Thursday, November 30, 2006

Amazing but Ordinary

The days since my last post have been especially exciting, and only today, Thursday, have I had a few moments at the local internet cafe (where access is just 50 cents an hour) for a post. So getting to it...

One of my primary goals in coming to New Delhi was to get an inside perspective on how children are educated here. Teaching English in Munirka offers one perspective, and a visit to Room to Read's New Delhi's office offered another.

Room to Read (RTR), like many non-profit organizations, has a lovely genesis story that I'll summarize this way: a former Microsoft techie John Wood trekked through Nepal and came upon a school without a library. Through donations from friends in the United States, he later supplied the school with 3,000 books. Room to Read is the formal structure that assists NGOs in several Asian nations in creating and sustaining libraries and other facilities to enhance children's learning and economic opportunities. India has RTR sites in several states, and the capitol region of New Delhi. Last Friday, I joined RTR staff and two other American visitors on a visit to sites in South and East Delhi.

What I was both ordinary and amazing. If you were to walk into a school library, and saw bright red ribbons atop heads buried in books, would you be amazed? Would you not expect to see students studiously engaged in their reading? The darily bibliophiles interrupted their work to recite poems and sing songs in Hindi and English. I especially appreciated their performance of "Baa Baa Black Sheep." Enthusiasm and pride fueled a few girls to perform five or six times. With the aid of staff translating, they told me they loved reading, and often read when they were bored.

The amazing element? Well, more like astounding. Without the school library, the children would not have access to books. No books! Many government school libraries do not have books, and book shops, I've noticed, are not widely accessible. As well, Nita explained Hindu culture is primarily an oral culture, and while reading and writing are not discouraged, there has been an active movement to make the practice more widespread. I thought of a similar campaign in the states some ten years ago. Campaigns posters that hung in my elementary school library (some are still at DC's antiquated MLK Library) and celebrities, like Whoopi Goldberg and Phyllicia Rashad, cradled books and smiled lovingly in testament to the joys of reading.

An ordinary, rudimentary element of the America student's school day, the trip to the school library, is a tremendous accomplishment for a school that serves many children who are the first in their families to attend school.

But this is not a Western-country to the rescue story. Recall that RTR partners with local NGOs to create and sustain the libraries. RTR India, like all RTR sites, is staffed entirely by native Indians, not foreign nationals. Within three years, and after several hundreds of books donated, the local NGO takes over library maintenance entirely. Also, RTR does not host international volunteers. So while in the states, check out your local chapter of RTR. There is one in DC.

Now off to dinner, and then to dessert in Khan Market. A volunteer returns to the States tomorrow, and that calls for massive amounts of delicious Indian ice cream, rumoured to be made with buffalo milk. I'll return and detail my whimsy romance with Jaipur and the Taj Majal.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Highs and Lows

This week I dipped into the high art and a bit of kitsch. Three weeks in Delhi, I was feeling a little homesick, a little disconnected. While classes are going pretty well, a teacher knows school can't be your life. And anyone well-travelled knows the tourist hops have their limits. So I found refuge in India's art scene, high and low. I mean, kitsch.

Tuesday afternoon, we visited the National Museum of Modern Art to see the provocatively titled showcase "Edge of Desire." Composed of work from 1994-2000, the exhibit was a meaningful and powerful dialogue about power as it's claimed and reclaimed in various communities. Artists commented on conflict between Muslims and Hindus in Gujarat, between terrorists on 9/11, and within intimate relationships between husbands and wives. In my day to day work in Munirka, and tours around the city, rarely have I had an exchange with a Delhiite about politics, especially the most divisive political events of the past 15 years. This exhibit showed what's on the minds of prominent Indian artists, and I was extremely moved by their passion and conviction.

Last night, we experienced the other end of Indian art culture, the kitsch that is Bollywood. We had to! Start to finish, it was such an experience. From being searched going into the theatre, to the five minute intermission, and the dramatic ending after two and a half long hours... wow. Where "Edge of Desire" engaged in a dialogue of harsh reality, "Vivah" wrapped us in the fantasy of a tragic love story. Boy meets girl (through a tactful arrangement), they slowly fall in love, tragedy strikes, will love survive? (Cue dramatic music). Beneath the surface, there were clear and contentious political themes: arranged marriages, the importance of beauty in determining a woman's chances of marrying an attractive wealthy guy, relationships between women of different skin colors. After seeing "Vivah," I'm primed for a screening of "Water," Deepa Mehta's criticism of how traditional Indian culture treats widows, to restore my balance.

Tomorrow, I'm looking forward to a visit to Room to Read, an exciting NGO that facilitates building libraries and schools in countries in Asia. This weekend, we're traveling to Agra to see the marvelous Taj Mahal.

Namaste...

Sunday, November 19, 2006

One of the contrasts, and it's not so bad.

In one stroll around any part of Delhi, it is obvious Delhi is a city of extreme and innumerable contrasts. Modern cars cruise past sputtering rickshaws, tent communities exist not far from opulent gated communities, and the virtuous mingle amidst touts. Nearly three weeks in Delhi, the contrasts are a comfortable, yet still confounding element of Delhi life. Say many, “live and let live.”

And then yesterday, after an exhausting afternoon in the markets of Old Delhi, I realized that I present and experience contrasting identities in this city, too.

As a volunteer with Vidya, I relish the respect students demonstrate to teachers, and the hospitality women show to guests. The young women call me “Ma’am” or “Teacher,” never allow me to carry my own chair, and are generally pleasant and exceptionally kind. After teaching in DC, where my name was occasionally something other than “Ms. Henderson,” and respect was a daily lesson, the girls’ kindness is welcomed and invigorating. Their eagerness, as I’ve said before, motivates me to work harder for them, and I look forward to our classes.

And this humble identity vanishes the moment I attempt to catch a rickshaw, as I am seen as “the Unsuspecting Silly Western Tourist.” Travel guides warn tourists about the many scams that lurk the streets, mostly the rackets between rickshaw drivers, hotels, and gift shops. Says the rickshaw driver, “I know a very nice place with good prices. I’ll take you.” For every tourist they bring to the shop, they earn a commission. The scams vary, but follow the same principle: convince the tourist they’re knowledgeable and trustworthy, and then scam them for a few (or a lakh) rupees. I read that part of Lonely Planet, and expected the minor annoyance. I was not prepared for the extreme frustration my co-volunteers and I experienced several times over in Old Delhi’s main market, a thriving bazaar frequented by both tourists and Delhiites. The worst of it? Two young men annoyingly chatted us up for ten minutes, and nearly unleashed another identity, The Angry Black Woman. They followed us from a creepy distance and had the tenacity to attempt collaborate with rickshaw drivers we approached. Several hours later, I retreated home, exhausted and resentful.

In any big city, I know, you’ve got to keep your game face on, as danger regularly courts the unsuspecting. Walk the streets confidently, and show no fear. Though we’re regularly inundated with scams via email, face-to-face cons come far less frequently. Yet in the Old Market, Connaught Place, or other tourist spots, there is no delete button and the touts won’t disappear into oblivion. Am I bitter? Yes, at this moment, very bitter towards these guys (because each one has been a male). To be fair, and not become completely frustrated, I have to remind myself that it is confined to a particular community.

My dad always told me you are where you go. Club-heads hang out at clubs, culture-vultures at museums, etc. Hang out at tourist traps, I’ll easily be perceived a tourist and the touts will just happen to stroll up, prepared with five suave English phrases, and initiate their scams. For the next couple weeks, I’m laying off the colorful bazaars and ancient ruins. In a way, this is Delhi’s challenge to me to explore the city as a native. Growing up in a tourist city, avoiding the traps is a game I know well. This evening, I’m headed to dinner and jazz at an out of the way bookstore in South Delhi. I doubt I’ll run into a tout picking up a Lonely Planet. Maybe a teacher for Delhi Public Schools.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Class Three


So we struck up this agreement, Prerna, my co-teacher and I. We will teach Prerna English, and she will teach us Hindi. Prerna, a beautiful young lady of about sixteen is the most advanced in our class. (Her name pronounced with a long "E" and somewhat silent "R". She says her name beautifully. My western accent transforms it to a pharmaceutical company.)She has had at least a decade of schooling, completed her "ten plus two" she called it, and hopes to take the university entrance exam in the spring.

Today, Prerna taught us how to say "What are you doing?" in Hindi, and we reviewed the past tense so that she could correctly say, "I went to a dance party this weekend." We've had class for three sessions now, and we're off to a good start.

While Prerna is focused on entrance exams, the other seven women in the class want to learn how to use the basic English they've mastered. Their vocabulary includes rudimentary phrases like "One fish, two fish, red fish blue fish," but not essential ones like, "Where is the bathroom?" or "Please say it again." The school didn't provide a curriculum for our lessons, but no worries, we've got a conversational English/Hindi guide, and believe that those chicas will be able to get around a bank or airport in about five weeks' time.

The girls are diligent and fearless with their attempt at rowdy, unfamiliar English sounds. Where Hindi seems to flow like a wave of water off the tongue, with tilts of sound in between syllables, English is a sound produced on an assembly line and they struggle to work the machines to make the "V" and "F" sounds. I'm doing the "white man's overbite" big time to emphasize the "F" sound in "fish" is made.
Though I taught high school history to uber-cool teenagers, I'm not afraid to invoke elementary theatrics to get the point across. Aren't we reading Dr. Seuss? (Gandhi--and I mean Indira--will come later in the session).

Today's lesson focused on using the verb "to have" accompanied by the useful phrase "May I?" By the end of the lesson, we were asking to please have everything within physical reach. As well, most of the ladies picked up "See you tomorrow."

Oh, and here's a cute story. To reach the center where we hold class, we walk through the main road of the slum (of course, being a PC American, I don't like calling it a slum, but that's what they're called here), and pass nearly everyone who lives there. Often, we arrive earlier than the coordinator, and stand around for a few minutes waiting for her. This morning, a curious little girl peeked her head round the gate to get a look at us, my co-teacher and I. And I looked at her, then looked away. And then looked back at a crowd of eight very small, very curious residents. I pulled out my camera and they dutifully arranged themselves in rows for a "class picture."

A link to what UNICEF says about Educating Girls in India.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Getting down to work

After several days of getting adjusted to the intricacies of Delhi--such as figuring out the chemist is the pharmacy, the stationer's sells paper goods, and Internet access is faster and cheaper than the states--we spent this morning meeting with our volunteer coordinator.

We all came to do meaningful volunteer service with an established NGO in Delhi, so today was especially exciting. I and several other volunteers will be working with Vidya, an NGO that provides economic and educational opportunities to women and children in Delhi, Goa, and Mumbai. We had chai and very interesting discussion about many things Indian with the incredible Delhi director, Mala Goyal.

Mala-ji explained the problem very simply: though all children need to be educated, not all children can afford the fees to attend school. Vidya exists to provide non-formal schooling at a more affordable cost. Charging children a nominal fee is essential, she explained, so that the youth have an investment in their studies.

After initial success with educating children, the organization expanded to provide classes for the mothers, again based on a simple principal. If the mother is educated, and values education, she will instill the same values in her children. Mala-ji explained this matter of factly. So the program expanded to provide classes for the mothers. And Vidya continued to expand their services to include micro-credit programs, classes for high school drop-outs, and income-generating enterprises. Again, Mala-ji's conviction was so deep, that I honestly believe that small steps, like teaching conversational English, can lead to major impact in women's lives.

While I'm generally elated to be experiencing India in depth, I'm especially excited to work with this particular NGO, Vidya, because of it's belief in taking practical steps that lead to revolutionary change. A literate woman is an empowered woman, and an empowered woman demands more for herself and her family.

Did I mention that I'm teaching conversational English to women who speak Hindi? Banneker, my dear alma mater, didn't offer Hindi...

Monday, November 06, 2006

Live from New Delhi

And New Delhi is definitely live. When I announced to friends and family that I would be in Delhi on a volunteer service project, I necessarily committed to writing all about it. It's been only three days, and any writing "all about it," this journey to Delhi, would require several days work. So I'll start with my beginning, the ride from the airport.

The major international airport is Indira Gandhi International, the first female prime minister of India, as well as daughter of the first, Nehru, and mother to her successor, Rajiv. Landing in this airport seems especially auspicious.

As every city has a smell, Delhi smells like smoke that lingers after a fire-cracker. This, too, is highly symbolic to me, as the country seems to have in a flash exploded into modernity. The modern sparkles in a buzzing high way, while the dust of the pastrespectively refuses to settle. Auto rick-shaws hold their ground in the lane next to us, and bullocks (bulls) lose their manners on the patches of grass off the side. What do you say to this?

We continue through slums where women hang laundry on ropes outside of dark shanties, dogs wander freely, and men continue their hustle (whatever it may be) as if it were 10 am. Eventually we come to a main highway clogged with more traffic. Add to buses, sleek Hyndais, and grand-dad's old Ford, and you've got Delhi traffic on midnight on Saturday. Our journey continues past brightly lit hotels, neighbors to dilapidated buildings, and ends at a quaint apartment complex that will be my home for the next six weeks.

Contradiction is the word most often used to describe Delhi, and I come to understand more of it through the next day's travels to Old Delhi and Jama Masjid.