The Play

The Play

“Meri Kahani: My Story” is a play written by my wonderful cousin Mehreen, and her friend Umbreen. As their master’s thesis, they interviewed many South Asian immigrants in Toronto who were victims of domestic violence and complied all their stories into a play. Meri Kahani has gotten an intense amount of recognition in Toronto and has now been put on at least 22 times.

I respect what Mehreen and Umbreen did as it brings out a social issue through a different and unique outlet. I highly believe in using art to increase awareness and was in awe of their efforts. In my time in Hyderabad I was introduced to a woman named Mala, a friend of my cousin Winsome, who easily started to treat me like family. I found out she used to act in Hyderabad, than one thing led to another and we are started to initiate the play in Hyderabad. I really wanted to be able to bring out these social issues in a unique way and thought the themes and stories that were focused on in Meri Kahani were exact issues that occur everyday in India, however are never spoken about.

Seven months later after lots of planning on the side, outside of work, Meri Kahani was finally brought to India. We put on two shows, one on May 9th and one on May 10th. The first showing had many attendees from very prestigious backgrounds and are people that make very big decisions in Hyderabad. This excited me because these are people that get things done here and their awareness could even change laws. The rest of the attendees for the first and the second show included many people of different backgrounds. We were very unsure of how the audience would react, as the content of the play deals with issues that are readily present in the lives of these people; however are never spoken of. Though our fears were valid, the community reacted in the exact opposite way. The cast and crew were applauded on their performances (I had the privilege of acting as one of the lead monologues in the show, it was 25 minutes long!! How I memorized all that, I have no idea!) and many people thanked us for bringing such discussions alive. After the play, though the audience was shocked by the content and interesting conversations were arising left and right. Many people still had tears in their eyes from being able to relate to a character, others were shocked that they had not realized this was a reality. Meri Kahahi was covered in all the news papers and yours truly’s photograph was displayed many times in the paper. We also have a local magazine covering the event.

In the next few months the play plans to travel all over India and to other communities in Hyderabad. Though I will not be able to be a part of it, I am proud to have been one of the people who started this play in India. I am so thankful to Mehreen for giving us the rights to use the play. I cannot describe to her or anyone else how much of an impact this play had on the community and I am so glad I had the opportunity to make a difference in such a unique way during my stay in India, and also use my passion of theater and acting.

Finally I wanted to state how lucky I am to have so many people support me. Everyone of my friends attended the play and as I did my monologue, I could see all their faces in the audiences, listening attentively and being supportive. Sumit, Kendra and Vaani even came from Bangalore and Pune to come watch the show and their support and excitement really kept me going. Our cast and crew also happen to be an amazing group of people. We really lucked out in the people we just happened to run into and now these people have become close friends of mine.

Labor in India

I moved last week. Sad to say I had to leave the cherished “gullie” to a higher class, though much safer area in Hyderabad. My wonderful roommate Archana is moving back to Pune and I was lucky enough to find two girls my age that would allow me to rent a room for the little time I am left here.

The flat is set up that it is actually two stories. There is an elevator leading up to the front door, however my room is on the second story of the house, which means stairs are necessary to get to my room. Just days before the move I had gotten into an auto accident, hurting my knee a bit, which restricted my ability to lift things, and Arjun, my friend who helped me move, was the only able body. Labor being so cheap here we asked the man that works somewhere in the flat to help us and we would pay home some extra money. I didn’t notice too much as I was running around everywhere, until he started to walk up the stairs to my room. Here was this old man, frail and petite, carrying my extremely large suit case on his shoulder. Meaning he wasn’t lifting it the way we normally do going up a stair case, but he literally lifted the suitcase onto his shoulder and was walking up the staircase with it on his tiny shoulders. My heart literally skipped a beat and I was overwhelmed with sadness. I watched him as he continued to help us, non grudgingly, ever so eagerly and just felt my heart wrench. In my opinion he should be at home, enjoying his old age and reaping the benefits of working hard all his life. Yet this is a situation with many elderly people, still required to work, and difficult physical labor on top of that, because of poverty. I asked how Arjun how much I should pay him and he suggested a price, I personally felt it was too small and asked if it was ok that I paid him more, Arjun thankfully said what I have often heard my mom say “if you feel the need to give it, then never hesitate”.

This sight is tragically common here, even in a modern city like Hyderabad. For construction work businesses use migrants workers, people who have come from their villages to find work, to construct buildings and bridges. They do what machines normally do in the western worlds. For example they transport large rocks by carrying them, or gravel or rubble on baskets over their heads. They do all this work, while also being bare foot. It’s already difficult to see very weak looking men do this work, but it’s not only them. Elderly men and women participate in the work, along with women and children. A few days back I passed by a bridge or a “fly over” in an auto on my way to a meeting and was watching these laborers sitting bellow the bridge. I got lost in the sight of a mom with torn clothes and dust all over her face feeding her child the small amount of rice she had. They were sitting in the rubble under the “fly over” to have shade from the sun.

Everyday, in every location there are strong visuals of the poverty that exists in India. I even can’t even begin to describe to you the poverty I see in the slums. Yet the days go by and people go on with their lives. Though I cannot help these people individually there are ways to help them as a large whole, which I am trying to do. However there are so many people here that have become numb to these situations. It’s tragically dominant existence in normal everyday life for locals to be constantly empathetic towards it. Though I feel that these visions should not take over someone’s life and that we should live in constant depression, again a lack of awareness still exists, meaning there are fewer opportunities to change these lifestyles in the future.

The margin between high class and low class is so incredibly large. I constantly run into families that have barely a dollar to their name, who work difficult jobs day in and day out, while there are people who have so much that they do not know what to do with their money. A significant part of higher class society here are not even aware of the situations and lifestyles that are occurring right around the corner from them. Many people I meet here are captivated by the fact that I came to India to do social work, yet they are more interested in the fact that I am from California than they are in the type of work I actually do.

Varanasi

Varanasi is considered one of the must see places of India. It is located in the north in Uttar Pradesh, which is considered practically the Hindu capital. Varanasi has a river, “ganga”, which has kilometers of “ghats” (those steps leading down to the water) built along side of it. The “ganga” is considered to be very holy and people believe the waters have healing powers. Thus many of those “ghats” have themes that utilize the holy water. The city usually is bombarded with pilgrims from all over India who come to cleanse in the holy water. There are “ghats” that are focused around “poojas” a type of prayer, there are bathing “ghats” where people come every morning and bathe themselves and wash their clothes and finally there is also the cremation “ghat”.

In Hindu religion people are cremated once they have passed away. When visiting Varanasi you can literally watch from overhead, first the line of bodies waiting to be cremated, people being wrapped up in special materials, covered in wood, burned, and then their ashes being spread into the water. I know many people who have visited Varanasi and felt the actual process was disturbing. However I did not find the process disturbing but more what could be considered discrimination, in who is allowed to be cremated in this holy place, depending on your opinion of course.

Many religious people from around the country would value having their cremation done on the “ghats” in Varanasi right above the ganga. However there are certain types of people that are not allowed to be cremated. This includes from what I gathered in my bad Hindi: Sadus (wondering pilgrims devout to the religion who have renounced normal life attempting to find a higher connection to the religion), Dalits (the untouchable caste), pregnant woman, leprosy patients, poor people, people with small pox, etc. They are not allowed to be cremated; instead their bodies are tied to rocks and thrown into the river. In addition, the more you can pay the better type of wood you get. If the family has less money, the person’s cremation happens with cheaper quality wood. If the family is well off, the body will be burned with expensive wood, the highest being sandalwood. It seems very similar to how people’s coffins are chosen.

I am not trying to insult any sort or religious rituals, I just find it interesting and became more aware in Varanasi that your social and financial status can even follow you to your death, as in many other religions.

Katie and I also noticed that even though the family members were there at the cremation, there was very little, obvious grieving. I am sure there was internal grieving that we wouldn’t be able to recognize, however we are more accustomed to people mourning openly, obviously. At the cremation “ghats” where there were plenty of families holding the last rights for their deceased family members, yet there was not this overpowering sense of sadness, but more of a, people are doing their work and getting on their way feeling. It makes you speculate, in a country when there is so much death because of poverty, general diseases and because the population is so large, does death become less painful, more accepted? Or is it that people just grieve in a different way, more of a cultural sort form of expression?

The second picture is men carrying wood for the cremation. You can see in the back all the piles of wood.

For all the pictures of Varanasi:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2228967&l=2a2b5&id=6011342

Goat

Today…I was chased by a goat down the street...

Holi!

Holi

The celebration of Holi is always something I have dreamed about, after watching old Hindi movies where the village all plays Holi and sings a song together. For those of you who don’t know Holi is an Indian festival that celebrates the triumph over evil and is the carnival of colors. On one specific day, besides the other traditions, people will throw a variation of colored powder at each other in celebration. To make it extremely dirty, they start to add water to the color and establish a real color festival right on one’s clothes.

I got the opportunity to celebrate Holi with my wonderful friends here in Hyderabad. Vikram went through a lot of hassle to set up Holi for all of us. Our day began with my friend Arjun invading my doorstep covered in colors. I became incredibly rude and made him sit outside as to not stain my house. My neighbor Mona called me over under house issues pretence and surprised me with color on my face. We continued to meet up with the rest of our friends and head to the first party. On the way, sitting on my friend’s motorcycle, I could see the city covered in colors. Adults on the street walked around with stained clothes, the roads were filled with colored water, and kids were holding water bottles with colored water ready to squirt any passer. The auto rickshaws were even covered with an array of colors. As we arrived at the first party I was immediately drenched in colors, then a bucket of colored water. No point in trying to slowly progress into the games I guess. After an hour or two of attacking each other with colors and water we progressed onto the next party, where the same continued. After which a group of 20 people continues to relax, play games and talk.

Finally later on in the evening we came home to the start of Hyderabad rain. As we go down my gullie (small street) we see vendors selling colors and decide to buy a pack and continue to attack each other, in the rain on my roof. We do not have buckets of water but the rain seems to be helping us. By the end of this fight my teeth were officially colored green and pink since everyone decided it was necessary to attack my face. After the fact I had to take a 45 minute shower to look even semi decent. My friend Shilpa and I went to dinner and everyone in the restaurant had post shower stains on their hands and faces. Fun times man!

Rest of the pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2221578&l=ab118&id=6011342

Who I met today

Who I met today

Today I met a woman poet born and raised in Hyderabad. Though she was satisfied writing poetry, in the back of her mind she was aware of harsh injustices that exist towards females in India. With that she decided to create her own NGO which focused on domestic violence, and continue to write poetry.

Today I met a Muslim woman who was forced into marriage at the young age of sixteen. Her future fiancé was not an educated man, however those who arranged her marriage knew she was intelligent and still studying so assumed that she could take care of the family. After marriage the woman continued with her education and later became a teacher. As time passed, though the woman was individually supporting her husband and the child in her womb, the husband became resentful towards his wife’s intelligence and felt she was too smart for her own good. In a rage of fury he attacked her and literally cut off her whole nose. Bleeding profusely, this woman was rushed to the emergency room by alarmed neighbors as her husband proceeded on to the police station holding his wife’s nose, announcing his crime. The police did not take any action and the husband ran away, never to return. Now this woman is left, struggling to raise her child. Her face his terribly scarred, and even after plastic surgery she scarcely has a nose. Her face obviously displays a huge open gap and plenty of dark scares. Though her face is an obvious reminder of the results domestic violence, her parents (who she now lives with) are still upset with her for being without a husband and for doing outreach work against domestic violence.

Today I met another young Muslim girl who is now fourteen years of age. When she was thirteen she was kidnapped from her home and held captive for seven months by a man from a nearby village. There, beyond forcing her to fulfill the duties of domestic help, he brutally raped her every single day. As if the physical violation she endured wasn’t enough, she was forced, every evening, to sit outside of the house absolutely naked so everyone in the village could see her. When she inevitably became pregnant the kidnapper discarded her like a piece of trash back in front of her home. He has since done the same with another young girl and was later murdered by the other girl’s family members. This girl now lives at a home where her parents are humiliated by her. She deals with a constant flow verbal abuse of how she has shamed her family’s name by becoming pregnant without being married. She stays at the domestic violence center all day and returns home early evening, only when it is unsafe for her to be out, to avoid constant verbal abuse from her parents.

Another woman I met today is from the Dalit (untouchable) caste. In Hyderabad, because of such a strong Muslim community, her family has also taken up the Purda system (face covering) as many other Dalit families have done. She was never allowed outside of her house, with or without a male, and was not allowed to study. She was married off promptly at the age of sixteen and also experienced some domestic violence at home, the details of which she was too shy to share with me. She has now started working at the center at the age of eighteen and has for the first time in her life seen “Charminar”, a well known monument in Hyderabad. This monument was just by her house her entire life, but she had never set eyes on it because of the lack of freedom she had.

Another Muslim girl I met today has been privileged enough to be allowed to educate herself up to tenth standard, versus most Muslim women in impoverished areas who are expected to support the family, but aren’t allowed to be educated or leave the houses. She herself has chosen to take up social work and has started working at this domestic violence center which does fantastic work with oppressed women. Every single day upon her return home she gets attacked by her parents who do not approve of her doing this work, yet everyday she deals with it and continues on with her noble work. The likelihood of her family disowning her or getting her married to discontinue her work is very high.

Finally two of these women, who are outreach workers at the domestic violence shelter, where I was introduced to all these women, did a phenomenal undercover investigation story. Astonishingly in Hyderabad there is a marriage market. “Brokers” go out and round up parents who are poor enough to take money to sell their daughters. Then when mostly Middle East foreigners come to town they would attend the woman market where they can observe the “merchandise”. Normally these women are covered in barqa, but at the market they were forced to dress up similar to prostitutes (eg an excess of makeup and flowers in their hair). The women (or children in my opinion) are asked to display their walk or show some skin so these men can make an “informed decision”. If the men are interested, the woman is immediately married to him for literally ten to fifteen days. In that short marriage the man sleeps with his new bride and then promptly divorces her and returns home. Since she is already “soiled” she must continue this line of work. Basically legal prostituting, however the women had no right to deny this line of work. These outreach workers went as if they were the women selected, but uniquely chose to keep their barqa on, which concealed the investigation camera they were carrying under their veil. At one point these women had a terrible fright when one of the foreign men had chosen her as his new temporary wife. They were able to get out safely and submit the material to a local TV station to make a story off of it.

These are the people I met today, some shy, some amazingly talkative, some with an excited look in their eyes. No matter what their demeanor these women are strong human beings. Sometimes I listen to conversations and how we feel we are strong people because of our worldly experiences, our education and our work experience. However these women opened my eyes and really made me see how strength comes in so many forms. These women could have easily just given up at any point in time, but instead they took their horrific experiences and used them to benefit, to help others.

Ohh the Colors of Rajasthan

The trip started out with Kendra and I meeting in Bombay. We found each other in a train station that can only be described as havoc. After finding each other we promptly boarded our train and were ready for the 18 hour train ride ahead of us. We were reasonably equipped with junk food, however the aisles keep bringing us vendors selling wonderful chai (Indian tea), un ripe mango with some fried goodies and much more. How could we resist such food?! In the process we met a girl about our age traveling with her whole extended family. During a stop in Gujarat her other family member joined on the train and brought along bags full of Gujarati sweets, those of which she quickly shared with us .

We arrived in Jodhpur, dropped our bags off and ran over to the beautiful fort. This fort is well preserved because it is the only one left in India that is still owned by the Maharaja instead of the government. The listening tour was filled with extraordinary details and from the top of the fort we were able to see the infamous view of Jodhpur’s blue city. Our final leg in Jodhpur was a stroll in old city and then off to the bus leading to Jaiselmer.

Majority of my bus experiences in India have been simple air plane like seats that tilt back and are reasonably comfortable. Within five minutes of stepping on that bus we found out our bus was far from my normal experiences. The bus seats were standard, however the owner decided to use this bus as a transportation not just from Jodhpur to Jaiselmer (a six hour ride), but to all the cities in between as well. After the seats were filled the aisles were packed in with villagers. There was no sitting room for them, and hardly any standing room. Next to us a young girl was taking care of her younger sister, trying to avoid being trampled. The older sister, though protecting her sister, seemed very ill and had a high temperature. As the long ride continues and the girl continued to get trampled we practically adopted this girl sharing our two seats between the three of us, buying her water, holding her hair back while she vomited, fed her fruit we had, and Kendra gave her new duppata to wrap herself in after she vomited in her shawl. Finally her father got a seat at took her back, though she often spoke to us from her seat. At point Kendra and I pulled out our GHETO food. Normally, everywhere we go everyone is well supplied with a full “tiffin” of lunch, so we thought we were being smart and prepared this time by bringing food. Little did we know how difficult it is to eat dal and rice on a paper plate that is as strong as a napkin.

We finally arrive in Jaiselmer, go to our hotel and sleep. At six in the morning we left in a jeep to the middle of the desert to begin our camel trek. For three days and two nights we were discovering the Thar Desert on our camels. My camel, Coco, was the baby and appropriately decorated with a necklace, of course my camel would have cute accessories. We started the trek early in the mornings after drinking chai, and eating boiled eggs, toast and porriage that our camel riders (tour guides gave us). We roamed the desert, stopping at random villages and meeting the people until afternoon, where we found wonderful shade, relaxed and ate lunch. After lunch and a luxurious nap we continued on our camel ride until close to sun set. Then camp was set below some large sand dunes. The camel riders would cook dinner while we relaxed. At night Kendra and I stayed away from the foreigners and spoke to our camel riders for hours on end, singing old Hindi songs, learning of each other’s lives and making jokes. During the three days we were all together the camel riders noticed Kendra and I doing yoga and were eager to learn. We taught four of them how to do yoga and I must say, though we were unsuccessful in teaching them anything, it was comical to watch!

Sad to leave our desert, Kendra and I headed back to the city to enjoy two days of the desert festival going on. There we saw camel races, dance shows and musical performances, all stemming from traditional Rajasthani culture. Interestingly enough Kendra and I, who both work in on HIV/AIDS in India ran into HIV/AIDS booth. Went to speak to them and found out that the camel riders actually prostitute themselves to lonely foreigners that come for long treks. We spoke to one of the outreacher workers who is also a camel rider and prostitutes himself. He was very helpful and unembarrassed in answering our questions on how the offer themselves, as well as how they spread the news about protection. Having spent so much time discussing the subject Kendra and I missed our ride back to the city. The camel rider took us to his restaurant and gave us free chai and gave us a free camel ride to the festivities until we were able to find a ride back to the city.

Finally after a very eventful day we left Jaiselmer on another overnight train to Jodhpur and then a bus from Jodhpur to Udaipur. In Udaipur we were greeted by another AIF fellow who let us stay at his house along with a friend of a friend of Kendra’s who happened to be the AIF fellow’s roommate. Indian constantly proves how vast, yet how small this country can be. In Udaipur we enjoyed wonderful parties with the boys and their friends and beautiful sunset views in this enchanting city full of lakes. At night we met up with the boy’s friend who happens to be an auto driver. This auto driver let me drive the rickshaw down the streets of Udaipur’s old city. Though I seem to have mastered the auto rickshaw I was a little less successful with a two wheeler scooter. Initially I was doing well, until my nerves attacked that is and I rammed us into a pole. Thankfully we just got a couple of bruises. Overall my Rajasthan trip was extraordinary and I already miss it.


Pictures from my trip:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2212989&l=b4b4b&id=6011342

To discuss or not to discuss

The other day my friend and I met for coffee and he mentioned his interest in my work and why I have chosen this profession. It led us into a discussion about poverty, HIV/AIDS, and many other social issues that exist in our world. During our discussion I kept wondering, does anyone really want to be aware of the social issues that actually exist in our society?

We all are aware there is poverty in the world. Each one of us has been channel searching and found ourselves watching those commercials pleading for money for children in Africa, showing us how they are mal-nutritional and uneducated. Does that really mean we understand what is going on around us?

The amount of people who are well knowledge or even work within social issues are small, so naturally I expect people would be inquisitive in the issues at hand, and the work being done to diminish those problems. However, to my surprise many people avoid being aware of the social issues happening in the world. Many of my friends, past and present work in the cooperate sector and are generally unaware of social issues. However if I ever even dare to bring up my work and give examples I am asked why I am being so depressing. I express how I am one of the only people they know in this field, do they not want to take advantage of that and educate themselves on situations they are unaware of? They are not interested in listening, not because they do not care, but because they don’t want to feel depressed over the circumstances; which I find fascinating as they are not the ones living the depressing situations, which is far more painful than knowledge about these situations. And since when has ignorance helped in progress to improve things?

Another example is when I spend time with different friends and the topic of sexual assault comes up, not that it comes up often, however in a few instances when it does. The females in the group mention the frustrations they have to go through as far as being grabbed, vulgar comments that are given, the dirty looks and stares we get, etc. Majority of the time my male friends are so distressed that we are forced to deal with these situations that they don’t want to hear that it occurs. Again I am told “why are you talking about such depressing things, I just want to have fun”. Yet majority of the time friends hang out, the talk is all fun and joking, however the one time a serious, realistic subject is brought up, it’s too depressing to listen to. Yet this is the reality we have to deal with everyday. It is a reality that every day in India I have to be conscious of how I dress, who is watching me, how the auto driver is staring at me, who is going to grab me, evaluate when it is ok to stand up for myself and when it is too dangerous.

Let me make this clear, I am not blaming only males for this. There are numerous male situations that people don’t want to listen to. In addition, I have plenty of male friends who support any sort of conversation of this sort and truly try to protect and empower us in whatever way they can. In addition I am not trying to attack those friends that do not want to hear, I understand reality is a hard truth, however what makes it right to ignore the social problems that are continuing in the world?

I am constantly criticized for my lack of awareness on political situations, which I will admit is a fault of mine that I am working on improving. About 75% of my friends are well aware of the presidential candidates in the US’s upcoming elections and can tell me in full detail what the health care plans are of each candidate. However if I bring up the health care system in India, how it is corrupt and unsupportive it is of it’s vast population, I am only criticized for being depressing. Where does that make any sense? Though I understand that reality can be depressing, does it mean that it is right that we remain ignorant to it?

Urban Health Posts

Urban Health Post

I once visited an Urban Health Post which is a government run semi hospital to treat those in the slums with minor illnesses. A doctor is paid to attend a certain amount of times a week and distribute medicine that is also supplied by the government and is free to the clients. The mission behind UHPs is to support those who are not able to go to hospitals with minor sicknesses like the flu, cough, pains, etc. If the doctor detects something more serious or suspects STIs or HIV they can refer the client to other facilities. As with many programs, the UHP system does not run as smoothly as hoped, however in my experience, it has been more disappointing than expected.
One particular UHP (let me make it clear that the situation is not always this, there ARE some doctors and professionals committed to the cause) I visited, the nurses and clients repeatedly complained that the doctor was not attending the days he was supposed to come. Luckily I had attended the day the doctor had actually come; everyone looked extremely tense. Apparently the doctor, when he did come, was extremely rude to the staff and literally scared them to death, which I saw the evidence of. During my visit the doctor came to know an “American” was visiting and asked to speak to me. There he explained to me in detail how he hates coming and he doesn’t trust any of these people, including my co workers, and that I shouldn’t either. He went on to say many horrible things about everyone that steps foot in the UHP. He also said he hadn’t been coming because he was hired by the same government agency that placed him in the UHP to be a sports doctor at some military games, essentially double booking this doctor.
I could not believe the attitude of this man, and how he literally detested being in that UHP. I have heard other stories that some of the doctors charge the clients for their medicines to make extra money even though the medicine is supposed to be free for the clients. I find it frustrating how there are programs being set up for the benefit of these communities, yet the effort and money that is put into programs yet the support within them tends to diminish over time. Where do these problems get solved then?

The best neighbor EVER

The Best Neighbors Ever

I came home to a grand surprise today. My neighbor had snuck into my house with her little daughter and decided to make me a beautiful dinner! Unfortunately I came home early with a horrible headache and ruined her surprise for me. As soon as Mona (my neighbor/friend) and daughter (Ashi) realized I was not feeling well, Ashi (the cutest seven year old ever) dragged me to my bed, moved all my stuff aside not allowing me to help her at all, and forced me to sleep. I woke up to find a beautiful card made by Ashi telling me she loves “Nafessa Didi (sister)” and a beautiful dinner made just for me. Later in the evening when I went to thank them, Ashi told me whenever I am feeling sad, I just need to look at her card to make me happy…I am J

PARSLEY

Some random sharing. I love parsley. For anyone who knows me, I used to carry STALKS of parsley around in a little baggy and just snack on it. Yes I am talking about the garnish. I eat the garnish as if it were a meal..and it makes me VERY happy. Since I have been in India I have been unable to obtain parsley and have been very sad. I am very happy to announce that today, as my roommate and I ate dinner out …the meal was garnished with non other than….. drum roll please…..
PARSLEY

I am a happy girl right now :)

Oh the Roosters

Oh the Roosters

I just want to take a moment to explain to everyone my “gullie”, my lane. I live off a main street down this little lane with a whole bunch of typical India shops on both sides. These shops include little Chinese food stalls, Chai (tea) stands, Cell phone stores, stationary stores and general stores. These stores are generally not big enough to walk into, you just stand outside, for example at the general store, and request the most random of things, and somehow the store owner goes below some pile or in some shelf and finds the most random of items. There are people hanging out everywhere, who knows what they do all day, stray dogs every hundred meters (as India is known for its population of stray dogs) and finally the sewage being backed up, meaning the street is always wet with sewage. I know this sounds horrific but I also find it slightly charming. It is a street you can walk down where everyone recognizes you, ordering water, the paper, Internet, everything random is quite convenient. I have the most incredible neighbor who treats us like family, and her two adorable kids consider me family considering they think they live with me. My roommate is incredible and we get along so well, and finally we have a beautiful porch looking out onto the lake in Hyderabad, so our “gullie” has its perks. In addition during holidays the “gullie”, which most its population is reasonably poor, celebrate in fun ways by BLASTING old school Hindi music at 8 in the morning, which I absolutely love, flying kites on the roof, having weddings in the street and much much more. Finally my balcony and roof look straight over a beautiful lake! What more could you want?

Now to come to the negative side of the “gullie”. These damn Roosters are killing me! I now know those cartoons they played during our childhood that portrayed roosters as animals that relaxingly wake us up on the country side at the crack of dawn are pure myths! That isn’t reality at all, at least not for these roosters. My “gullie” roosters live in the middle of the urban city and decid they want to crow at four in the morning, three in the morning…well basically they love to crow at disgusting hours of the night. Another sleep disturber, the call to prayer. I normally find a mosque playing the call to prayer very soothing and beautiful, however our “gullie” prayer man decides that in the morning …4am..he needs to be very nasally…VERY nasally. In addition, I think he is delirious form the early hour as he proceeds to SCREAM into the microphone…why would you scream if you already have a microphone in front of you?! Finally, my roommate asked me to add this; our elevator speaks when the door is open. It says once in Hindi and once in English “please shut the door” or “Krupya darwaza bandh kijeye” and also makes a disturbingly odd bell sound. In the odd hours of the morning people are either leaving for school and work, or end up leaving the lift door open, meaning that woman keeps repeating herself, over and over and over and over and over…well you get the point.

In any case… I still love my “gullie” and find it very delightful.

Taare Zameen Par

Yesterday I watched Taare Zameen Par (http://www.taarezameenpar.com/), a new Indian movie Produced and Directed by Aamir Khan, a very famous Indian actor that has been more selective with his movies in the past few years.

This movie is focused on an 8 year old child in India who has Dyslexia. Presently in India, learning disorders are not normally recognized, because most people are unaware that they exist. This movie shows how, in the eyes of the adults, he is acting out and causing trouble; however just cannot express himself to the point that someone will understand him. Thus he is constantly called “stupid” and beaten at school for his outbursts. His parents try to understand him however are unable to and are also overwhelmed by societal pressures. At one point the child’s school teacher suggests that he has a learning disability and the father automatically has a defensive outburst saying “What?! Are you calling my son a RETARD?!” which is a normal reaction for Indians not only in India but also in the US. It is the same with depression. If someone is going through a natural state of depression that can easily be treated, it is seen as something shameful because they are “mentally ill” and family members tend to hide or ignore the fact to save face, which eventually is more harmful for the state of depression.
Through this movie Aamir Khan and this wondrous child actor explained how it really is for a child having a simple learning disorder in a society where it is unaccepted. Not only do they display how is outbursts are related to him not being understood, they ever so creatively, explained visually how learning is difficult for dyslexic kids and how they see things. This movie also reminds you how modern day education, though important, tends to stifle children’s creativity. He also displayed how children in these situations CAN be helped with a little time, dedication, understanding and creativity.

I cannot begin to describe how much I admire Aamir Khan for using his fame to put this movie, these issues in front of a main stream audience. This movie was sold out for weeks. I had written about this same issue in my graduate school applications. Ignorance is the worst type of problem, and our generation has so much power eliminate the ignorance by using media. Unfortunately our society has gotten wrapped up in fashion, fame and appearances, that most of society’s icons are poor role models for children and impressionable teenagers. While our most revered stars sing about “bling”, “booty”, and “I’m a slave”, Aamir Khan has used his celebrity to make a difference in society.

Finally, the film was so incredibly well done! The music was powerful, the cinematograph unique and the story line was solid. They did not over do any of the emotions as Bollywood tends to do, and all the facts about learning disorders were correct. Overall I was overwhelmingly impressed and wanted to share my feelings with you all. If you get the opportunity to see it, please do. Those of you who don’t speak Hindi, all Indian movies at home play Indian movies with subtitles. If you need help looking up locations of the movies please contact me and I will help, but I highly suggest this movie to everyone.

TRAVEL TIME!

Sorry for the delay in blog updates. As a lot of you know I have been on the ultimate traveling mission. I am finally home and am back in the swing of things.

New Years was spent in Goa, India’s most famous and touristy beach area, which was amazing! A few of the AIF fellows and a few of my Hyderabad friends made the four days in Goa perfect. I had forgotten how much I loved the beach…so instead of being the normal tourist freak that I am, we spent every single day in the water and lying in the sun, something I realize I desperately needed. Each night was filled with parties in extremely packed clubs and parties located right on the beach. New Years Eve was spent in a fantastic club with marvelous décor and a brilliant view of the beach. Goa, overall was a fantastic time.

Pictures from Goa:

http://uci.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2197911&l=19acc&id=6011342

I also got to do some sight seeing in Bombay with some other AIF fellow, first, however, I was picked up and taken out for a wonderful evening with a friend who lives in there. Bombay was everything I imagined, and I am sure you all can believe how excited my friend Sumit and I were at the sound of random Bollywood music playing in the middle of the street. Unfortunately Shahid Kapoor, my new Indian actor love, did not pop out from around a corner and start serenading me with a beautiful Indian song and his dancing, which I obviously hoped would happen, but besides that small disappointment, Bombay was such a vibrant city to visit! I really understand why so many people have fallen in love with Bombay.

After my AIF training a few of the other fellows and I got to go to Jaipur, Rajasthan to see another fellow get married. We were so lucky to be able to attend the wedding as it was at a beautiful castle with all the special traditional trimmings. Her husband even came in on an elephant to meet her! I love Indian weddings!!

Finally most of you know I was supposed to travel with my parents and brother to Pakistan to visit where my dad was born and raised. Unfortunately there was a slight problem with my visa and if I left India to go to Pakistan I might not have been allowed back into India. Though all that paper work is sorted out now, I am disappointed I was not able to join my family. My brother was able to see a lot of my dad’s childhood which is something I so desire to see. As my wonderful roommate has reminded me, everything works out for a reason.
Pictures from Bombay and Jaipur:

http://uci.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2197914&l=d3a82&id=6011342

During my family’s trip to Pakistan Benazir Bhutto was assassinated. They were traveling in a car in the old city of Lahore (Northern Pakistan) when all the city’s lights went out and people started to run in fear of riots. My parent’s driver was also scared and started backing up the car into auto rickshaws until they were able to pull into an alley and hide out for a while. That night the whole city turned off and lights were only on through generators. The next day my family drove over the border of Pakistan into India’s Amritsar. They were advised not to, however took the risk and thankfully arrived safely. Thank you all for all your concerned emails and phone calls.