A plea: these posts are meant to be my thoughts you can comment on, not my thoughts on display. Please comment! I want to hear about your thoughts and opinions!
The best part about being Indian in a non-Indian society is…just that. You can’t be Indian in India these days. At least not the Indian I grew up thinking I was, or in the India I thought was half way around the world. It’s much easier to defend and live by Indian values when you are in a totally different culture where there’s a clear distinction between Indian and American. When you’re in India, everyone looks like you, eats like you, talks like you… so suddenly the boundaries are blurred, and it’s much more difficult to distinguish yourself and your values from those around you.
I’m in India for the first time trying to do work and trying to get others to help me do work. I wasn’t completely oblivious before I came, but I certainly didn’t expect the pessimism that is rampant in this society. I came here with certain expectations of what “Indian” meant and I looked to those around me to fulfill those expectations. After all, I was in India, and everyone does look like me. Trust…honesty…faith. These were all things I looked for, and instead, much of what I see around me is pessimism and greed.
(Please keep in mind; I am not trying to compare India with the US or any other place. I know each has its own problems, but the following is an explanation of why I am aghast- the fact that my India is not the same as the India I see around me.)
Almost every problem in India can be traced back to one of two culprits: wealth and power. I can quote examples from my daily experience in the hospital. There is a clear power hierarchy among employees, and it is often emphasized. For example, I was in the radiology department the other day conducting surveys. I was sitting in the waiting room with patients watching a doctor, technician, and nurse in a heated meeting. Soon, the doctor leaves and the technician starts yelling at the nurse demanding why she hadn’t told him about a new patient. The nurse just listens and comes back to the reception desk to call for the next patient. I was disgusted watching this display. The technician specifically had to pass the blame from himself to the nurse, and that in front of all the patients in the room. His own position in the power hierarchy is confirmed, and the nurse’s credibility with patients suffers as a result.
This power dynamic is guarded viciously. If someone transgresses their boundaries, he or she pays dearly. If the nurse had said something back to the technician, she would have had her next raise cancelled and perhaps fired. The mentality is common in society as a whole. If you ever catch someone stealing, all you have to do is yell thief! You can be sure that everyone around you will jump to your help and give the offender a through verbal or physical bashing. Punishment comes harshly and quickly in this society. In such a situation, the only way to escape is to make someone else the scapegoat. Often, that person is your inferior, just like the technician with the nurse.
The powerful are often the most wealthy and hold positions of responsibility. If anyone has ever tried to get an official document from a government office or get admission into a college or university in India, you can be sure that his or her story will include money, sucking up, and/or many days of hassle. Getting into any reputable college through merit requires scoring in the top 5-10% of students in your state. If you don’t have the score, you can pay mandatory “donations” to gain acceptance. Want to get a passport? Get ready to stand line for a few days. (But give some exuberant compliments to your acquaintance who has a connection with a desk clerk in the office, and your application gets expedited.)
The display of power is sickening sometimes. Ever seen any of the Indian talent shows or political rallies? Every kid falls at the feet of a no good actor and every supporter clamors for a chance to touch the feet of the party candidate, as though these people are some kind of living miracle. The contestants on these shows and the supporters at these rallies certainly don’t expect to receive genuine blessings from these “big” names. Instead, it is merely a show to propagate the power hierarchy. The contestant sucks up to the celebrity for some brownie points, and the celebrity appears on the show to have the audience salivating at his feet.
For the majority of the society that is not part of these elite wealthy or powerful, life becomes a routine of rooted pessimism and inherent suspicion. You suspect the auto driver and the cloth merchant to overcharge you, and you suspect the cleaning ladies and passengers next to you on the train to steal your things. You suspect conniving beggars and holy men to be frauds and in my case, you suspect anyone who tries to ask you about your experience in a hospital to try to get you in trouble. Even though they were repeatedly told that the survey was confidential, patients would be worried that giving negative feedback would affect their treatment and employees would worry that management would learn of their complaints and lower their pay. It’s a pitiable situation. I was amazed. These people are fueled on this pessimism and suspicion. They lead their lives suspecting each other, and they make a living in spite of the government. Each man protects himself and his immediate family and jumps at every opportunity to earn money. To survive, you eat a little fish, or a bigger fish eats you.
Call me naïve or call me arrogant, but I refuse to believe that the society I see around me is what India has become. I refuse to believe that the values I thought were inherent to this land are lost amidst the rule of wealth and power. I refuse to believe that people are reduced to suspicion because every relationship is utilized for personal gain. I have faith that these values are still latent in some, and that these some will revitalize India to shine in its own light. I have faith that I will see My India again.
26.5.09
19.5.09
An Indian in America or an American in India?
(For all you confused people out there, an American Indian is not the same as an Indian American. The term American Indian, referring to Native Americans, is a misnomer. Native Americans did not come from India and Indian people are not native to North America.)
I was born in a small community hospital in my mother’s hometown of Salem, Tamil Nadu, in south India. I spent the first few years of my life there and in Coimbatore, where my paternal grandparents lived. When I was four, my dad was accepted as a PhD candidate in the University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. About a year after he left, my mother, Suresh, and I joined him in Canada. I arrived knowing two English words: “yes” and “no”.
Pause here. First of all, am I technically a first generation or a second generation immigrant? Does that make me more Indian or more American? Second, you can imagine a couple different options for how our upbringing could be.
1) Our parents could have assimilated completely and let us grow up as “normal” western kids.
2) Our parents could have completely retained all our Indian customs and raised us the same way, without any regard to how we managed the social scene at school.
3) We could have all found a middle ground that made us stick out in both American and Indian communities, but would somehow appease both identities.
We probably shifted several times on this gradient during the past 17-18 years. There have been times where I was angry at my parents, angry at my peers, or just angry at the world. At the same time, there have been moments when I felt like I had the best deal out of the lot. The truth is, these days I simply feel unique, out-of-place, whatever you want to call it. The kind of Indian or American I understand myself to be is not the same held by Americans or Indians. I am some freakish hybrid that somehow matches my life.
Grade school was hell. During the 7-8 years that it took my mom to realize that she couldn’t raise her kids the way she knew and had learned, I lived a double life that was at times torturous. Clothing was always bought in pairs so that my brother and I could wear the same things to school and parties. Hair was neatly parted and oiled, and vibhuti (ashes) adorned our foreheads as we walked into school each morning. Soon after the car pulled away, hair would be remade, and ashes wiped off furtively before any kids would see us. Lunch was simply cruel. So many days we carried nice, spicy curries mixed with rice or spread on bread. While I loved it, kids would make fun of the food and cringe at the smell. I soon learned to eat my lunches separately from the other kids or keep food covered as much as possible. Recess was more exchange of name-calling, hiding, and feeling bad. Yet, through all of this, I was always one of the smartest kids in class. Fear of losing my reputation kept me from fights or adverse events.
Middle school brought on the guilt. I have to mention that my mom has a death stare that would make me feel like a horrible person and literally bring me to tears. Needless to say, I did everything I could to prevent its onset. I also had the biggest guilt conscience and I was ever afraid of being found out. But, how’s a confused 12 year-old supposed to withstand peer pressure? Enter hormones. I still remember the heart pounding and mind wrenching guilt I felt after our graduation dance in 8th grade, where I had danced with a girl for the first time in my life. I was so guilt-ridden that I confessed to my mom soon after. My mom was quite a drama queen when it came to these things, so she was immediately worried that my life was headed in the wrong direction, that I’d get sucked into the never-ending death spiral of modern western culture. Such events and others would make me confused and angry. I didn’t even know who to get angry at or how to proceed, and so I would end up dwelling in a tangled thought process. Thankfully, high school brought on a change.
High school and college were times of maturation and change for both Suresh and me and our parents. We became much more involved in the Sai community and found a niche for ourselves. I think we evolved as a family to take on an identity that was different from the one we came from and the one expected in the local culture. I look at myself over the last few years and I see an amalgamation of spiritual, cultural, and social traits that make me who I am today. I had to peruse my beliefs and truly make them MY beliefs. In the process, however, I set myself up to differ markedly from any particular identity that I might have been associated with. But I like to believe that I garnered the best from both worlds. I find myself defending American ideals in India and defending Indian practices in America. I am cued in to the similarities that lie behind the superficial differences. I think this tendency to see oneness between such cultures is the biggest gift I have received from my upbringing.
Going forward, I’m sure that my identity will play a huge role in relationships, work, and my view on the world. And while it may not be justified to call me purely Indian or American, I am satisfied knowing that I thrive in niche unique to myself.
I was born in a small community hospital in my mother’s hometown of Salem, Tamil Nadu, in south India. I spent the first few years of my life there and in Coimbatore, where my paternal grandparents lived. When I was four, my dad was accepted as a PhD candidate in the University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. About a year after he left, my mother, Suresh, and I joined him in Canada. I arrived knowing two English words: “yes” and “no”.
Pause here. First of all, am I technically a first generation or a second generation immigrant? Does that make me more Indian or more American? Second, you can imagine a couple different options for how our upbringing could be.
1) Our parents could have assimilated completely and let us grow up as “normal” western kids.
2) Our parents could have completely retained all our Indian customs and raised us the same way, without any regard to how we managed the social scene at school.
3) We could have all found a middle ground that made us stick out in both American and Indian communities, but would somehow appease both identities.
We probably shifted several times on this gradient during the past 17-18 years. There have been times where I was angry at my parents, angry at my peers, or just angry at the world. At the same time, there have been moments when I felt like I had the best deal out of the lot. The truth is, these days I simply feel unique, out-of-place, whatever you want to call it. The kind of Indian or American I understand myself to be is not the same held by Americans or Indians. I am some freakish hybrid that somehow matches my life.
Grade school was hell. During the 7-8 years that it took my mom to realize that she couldn’t raise her kids the way she knew and had learned, I lived a double life that was at times torturous. Clothing was always bought in pairs so that my brother and I could wear the same things to school and parties. Hair was neatly parted and oiled, and vibhuti (ashes) adorned our foreheads as we walked into school each morning. Soon after the car pulled away, hair would be remade, and ashes wiped off furtively before any kids would see us. Lunch was simply cruel. So many days we carried nice, spicy curries mixed with rice or spread on bread. While I loved it, kids would make fun of the food and cringe at the smell. I soon learned to eat my lunches separately from the other kids or keep food covered as much as possible. Recess was more exchange of name-calling, hiding, and feeling bad. Yet, through all of this, I was always one of the smartest kids in class. Fear of losing my reputation kept me from fights or adverse events.
Middle school brought on the guilt. I have to mention that my mom has a death stare that would make me feel like a horrible person and literally bring me to tears. Needless to say, I did everything I could to prevent its onset. I also had the biggest guilt conscience and I was ever afraid of being found out. But, how’s a confused 12 year-old supposed to withstand peer pressure? Enter hormones. I still remember the heart pounding and mind wrenching guilt I felt after our graduation dance in 8th grade, where I had danced with a girl for the first time in my life. I was so guilt-ridden that I confessed to my mom soon after. My mom was quite a drama queen when it came to these things, so she was immediately worried that my life was headed in the wrong direction, that I’d get sucked into the never-ending death spiral of modern western culture. Such events and others would make me confused and angry. I didn’t even know who to get angry at or how to proceed, and so I would end up dwelling in a tangled thought process. Thankfully, high school brought on a change.
High school and college were times of maturation and change for both Suresh and me and our parents. We became much more involved in the Sai community and found a niche for ourselves. I think we evolved as a family to take on an identity that was different from the one we came from and the one expected in the local culture. I look at myself over the last few years and I see an amalgamation of spiritual, cultural, and social traits that make me who I am today. I had to peruse my beliefs and truly make them MY beliefs. In the process, however, I set myself up to differ markedly from any particular identity that I might have been associated with. But I like to believe that I garnered the best from both worlds. I find myself defending American ideals in India and defending Indian practices in America. I am cued in to the similarities that lie behind the superficial differences. I think this tendency to see oneness between such cultures is the biggest gift I have received from my upbringing.
Going forward, I’m sure that my identity will play a huge role in relationships, work, and my view on the world. And while it may not be justified to call me purely Indian or American, I am satisfied knowing that I thrive in niche unique to myself.
15.5.09
No Such Thing
Two things:
1. Today, I held hands with a guy.
2. I am not gay.
Growing up in a society that is largely homophobic, I too had the same uneasiness and “uhhh…” reaction when guys held my hands and used my legs as pillows. Yet, as I came to realize, the subliminal messages my brain received from these actions were completely unfounded. In India, male expression and fraternity take on a new shade. Individuality and privacy are literally foreign concepts in this society. In everything from nosy relatives to patients in a waiting room, everyone is all up in everyone else’s business, both mentally and physically.
This is not something I’ve noticed for the first time, but this trip gave me numerous examples that really attuned me to the phenomenon. One of the first indications was the different understanding of the words “respect” and “etiquette.” Personal space is tossed out the window while standing in “lines”. Babies are fair game for anyone passing by to touch and coddle. Autos, buses, and trains are so packed that you must get used to the idea of constantly leaning on someone. If I was in Michigan, no matter how crowded of a room I was in, I would make every effort not to even graze someone accidentally. Even if I did, it would warrant a sincere apology.
Etiquette in India is so different that to someone unaware of the culture, he or she would quickly become offended and/or disgusted. For example, burping and passing gas are understood to be natural bodily functions, an everyday part of life. For my western trained sense of etiquette, it takes just an extra second to realize that it is fine, it is acceptable. After meals, it is expected that we wash our hands (since we had eaten with them) and rinse our mouth, all in a common sink, for which we stand in line for.
To a visitor or a judgmental mind, these things seem peculiar and outrageous. Yet, there is definitely a side to Indian society that is not seen in the US. When it comes to personal space and etiquette, women are given much more respect and privilege than in the West. For example, many buses have separate seats designated for women. When it comes to eating with hands and rinsing, we can see that paper napkins are not used and trees are not wasted. Instead of chewing gum, Indians rinse their mouth to get rid of food particles and smells.
Some of the biggest examples of lack of privacy and confidentiality came from the hospital. I am working in the radiation therapy department. Often, when patients receive treatment, they are required to take off their clothing. To visually monitor the scan, cameras are mounted to be viewed from a control room. Now, this control room opens up directly to the patient waiting area. As a result, patients and their families often walk in to ask questions and turn in paperwork. They also stand and stare at the camera screen to watch the scan. While the treatment is a novel and curious thing, patients and their families have no inhibition of just walking into a control room full of employees. There is also little objection by technicians when these visitors stand and watch the scan of a half-naked patient. I found this simply unbelievable. In addition to the scans themselves, patient records were left on desks and patient information was discussed quite openly. When I interviewed patients about the hospital quality, others would come and look over my shoulder, sit next to the patient and eavesdrop, or even chime in to voice their own opinion. I found myself feeling quite uneasy for the patient, even if watching such behavior was humorous in itself.
I won’t go into it much here, but another major example of the lack of individuality is the phenomenon of extended family living. In such settings, secrets are never allowed, and personal time/ personal space are not even thought about. I think this idea is spread to society as a whole. Liberties taken with family members are extended to the whole society.
India is raw in many respects, especially when compared to the West. People like to talk and are extremely curious. To live here, one has to get accustomed to constantly being in the spotlight and constantly being in a barrage of humanity. I have to admit that these characteristics are slowly changing from the influence of media, especially in the cities, but where I am in rural Gujarat, they are very much present.
Tonight, I’ll probably hang out with the guys again, and probably experience another expression of Indian male fraternity, but maybe I won’t pull my hand away this time…
1. Today, I held hands with a guy.
2. I am not gay.
Growing up in a society that is largely homophobic, I too had the same uneasiness and “uhhh…” reaction when guys held my hands and used my legs as pillows. Yet, as I came to realize, the subliminal messages my brain received from these actions were completely unfounded. In India, male expression and fraternity take on a new shade. Individuality and privacy are literally foreign concepts in this society. In everything from nosy relatives to patients in a waiting room, everyone is all up in everyone else’s business, both mentally and physically.
This is not something I’ve noticed for the first time, but this trip gave me numerous examples that really attuned me to the phenomenon. One of the first indications was the different understanding of the words “respect” and “etiquette.” Personal space is tossed out the window while standing in “lines”. Babies are fair game for anyone passing by to touch and coddle. Autos, buses, and trains are so packed that you must get used to the idea of constantly leaning on someone. If I was in Michigan, no matter how crowded of a room I was in, I would make every effort not to even graze someone accidentally. Even if I did, it would warrant a sincere apology.
Etiquette in India is so different that to someone unaware of the culture, he or she would quickly become offended and/or disgusted. For example, burping and passing gas are understood to be natural bodily functions, an everyday part of life. For my western trained sense of etiquette, it takes just an extra second to realize that it is fine, it is acceptable. After meals, it is expected that we wash our hands (since we had eaten with them) and rinse our mouth, all in a common sink, for which we stand in line for.
To a visitor or a judgmental mind, these things seem peculiar and outrageous. Yet, there is definitely a side to Indian society that is not seen in the US. When it comes to personal space and etiquette, women are given much more respect and privilege than in the West. For example, many buses have separate seats designated for women. When it comes to eating with hands and rinsing, we can see that paper napkins are not used and trees are not wasted. Instead of chewing gum, Indians rinse their mouth to get rid of food particles and smells.
Some of the biggest examples of lack of privacy and confidentiality came from the hospital. I am working in the radiation therapy department. Often, when patients receive treatment, they are required to take off their clothing. To visually monitor the scan, cameras are mounted to be viewed from a control room. Now, this control room opens up directly to the patient waiting area. As a result, patients and their families often walk in to ask questions and turn in paperwork. They also stand and stare at the camera screen to watch the scan. While the treatment is a novel and curious thing, patients and their families have no inhibition of just walking into a control room full of employees. There is also little objection by technicians when these visitors stand and watch the scan of a half-naked patient. I found this simply unbelievable. In addition to the scans themselves, patient records were left on desks and patient information was discussed quite openly. When I interviewed patients about the hospital quality, others would come and look over my shoulder, sit next to the patient and eavesdrop, or even chime in to voice their own opinion. I found myself feeling quite uneasy for the patient, even if watching such behavior was humorous in itself.
I won’t go into it much here, but another major example of the lack of individuality is the phenomenon of extended family living. In such settings, secrets are never allowed, and personal time/ personal space are not even thought about. I think this idea is spread to society as a whole. Liberties taken with family members are extended to the whole society.
India is raw in many respects, especially when compared to the West. People like to talk and are extremely curious. To live here, one has to get accustomed to constantly being in the spotlight and constantly being in a barrage of humanity. I have to admit that these characteristics are slowly changing from the influence of media, especially in the cities, but where I am in rural Gujarat, they are very much present.
Tonight, I’ll probably hang out with the guys again, and probably experience another expression of Indian male fraternity, but maybe I won’t pull my hand away this time…
12.5.09
The Auto: India’s Workhorse
I received a suggestion about focusing my posts and I thought it was a good one, so here goes. It is the first of a variety of topics.
The auto rickshaw (or the auto) is a pillar in Indian transportation. The familiar yellow and black vehicle is a true hybrid. From the outside, it looks like a deformed Volkswagon Bug. If you look underneath, it is a three-wheeled motorized tricycle. Finally, with steering built like a scooter, auto drivers feel free to drive it like one. You can imagine the tight corners, near-hit encounters, and shameless acceleration. In India, autos made a show only in the last few decades. Until then, cycle rickshaws, or rickshaws pulled by a person pedaling a bike, or pulling on his own feet, were the norm for personal hired transport. Today, these autos can be found all over Southeast Asia for their practicality in obtaining transportation, and as promising business ventures for many families.
Don’t be led into thinking that these vehicles and their drivers are anything less than hardy. Yesterday, I accompanied a few friends to a nearby town to get groceries. As the norm, we hailed an auto. This auto was a special cargo auto, so it had room for two extra people in the truck of the vehicle. With those extra seats, the total legal number that could ride the auto, including the driver, is six. I thought I was living on the edge (I was actually the last person in the seat, and I could’ve reached out with my leg and touched the road) with eight people on the way there. How foolish I was to underestimate the preferred transport of millions in India! It is the comfort for the bus missers, the companion for scooter-less families, and the proven choice for groups anywhere up to ten people. Needless to say, on the way back from to the Ashram, we crammed seventeen people in there! I was honestly impressed with the vehicle, with the driver who didn’t even sit in front of the steering, and the passengers, who had only one foot and one hand in contact with the auto.
We can’t forget to mention the wonderful roads that these vehicles navigate. These state roads are often not built completely smooth to start with, and vehicles, carts, bicycles, trucks, and the monsoon all tirelessly wear away the road. Therefore, driving on these roads is a true obstacle course. Oncoming traffic is the least of your worries. Avoiding potholes, animals, sand, and other obstacles make for an interesting ride. These autos shake and shudder with each pothole and bump in the road. With no evidence of shock absorbers, the thing shakes like some crane picked it up and banged it on the road a couple times. Miraculously, due to the brilliance of Indian engineering, they somehow make it through. The wheels are specially built to withstand these conditions. These are small donuts harder than normal tires.
If anyone reading this has missed out on the joy of riding in the auto rickshaw, I highly recommend you do so. It is pure entertainment watching these vehicles navigate the roads of India.
The auto rickshaw (or the auto) is a pillar in Indian transportation. The familiar yellow and black vehicle is a true hybrid. From the outside, it looks like a deformed Volkswagon Bug. If you look underneath, it is a three-wheeled motorized tricycle. Finally, with steering built like a scooter, auto drivers feel free to drive it like one. You can imagine the tight corners, near-hit encounters, and shameless acceleration. In India, autos made a show only in the last few decades. Until then, cycle rickshaws, or rickshaws pulled by a person pedaling a bike, or pulling on his own feet, were the norm for personal hired transport. Today, these autos can be found all over Southeast Asia for their practicality in obtaining transportation, and as promising business ventures for many families.
Don’t be led into thinking that these vehicles and their drivers are anything less than hardy. Yesterday, I accompanied a few friends to a nearby town to get groceries. As the norm, we hailed an auto. This auto was a special cargo auto, so it had room for two extra people in the truck of the vehicle. With those extra seats, the total legal number that could ride the auto, including the driver, is six. I thought I was living on the edge (I was actually the last person in the seat, and I could’ve reached out with my leg and touched the road) with eight people on the way there. How foolish I was to underestimate the preferred transport of millions in India! It is the comfort for the bus missers, the companion for scooter-less families, and the proven choice for groups anywhere up to ten people. Needless to say, on the way back from to the Ashram, we crammed seventeen people in there! I was honestly impressed with the vehicle, with the driver who didn’t even sit in front of the steering, and the passengers, who had only one foot and one hand in contact with the auto.
We can’t forget to mention the wonderful roads that these vehicles navigate. These state roads are often not built completely smooth to start with, and vehicles, carts, bicycles, trucks, and the monsoon all tirelessly wear away the road. Therefore, driving on these roads is a true obstacle course. Oncoming traffic is the least of your worries. Avoiding potholes, animals, sand, and other obstacles make for an interesting ride. These autos shake and shudder with each pothole and bump in the road. With no evidence of shock absorbers, the thing shakes like some crane picked it up and banged it on the road a couple times. Miraculously, due to the brilliance of Indian engineering, they somehow make it through. The wheels are specially built to withstand these conditions. These are small donuts harder than normal tires.
If anyone reading this has missed out on the joy of riding in the auto rickshaw, I highly recommend you do so. It is pure entertainment watching these vehicles navigate the roads of India.
9.5.09
A Culture of Heart
I apologize for not updating for the last couple days. I got into the thick of reading Shantaram and everything else was subsequently neglected. This book is terrifyingly descriptive, and while at times difficult to continue reading, the reader is caught in the middle of a mental movie. It certainly sheds light on the extent of mafia rings in Bombay. I would recommend it only to those who have a strong stomach for such things.
Besides this book, my time has been consumed by administering these satisfaction questionnaires to patients. While I expected much more critical remarks and mediocre ratings, the majority of patients gave nines and tens. I couldn’t understand why until I spoke with one of the technicians working there. These villagers (and city folks) did not have another reference to compare against this hospital. Like every government office, bank, court, etc., a clear system of hierarchy dominates the proceedings in the hospital. The technicians snap at patients, supervisors exert their influence over technicians, doctors exhibit their status through little communication with patients and annoyed comments to other workers, and administers grumble about lack of commitment on the part of doctors. Each calls his superior sir, but his co-workers and those below him are beckoned on a first name basis. Even though this isn’t the first time these norms stuck out to me, I am still fascinated by how everyone fills their role and the demeanor expected of them. I found this in other settings as well. The system is not allowed to be broken. On our daily village trips, besides Dr. Pandey, a nurse and a helper joined us. The extent of power distribution even in that small group was disconcerting, especially because I was included in the hierarchy. Dr. Pandey and I would sit comfortably in the van while the nurse and the helper shared a small seat. Both he and I would sit on chairs in the villages while the nurse and helper sat on the ground or ledges. They would serve us cold water and cha, and take the plastic cup from me even though I would insist on disposing of it. I was adamantly refused when I would try help in carrying supplies and medicines. I realized that even though I would try to impose my American beliefs on gender equality and personal rights, the system would not budge. In fact, if I wasn’t conscientious of it, I would likely be sucked into it as well. The system allowed for people to better their own position as well, and people readily took on the new powers associated with a promotion, increased age, wealth, etc. While it isn’t a system I am comfortable with, perhaps this is how a country with so many people can function at all…
I spent Friday afternoon in Baroda. I took the Ashram bus that runs to and from Baroda a few times each day. I didn’t know this before, but they provided passengers with complimentary showers! I was literally drenched by the time I arrived in Baroda. I had also ingeniously decided to mix my mango russ with chaas (buttermilk) to make a mango lassie for lunch, and had a glass too many. So I arrived in Baroda disheveled, soaked, and stomach ready to burst. Fortunately, I walked around a little bit while I was waiting for my ride and my stomach decided to behave. I think I could’ve taken about 10-15 pictures during that half hour that would’ve entertained people for hours. I saw so many interesting people, ways of transport, livelihoods, etc. There were several women who wore a salwar kamiz with a head scarf, a scarf covering their face, arm gloves that went all the way up to the sleeve of their salwar, and to top it off, dark sunglasses that completely covered the little skin on their face not covered by the scarves. They looked like mannequins displaying society’s approval of riding on their own scooter, but only if properly covered. I find myself finding this contrast of modernity and traditional culture all over the place. The picture above is one of several I could’ve taken.
After Mr. Uday picked me up, we went to this store called more. Megastore. I had this odd feeling that I was entering the Indian Meijer. The place was just like it! The parking lots outside had grocery carts lined up for customers. As you walked in, you could see signs posted for each aisle, posters for sales, and store employees in uniform greeting you. I was duly impressed. I was able to get everything from undershirts and towels to bananas and bread in the store. It was funny how red delicious apples and pears were about three times the prices of pineapples, mangoes, and bananas. However, I was generally impressed with the prices. I think the store could easily cater to upper middle class families. When we checked out, we used Mr. Uday’s membership card to gain a few points. We went to his home for a little while and then left for the Ashram. We stopped by a fruit seller on the street on the way and it occurred to me that as much as India develops these large scare chain stores and restaurants, it was these street vendors and small proprietors that kept the country running. What a country, na?
Besides this book, my time has been consumed by administering these satisfaction questionnaires to patients. While I expected much more critical remarks and mediocre ratings, the majority of patients gave nines and tens. I couldn’t understand why until I spoke with one of the technicians working there. These villagers (and city folks) did not have another reference to compare against this hospital. Like every government office, bank, court, etc., a clear system of hierarchy dominates the proceedings in the hospital. The technicians snap at patients, supervisors exert their influence over technicians, doctors exhibit their status through little communication with patients and annoyed comments to other workers, and administers grumble about lack of commitment on the part of doctors. Each calls his superior sir, but his co-workers and those below him are beckoned on a first name basis. Even though this isn’t the first time these norms stuck out to me, I am still fascinated by how everyone fills their role and the demeanor expected of them. I found this in other settings as well. The system is not allowed to be broken. On our daily village trips, besides Dr. Pandey, a nurse and a helper joined us. The extent of power distribution even in that small group was disconcerting, especially because I was included in the hierarchy. Dr. Pandey and I would sit comfortably in the van while the nurse and the helper shared a small seat. Both he and I would sit on chairs in the villages while the nurse and helper sat on the ground or ledges. They would serve us cold water and cha, and take the plastic cup from me even though I would insist on disposing of it. I was adamantly refused when I would try help in carrying supplies and medicines. I realized that even though I would try to impose my American beliefs on gender equality and personal rights, the system would not budge. In fact, if I wasn’t conscientious of it, I would likely be sucked into it as well. The system allowed for people to better their own position as well, and people readily took on the new powers associated with a promotion, increased age, wealth, etc. While it isn’t a system I am comfortable with, perhaps this is how a country with so many people can function at all…
I spent Friday afternoon in Baroda. I took the Ashram bus that runs to and from Baroda a few times each day. I didn’t know this before, but they provided passengers with complimentary showers! I was literally drenched by the time I arrived in Baroda. I had also ingeniously decided to mix my mango russ with chaas (buttermilk) to make a mango lassie for lunch, and had a glass too many. So I arrived in Baroda disheveled, soaked, and stomach ready to burst. Fortunately, I walked around a little bit while I was waiting for my ride and my stomach decided to behave. I think I could’ve taken about 10-15 pictures during that half hour that would’ve entertained people for hours. I saw so many interesting people, ways of transport, livelihoods, etc. There were several women who wore a salwar kamiz with a head scarf, a scarf covering their face, arm gloves that went all the way up to the sleeve of their salwar, and to top it off, dark sunglasses that completely covered the little skin on their face not covered by the scarves. They looked like mannequins displaying society’s approval of riding on their own scooter, but only if properly covered. I find myself finding this contrast of modernity and traditional culture all over the place. The picture above is one of several I could’ve taken.
After Mr. Uday picked me up, we went to this store called more. Megastore. I had this odd feeling that I was entering the Indian Meijer. The place was just like it! The parking lots outside had grocery carts lined up for customers. As you walked in, you could see signs posted for each aisle, posters for sales, and store employees in uniform greeting you. I was duly impressed. I was able to get everything from undershirts and towels to bananas and bread in the store. It was funny how red delicious apples and pears were about three times the prices of pineapples, mangoes, and bananas. However, I was generally impressed with the prices. I think the store could easily cater to upper middle class families. When we checked out, we used Mr. Uday’s membership card to gain a few points. We went to his home for a little while and then left for the Ashram. We stopped by a fruit seller on the street on the way and it occurred to me that as much as India develops these large scare chain stores and restaurants, it was these street vendors and small proprietors that kept the country running. What a country, na?
5.5.09
They’re coming for me!
5/5/09
Today was all in all a good day. I now have internet access directly from my laptop, which is pretty sweet. It’s still somewhat interesting to sit in the out patient waiting room typing on my computer. I feel like I’m in a zoo when I’m in that room. Every guy and his mom (literally) have to stop and stare at the marvel of a guy typing on a laptop with his headphones in. I can understand why, but it’s not like I’m from another planet or something.. (then again, for these people, coming from the US is like coming from another planet!).
The surveys for the patients and the employees are almost ready. We just need to find someone who can help me with the Gujarati. I’m looking forward to speaking with the patients.
It’s really nice to get phone calls from people. I got two today! Like I mentioned yesterday, it still bewilders me to think about how I can communicate with people on the other side of the earth less than half a mile away from people whose livelihood consists of herding cows (although, once the day’s herding is done, they go back to their tiny mud huts to kick back after a long day in front of the family tube, which…for some odd reason…is likely their most expensive possession. It just shows the blanket effect of television in Indian culture, whether it be in luxurious flat in Mumbai or a mud hut outside Goraj.)
We again visited two villages today. There was a marriage going on, so the number of patients was much lower. Regardless, several kids came in, including a chubby baby. What was interesting was that the mother who came in with the baby also had a two or three year old child who was literally skin and bones. Scenes like these illustrate why it is understandable that India’s under 5 mortality rate is so high. In the rural setting, even if children are somehow born completely healthy, the first few years of life are very difficult with exposure to the environment and malnutrition. India, the land of contrasts. Kya karen?
Anyways, during the visit I had the chance to talk to Dr. Pandey for a while. We talked about our project for a little bit, but then the conversation switched to the Ashram and its management. Even in a place like Muni Seva Ashram that has supporters across the world, politics within the organization remains a problem. Once Pujya Anuben Thakkar (the founder) passed away in 2001, Dr. Vikram Patel took over. In the last 15 years, the Ashram had expanded rapidly. Now, a small trust oversees the entire Ashram, which they now see as being inadequate. However, for people like Dr. Pandey, it is difficult to implement any consistent policies since the administrative infrastructure is absent. It is difficult for someone who was involved with an organization from its beginnings to let go and let others manage. It became clear to me that especially in the nonprofit sector in India, the founder, donors, and other stakeholders egos are consistently fighting for glamour. (I must qualify that isn’t the case with ALL organizations, but it is evident with the ones I have interacted with so far.)
We also talked about the types of diseases he sees. Apparently, Gujarat has one of the most developed rural infrastructure systems in India. While I found this somewhat appalling, I did see electricity lines, schools, a resemblance of a road, and water access at every village I had seen so far. Hypertension is very common, even though these people are quite lean and often malnourished. This wasn’t a case of the affluent sicknesses, but rather, it added credence to the finding that Indians have one of the highest rates of cardiovascular problems in the world. I was also curious about what it was like practicing medicine in rural India, so I asked him if he ever misdiagnosed a patient. He started telling me about a case of a 13 year old boy who came in with symptoms of vomiting blood. Dr. Pandey checked his heart, found that there was some problem, and decided to prescribe steroids without checking any other part of the boy’s body. The next day, the boy started to vomit blood massively, and he was rushed to the hospital. In the end, he was given blood, and he eventually stabilized. I found myself thinking about the book I had just finished, How Doctors Think, in which the author outlines the various cognitive errors that doctors make. In this instance, it was a clear case of “search satisficing,” where the physician stops searching for a problem once the first one is found. It was interesting to me how common these cognitive errors were in doctors, especially those that became used to certain types of diagnoses.
I’m making friends with some of the other docs in the Ashram as well. One of the invited me to play table tennis with them the next time they played. It was a refreshing conversation!
On an important note… apparently insects think they can just invade my room. I found a little crawly guy in my toothbrush case for the third time today! There are a couple tiny holes on the bottom they somehow manage to get in. Also, I got bitten by mosquitoes for the first time today. I swear, this is just the beginning. I can’t wait till the rainy season…
Today was all in all a good day. I now have internet access directly from my laptop, which is pretty sweet. It’s still somewhat interesting to sit in the out patient waiting room typing on my computer. I feel like I’m in a zoo when I’m in that room. Every guy and his mom (literally) have to stop and stare at the marvel of a guy typing on a laptop with his headphones in. I can understand why, but it’s not like I’m from another planet or something.. (then again, for these people, coming from the US is like coming from another planet!).
The surveys for the patients and the employees are almost ready. We just need to find someone who can help me with the Gujarati. I’m looking forward to speaking with the patients.
It’s really nice to get phone calls from people. I got two today! Like I mentioned yesterday, it still bewilders me to think about how I can communicate with people on the other side of the earth less than half a mile away from people whose livelihood consists of herding cows (although, once the day’s herding is done, they go back to their tiny mud huts to kick back after a long day in front of the family tube, which…for some odd reason…is likely their most expensive possession. It just shows the blanket effect of television in Indian culture, whether it be in luxurious flat in Mumbai or a mud hut outside Goraj.)
We again visited two villages today. There was a marriage going on, so the number of patients was much lower. Regardless, several kids came in, including a chubby baby. What was interesting was that the mother who came in with the baby also had a two or three year old child who was literally skin and bones. Scenes like these illustrate why it is understandable that India’s under 5 mortality rate is so high. In the rural setting, even if children are somehow born completely healthy, the first few years of life are very difficult with exposure to the environment and malnutrition. India, the land of contrasts. Kya karen?
Anyways, during the visit I had the chance to talk to Dr. Pandey for a while. We talked about our project for a little bit, but then the conversation switched to the Ashram and its management. Even in a place like Muni Seva Ashram that has supporters across the world, politics within the organization remains a problem. Once Pujya Anuben Thakkar (the founder) passed away in 2001, Dr. Vikram Patel took over. In the last 15 years, the Ashram had expanded rapidly. Now, a small trust oversees the entire Ashram, which they now see as being inadequate. However, for people like Dr. Pandey, it is difficult to implement any consistent policies since the administrative infrastructure is absent. It is difficult for someone who was involved with an organization from its beginnings to let go and let others manage. It became clear to me that especially in the nonprofit sector in India, the founder, donors, and other stakeholders egos are consistently fighting for glamour. (I must qualify that isn’t the case with ALL organizations, but it is evident with the ones I have interacted with so far.)
We also talked about the types of diseases he sees. Apparently, Gujarat has one of the most developed rural infrastructure systems in India. While I found this somewhat appalling, I did see electricity lines, schools, a resemblance of a road, and water access at every village I had seen so far. Hypertension is very common, even though these people are quite lean and often malnourished. This wasn’t a case of the affluent sicknesses, but rather, it added credence to the finding that Indians have one of the highest rates of cardiovascular problems in the world. I was also curious about what it was like practicing medicine in rural India, so I asked him if he ever misdiagnosed a patient. He started telling me about a case of a 13 year old boy who came in with symptoms of vomiting blood. Dr. Pandey checked his heart, found that there was some problem, and decided to prescribe steroids without checking any other part of the boy’s body. The next day, the boy started to vomit blood massively, and he was rushed to the hospital. In the end, he was given blood, and he eventually stabilized. I found myself thinking about the book I had just finished, How Doctors Think, in which the author outlines the various cognitive errors that doctors make. In this instance, it was a clear case of “search satisficing,” where the physician stops searching for a problem once the first one is found. It was interesting to me how common these cognitive errors were in doctors, especially those that became used to certain types of diagnoses.
I’m making friends with some of the other docs in the Ashram as well. One of the invited me to play table tennis with them the next time they played. It was a refreshing conversation!
On an important note… apparently insects think they can just invade my room. I found a little crawly guy in my toothbrush case for the third time today! There are a couple tiny holes on the bottom they somehow manage to get in. Also, I got bitten by mosquitoes for the first time today. I swear, this is just the beginning. I can’t wait till the rainy season…
“In India, our minutes have 120 seconds…”
5/4/09
The auto rickshaw ride from Baroda to Muni Seva Ashram gave me a sharp reminder that I was in India. By sharp, I mean the sharp rap on my head from an exposed bar above my head every time the auto jumped a few inches off the ground. By the time I arrived, I had dust in my eyes and hair, sweat running down my back, and a few bruises on my head and bottom from the pot holes and rocks that we ran over. As the rickshaw driver was pulling away, I shamefully smiled to myself as I realized I probably paid too much. Whatever…welcome to India!
I won’t go into detail about the Ashram here, but in short, Muni Seva Ashram is a bright light for education, healthcare, and social services in the middle of rural Gujarat. Each day, over a thousand people benefit from the Ashram’s services and activities. It is entirely nonprofit, yet provides cutting edge services in its hospitals and utilizes modern green technology for energy.
I spent the first two days at the Ashram getting settled in. I unpacked in the little room assigned to me. It has a desk, a cot, an almari, a couple chairs, a tv with fuzzy channels, a fridge, and an attached bathroom. A word about trying to stay cool… Fortunately, water is not an issue. The whole Ashram has filtered water, and there is a water cooler in the canteen nearby. I am guzzling down about a liter or more of water a day. Needless to say, the single ceiling fan in the room is kept on constantly (although I later realized that even though the fan was on, it was only blowing down the hot air that rose to the ceiling…). I learned to keep the curtains drawn during the day, and turn off the fan and open the curtains early mornings and late evenings. Sleeping is another story of its own. The last couple of days especially were difficult. As one can imagine, trying to sleep when it’s as hot outside your body as it is inside your body is not an easy task. Put jet lag on top of that, along with the realization that I’m stuck here for the next four months in a place where I could count on one hand the number of people I could have a conversation with (Yes, I’ll admit, I did feel homesick!), and it becomes kafi mushkil. Fortunately, I started reading my books, I found the internet on the second day, and my philosophic self took hold so I was able to find a routine for myself.
Today was my first official day. I am currently with Dr. Pandey, a pediatrician at the hospital. One of the first things he said to me was the title of this entry. What he said is certainly true. Somehow, a task that would take a half hour at home takes two or three times longer in India, especially in a work setting. Even he admits that he is the same way. Once you enter the system, you get absorbed into it. I think this is an immutable and defining aspect of India. You just can’t force the western quest for efficiency on a society that knows its bustle, but also its rest.
I am working a few projects for Dr. Pandey. Along with my own sustainability research, we are working on developing a guide for cancer patients and their families on how to deal with the illness post treatment. As a result, the majority of my work is spent on a computer, which I don’t really mind. The part of the day that is most interesting to me is in the evenings. Dr. Pandey, I, a nurse, and a helper all loaded up into a classic Indian van converted into an ambulance and set off to a nearby village. Each day, Dr. Pandey would visit two villages to provide care for local residents. Without this volunteer effort on behalf of Dr. Pandey, these villagers would most likely not seek treatment unless it was life threatening. Today, we visited two villages and I found myself in awe, recognition, and shame. Awe- because of the ability of these villagers to find all the happiness they could want in surroundings that seem almost barbarian to someone like myself. Recognition- because I realized these villagers could have come from some town in Tamil Nadu. I would venture to say that there are several similarities between these villagers and inner city residents in the US. Shame- because my poor understanding thus far of what life in a rural village was like in the eyes of a resident of that village. By the time we finished, the sun had set and the village was dark except for a few gleams of light from candle flames, since the electricity had gone out. On the ride back to the Ashram, I was trying to reconcile the thoughts and emotions that were running through me, but I couldn’t arrive at a conclusion. Pulling into the Ashram was such a stark difference from what we had just seen. I walked past a state of the art hospital with radiation oncology technology and internet while I had just been standing on the patios of homes built with a mixture of mud and cow dung. I think a good description of this shocking contrast comes from a line in the opening pages of Shantaram, it’s as if the future of this place had crashed into the present, with both existing side by side.
Lord, I’m in for an interesting ride!
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