the Agoli Block Women’s Self-Help Groups (SHGs). Abi and I would be heading out to the field again today, with our mission being to visit the Vishnu Nagar and Jashi groups. As we understood it, our work with JBF would be directly related to these SHGs, so we were both eager to observe them first-hand.

SHGs are bodies designed to build social and financial capital in disadvantaged communities; they have been integral to the microfinance movement within India since the 1980’s. Originally, they were established to allow the poor access to basic monetary systems, including savings and credit, by dispersing the risk amongst many women. Over time, they have grown into social empowerment tools for their members, and they are currently regarded as mechanisms which could facilitate diversification vis-à-vis alternative livelihoods and income generating activities (ALIGA). JBF has been establishing SHGs for about two years and presently operate a total of 54 groups. Predictably however, they are unsophisticated and wanting in comparison to their counterparts to the South, who have been operating in earnest for over 15. Both Vishnu Nagar and Jashti are among the A grade JBF SHGs, yet nonetheless appear woefully behind the progress in the rest of India.

Even possessing this knowledge cannot dampen the sense of advancement, ambition and optimism radiating from the women within these groups. Not all possess this glow, but presumably the ones that do will pass it on to those yet to fully comprehend their own potential. The Vishnu Nagar women have recently bought a mechanised flour mill for the bajra (a grain similar to, but coarser than wheat) grown in their fields. It allays the necessity of traveling four km by foot to purchase flour from Agoli; minuscule, but demonstrative progress.

A Vishnu Nagar SHG member demonstrating
the operation of their new flour mill

The Jashti women have adapted the SHG model to their pre-existing wholesale embroidery business. Some women in the group have been practicing their craft for 25 years or more. The results are impressive and symbolically Indian. Upon asking one of the men if he has noticed any changes in his wife Meenakshi since the establishment of the group, he tersely replies “she has become more talkative,” which spawns an eruption of laughter from the group and one abashed lady. Although a couple questions later, her self-confidence replenished, she brazenly elucidates her desire “to be the owner of a shop at the Mehrangarh fort [in Jodhpur]” … and moreover, to have husband work for her! In the end, she gets the last laugh.

Some Jashti SHG members, including Meenakshi (left),
working on an elephant wall hanging

The Power of Aggregation? … or My First Day on the Job

Jodhpur, India and environs

Following the introduction to my new family, I was to start my internship with the Jal Bhagirathi Foundation (JBF) the next day. Abi, my co-intern, and I arrived in good spirits, ready for organizational integration. We immediately set out with Sanjayji, JBF's Project Manager, to visit some water management initiatives in the area.

Group photo from the water pyramid pilot,
including Sanjayji (far right), Abi and I (centre)

Our mode of transportation was an open-door jeep, which lacked seatbelts, but came fully equipped with a driver who had relinquished any sense of danger probably at birth. For anyone who has not traveled by open-air vehicle through a desert before, the best way to simulate the experience would be to turn on your hair drier and blast your face for two hours. Although incidentally, I was prone to sweat showers throughout the day, but always stepped out at our next stop with a perfectly sculpted doo that any hair dresser of repute would have been willing to claim as their genius.

Indian open highway

The Marwar region, located in the western portion of Rajasthan, occupies areas of the Northwestern Thorn Scrub Forest and the Thar Desert. It is known as an arid and inhospitable region, yet paradoxically is the most densely populated desert in the world. Climatologists typically define a desert as having an annual rainfall of 250 mm or less; the Marwar region receives somewhere between 100 to 500 mm. To make matters worse, its water table is falling at around 1 to 2 m each year, and up to 5 m in some areas. These are staggering figures, especially when considering annual rainfall and wet days from other cities I’ve visited:

Enter JBF, its genesis is based on the principle of developing “a persuasive alliance with the people of Marwar to make the region water secure.” Their modus operandi is to educate and mobilize rural communities around water issues, such that by providing them with financial support and engineering expertise, disadvantaged communities can empower themselves to achieve local water sustainability. JBF’s straightaway success encouraged generous grants from foreign development agencies, which has been used to employ over 100 people and facilitate the installation of over 250 projects in only five years.

Measurement process at the berrie (open well)

During our first day on the job, we had the opportunity to explore a smattering of these projects: a water pyramid pilot, a future tanka (closed surface well) site at a primary school, a tanka site at an upper primary school, and a berrie (open surface well) scheduled for improvements. However, our first stop was at a reverse osmosis plant pilot in Pachpadra. The Rajasthani State Government had connected the village with an underground well and declared the water “drinkable.” However, tests performed by JBF determined that the water arriving at the village actually did not meet WHO purity standards, and therefore could not be considered safe for human consumption. It may not be a perfect comparison and a tad sensationalist; nevertheless, the situation in Pachpadra has similarities to the Walkerton E. coli Tragedy of 2000, where seven people died and more than half the population of small Ontario town became ill due to tainted water. The differences lie in the public’s reaction and the respective governments’ standings. While Walkerton effectively signalled the demise of Mike Harris and the Common Sense Revolution, the Rajasthani Government expressed shock at the sullied water supply, yet has not remedied the situation in Pachpadra nor even re-evaluated their definition of “drinking” water.

Assuming developing countries wish to become developed, it is incidents such as these which demonstrate the separation between the haves and the have-nots. I present nothing original, but evidently, there are still grave inequalities and inequities to be surmounted before India may be properly graduated into the “developed” world. For all the success JBF has enjoyed vis-à-vis water sustainability, there are still many regions which lack this support and yet more which lack basic Western norms (i.e. education, health, habitation, etc.). As much as I hope that my presence with JBF will result in some noticeable benefit, these issues will still remain unresolved when I leave. Conceivably, I can only focus on my contribution and have faith in the power of aggregation.

My Extended Indian Family

Jodhpur, India

One of the most rewarding aspects of my internship should be the opportunity to integrate into Indian community and culture. During the entirety of my stay in Jodhpur, I will be living with a host family, who will hopefully allow me to experience social intricacies a simple tourist may overlook.

So last Friday, I moved in with my aforementioned Jodhpur hosts: the Williams. The transition was incredibly smooth, since the FSD office is conveniently located just above their house. The family consists of Mr. and Mrs. Williams along with their two sons, Winny 25 and Sunny 30, who are either engaged or married and no longer live at home. By day, Mr. Williams is a bank manager; by night, he is the restaurant manager of On the Rocks, a popular establishment with the locals and tourists alike. Mrs. Williams is the Food and Beverages Supervisor for Umaid Bhavan Palace, which explains her natural talent for preparing simple yet delectable meals. So it appears, I will have an excellent opportunity to assimilate some Indian dishes while I'm here. Additionally, Mr. Williams practices Christianity; while, Mrs. Williams is a Hindu, which I find remarkable especially in such a conservative area of the country. They both speak fluent English, which has eliminated the probability of simple miscommunication; although, it may create a serious obstacle in my attempt at learning Hindi.

On the whole, I feel as though I have won the host lottery. My Indian parents could not be more munificent, and their kindly nature is a breath of fresh air after the typical rough edges of urban India. We are located in suburban Jodhpur, just to the south of the city, in a small residential colony. Despite the colour of my room (a manly salmon), it has all the comforts of my normal abodes, with the lavish addition of a private bathroom. I'm situated at the front of the house, just a short two steps from a bench swing, where I will undoubtedly spend many lazy Sunday afternoons. While admiring my surroundings, I drift into unconscious reflection ... My birth mother and father have been exceptionally apt (sometimes even brilliant and altruistic) providers of health, safety and wisdom. However, they have fallen short in two essential areas: HBO and an internet connection superior to dial up. Both of which, I am presently using. Even with these glaring shortcomings, I love my parents and would not trade them for for all the stars in the sky (read: I gave my parents this blog address and would appreciate being welcomed home at some point).

Cr-AMP-ing My Style

Jodhpur, India

Sitting in my new room, I am consumed by lethargy ... two days of fierce heat and zealous exploration have removed any sense of coherence from my thoughts. Sleep should be on the menu, but I am currently being served endless swaths of noise pollution. It appears to be the beginning of Dussehra, a Hindu festival marking the victory of Durga over evil forces, the destruction of Vasanas (subjectivity, selfishness, and desire), and the achievement of the deepest self. The only victory over evil forces, I seek at present, is the clubbing into oblivion of the amp from my neighbour's driveway which is saturating our colony with live ritualistic Hindu paeans. Clearly, I have not yet realized the latter two aspects of this festival. Something to strive for, but in the meantime ... where is that bloody cricket bat?

With little hope of slumbering peacefully ( ... or crippling the amp), I have resigned myself to attempting the relatively laborious task of penning my reflections from the past days. Strictly speaking, I do not mean to insinuate that this blog is either taxing or a burden; rather, in my current state anything could be considered taxing or a burden. Regardless, in terms of events, the last few days have been as packed as most Rajasthani autorickshaws.

Oh wait ... what perfect timing! The amp is coming down ... I suppose my adventures from the past days will have to wait for my next post. I'm going to hit the hay.

Mama Always Said ...

Amsterdam, Netherlands and Jodhpur, India

Murphy could have used traveling as a test case for his law. In an instant, one’s seemingly smooth sailing can turn into hurricane-force squalls, manageable only through Captain Dan’s belligerent willpower.

I had just boarded the third of four legs, Amsterdam to Mumbai, in my flight schedule to India. It began inauspiciously with the Captain suggesting a slight delay due to some erratic behaviour in the left engine. Although after only a brief delay, we began the monotonous taxi out to the runway. Everything to my knowledge was progressing swimmingly, so I began to doze off, exhausted from 15 hours of jumping through hoops. Three quarters of an hour into the flight, my less-than-refreshing beauty sleep was abruptly cut short by a pop, a momentary loss of light and a sudden turbulent lurching to the left. Piercing my drowsy haze, I attempted to assess the situation. There was a distinct lack of dangling oxygen masks, runaway food carts and hysteria, your typical plane-crash fare, so I deduced the evasion of our demise and unwittingly hit the snooze button on potential disaster.

Upon waking a second time, I found that we had arrived. Pleased at the realization that I had just touched down in India, I stretched to get a first glimpse of my ephemeral home. To my surprise, the large white box letters “SCHIPHOL” of Amsterdam’s International Airport were staring me down. In fact, I was still in Europe, a long way from the Asian Sub-Continent.

I latter discovered that one of the plane’s two generators had died in midair. Upon landing, we waited patiently on board while the faulty generator was examined below. After an hour, we were finally informed that the plane had been grounded indefinitely; resulting in a series of unfortunate events: waiting to queue at a transfer desk, queuing at a transfer desk, commiserating with other stranded passengers, waiting some more, receiving water and an almond cookie, changing queues, waiting less patiently, obtaining our new itineraries, and picking up a small toiletries bag before ambling towards a hotel bed. Hot, sweaty, and frustrated, I resigned myself to a night in Amsterdam, without the opportunity to explore.

A half day removed from chaotic airport terminals was the perfect release of stress. Again as in the beginning of my trip, I was fresh and alert, fully prepared for the last several legs. I was now routed though Abu Dhabi and Mumbai before supposedly arriving in Jodhpur. Fortunately, these last legs were much less eventful, except for the wonderfully spontaneous conversations with fellow travelers. I was befriended by a number of young Indians in the domestic terminal in Mumbai. In fact, there was even an unofficial line-up to speak with me at one point!

My first Indian inefficiency experience did not take long to occur … the transfer between international and domestic terminals in Mumbai was a bustling, testosterone-filled traffic jam. The sprawling queue was a result of a broken baggage security machine. The situation would be almost unimaginable in the Western world … a hundred men with luggage carts all pushing towards a bottle neck just before the exit, while continually arguing for every inch with an exorbitant number of supposed airport officials. I was the only Caucasian and stood out like snowflake on a muddy road.

The flight to Jodhpur was short and sweet and gave me an opportunity to practice my French with a Belgian couple; although, in retrospect it was probably more them practicing their English. I was met by Veena, one of my new Indian mothers, who easily picked me out of a crowd. The taxi ride back to our Hotel was as noisy as a wedding procession and as tortuous as a roller coaster ride, worsened by the unpredictable nature of the autorickshaw drivers.

Immediately upon being introduced to the rest of the group, I was informed that we were to be thrust into an unexpected meeting with my NGO supervisor. So I was given barely half an hour to throw off the cobwebs and remove the haggard expression from my face. A cold shave latter and I was more than ready to wade back into traffic for the ride to Jal Bhagirathi Foundation (JBF) compound. My co-intern Abi and I listened intently as Mr. Singh explained the JBF mission and described the intricacies of our project and his expectations. In essence, our project will be based around collecting primary research on women's self-help groups (SHGs) in Rajasthan, so that JBF can effectively implement micro-enterprise best practices throughout a network of local groups. Furthermore, he elucidated the pith of our research: evaluating the SHGs, appreciating their capacity for marketable production, and subsequently determining the liability of supply and demand for this production. Simply, we are tasked with determining successful procedures in SHGs and using them to help establish a means to self sustainability. Overall, I am absolutely ecstatic about the opportunity to tackle this initiative. Its scope and scale are much larger than I had anticipated, but the sense of trust permeated by JBF was overwhelmingly empowering. I truly hope this initial excitement will remain with me for the entirety of my participation.

So after a rather taxing journey to Jodhpur and the trepidation of being immediately thrust into the spotlight, I was rewarded with a sense of genuine adventure. As rapidly as things can go from good to bad to worse, they can just as easily reverse course. But then again, I suppose life is like a box of chocolates …

Waving Goodbye in the Rear-view Mirror

Somewhere over the Atlantic

My last week in Canada has come and gone … I got my Indian Visa (after some completely unnecessary difficulty), tied up some lose ends in Kingston, and wished the Sens good luck in the upcoming season. In terms of my preparation, I could not be more set for my excursion. However, with that being said, I have yet to properly acquaint myself with the Hindi language … a relatively major setback; although, one in which all my fellow program participants will suffer through as well. I have about 36 hours of flight and stop-over time: enough to be able to fake it by the time I arrive … hopefully.

Earlier this morning, even as I meticulously arranged my travel necessities throughout my luggage, I was still utterly unconscious of the situation before me. Even countless descriptions, explanations, and qualifications of my departure to both friends and family have not properly solidified my mind’s awareness. The preparation, although new, was horribly perfunctory, which probably contributed to my lack of acceptance. Yet, the more probable explanation is that I have minimal experience with traveling of this kind … what I would define as “spontaneous.” Sure, I have taken numerous road trips which lack a specific purpose, destination, schedule or some mix of the three; however, the voyage for which I am about to depart dwarfs those excursions in magnitude and scope. So without a lucid idea of the opportunities and challenges ahead, perhaps my mind is using the ancient technique of “if you don’t think about it, it’s not really there” for my own self defense. So as I have endeavoured to kept an even temperament, my mother has experienced trepidation (with regards to my safety, my health, and/or dismembering plane crashes) and my father has experienced excitement (with regards to my departure and subsequent authoritarian rule over the TV) … which furtively I hope is not too strong, but then again how many parents send their children off by including the words “but not too soon.”

Regardless of my realization or lack thereof, I am on a plane and it is heading across the Atlantic. The time for reconsideration is long past. Nothing left, but to finally accept the inevitable: I’m going to India baby!

JBF

Ottawa, Canada

So, it has been quite some time since my last post. The date of my departure is drawing nearer, but for the time being, I'm still just soaking up my last few weeks in Canada. In my last post, I promised to elaborate on what I'll be doing in India. Honestly, I am still pretty vague myself on what I'll be tackling, but I do know some bits and pieces, so here goes ...

The Indian NGO I'll be interning with is called the Jal Bhagirathi Foundation or JBF for short (www.jalbhagirathi.org). The are located in Jodhpur, Rajasthan, which is about 400 km southwest of New Delhi on the edge of the Thar Desert. The Foundation was founded in 2002 and their mission is to work "towards strengthening the capacity of desert communities to manage their scarce water resources through traditional best practices." They are actively involved in:

• Supporting social mobilization efforts and strengthening community organizations for sustainable natural resource management;
• Advocating community rights over common property resources;
• Building a network of non-governmental organizations (NGOs), community-based organizations (CBOs), and government leaders in order to influence national and state water policies and laws; and,
• Integrating gender concerns in natrual resource management.

Well, that was sure a mouthful ... as for my role, here is exactly what was written for me:

"In particular, JBF would like Jack to focus on Jal Marutahra, the organization's developing micro-enterprise initiative. The purposes of Jal Marutahra are to: identify skills and production groups inj local areas; identify marketable products to which these skill sets can be applied; build capacities of production groups to create these products; and establish market linkages for a source of viable income."

So from my understanding, I will be tackling the initial stages of a large micro-enterprise program. What that means and what the day to day activities will be actually be are beyond the scope of my understanding at this point. However, I am terribly excited about my host NGO and the initiative I will be working to develop. This appears, at least at this stage, to be exactly the type of development issues I was hoping to engage and I cannot wait to find out more!

The Beginning ...

Ottawa, Canada

I've finally arrived ... not at my fiscal, social, sexual, etc. peak, nor a peak in any sense of the word (although, I think the sexual thing should have happened when I was 18 or so ...). In "arrival" I mean, I am finally through the throws of undergraduate university life and I am ready for the next chapter as it were.

What is this next chapter? I suppose its nascence started before the last one terminated. As still a spry, immature student, I was forced to reckon with the immediacy of my future during my final terms at university. I was more or less content in my responsibility-lacking existence, moving costively towards a degree in physics and economics. I recognized the materiality of an end, a piece of paper signifying five years (I took some worthwhile detours) of higher learning; however, I lived naively in the present, not wishing to contemplate the future.

Future ... what a foreboding term. There is something about that word and my generation; something everyone grapples with, its inherent uncertainty and yet our desire for predictability, security in one form or another. In my opinion, the current state of our society has permitted us to have more choices than ever before. Consequently, we are more demanding; trapped in a well-paying job until retirement, is not our idea of security. Our expectations are higher, so we expect more: a job or jobs that will provide challenge, diversity, pleasure as well as fiscal stability. We demand security of enjoyment, adventure, an other intangibles, that sometimes money alone cannot always guarantee. These factors are what make the choices so difficult and make "future" to me a reviled word.

In weighing my options, I found that there were two main choice categories. I could confirm adulthood and enter professional life or I could defer it and continue being spry and immature. Obviously, these categories are not as Black and White as the terrorism designations made by the George W. Administration; there are many shades of gray. However at the time, since I was only considering perhaps a year to two down the road, there would be many opportunities to reverse course. The decision between Black and White became the first major road block on my path towards the hereafter. On the Black side, I could join the endless stream of undergraduates heading towards the Toronto Metropolis and procure an occupation; whereas, on the White side, I could obtain further education in the form of a Masters, Doctorate, etc. After some deliberation, neither side was very convincing, so what was left? ... Something else! ... Something else? ... Something gray perhaps.

Now after that wry and verbose preamble, I will finally get to the crux of this post ... the question at the beginning of paragraph two: "What is this next chapter?"

I have decided to travel. I will be going to the Asian Sub-Continent and Oceania, and perhaps some other regions too before all is said and done. However, simply traveling was much too white in my raw expertise, which prompted me to search out other potential options abroad. My reconnaissance mission spotted The Foundation for Sustainable Development, who link volunteers with Non-Governmental Organisations (NGOs) in developing countries. I now have a 16-week internship with an NGO in India starting at the end of Sept (more on this in a later post). The plan is to complete the internship, travel within India and the surrounding region, and then mosey on to Australia to visit my family. Definitely gray.

This Blog is meant to chronicle the missteps, pitfalls and blunders of these adventures, along with hopefully some epiphanies about my life and the world around us.