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.