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?
1 comment:
NEXT TIME UR IN BARODA CALL ME!!!
GIVE ME UR INDIA PHONE NUMBER ILL CALL U!!
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