Giant Buddhas, Cooking Lessons, and 380 Steps

It’s been a weekend of sightseeing and food adventures, one last chance to relax with no obligations before our volunteer work and lesson planning begins.

This giant Buddha monolith was put into the lake separating Hyderabad from Secunderabad in 1985. On the way out, Buddha fell off his boat and it took quite some time for them to retrieve him from the water. Luckily the boat hadn’t gotten very far, and now Buddha is safe and sound.

According to Bhavani, people in Hyderabad joke that if you want to commit suicide, all you need to do is drink the water in this lake. Ah, the wonderful sense of civic duty and environmental activism that exists here.

Bhavani was kind enough to welcome us into her home and teach us to cook tomato biryani. Those green vegetables are called drumsticks.

and that chai. you don’t even know.

At the top of Golkonda Fort, after climbing 380 uneven stone steps with no railings. The views of the city were well worth it, but I wish the Mughals had left this incredible fort on its own, instead of leaving it in ruins.

These were hand-carved–in the dark–by a prisoner who was kept in solitary confinement for years for building a temple using what was falsely believed to be stolen money.

I’m starting to love India. I knew that I would love the DukeEngage experience as a whole, because my group clicked from the start DukeEngage Academy, and the program’s focus on education policy and ethical engagement is so in line with my own interests. But I didn’t expect to love a place that I now associate with crowded buildings, dust, humidity, bugs, and the possibility of death while crossing the street. I’m starting to see a beauty to it all, though, a rhythm within the chaos. As we’re settling into a routine, and as landmarks are beginning to become more familiar, I’m starting to feel more at home.

That being said, there are certain aspects of Indian culture that I’m having a very difficult time adjusting to. Legally, there is no caste system in India anymore, and yet it is still highly pervasive socially. For example, DukeEngage has been generous enough to provide us with a personal driver 24/7 during our stay here, since public transportation is so dangerous. Our driver, Jagdish, is constantly finding ways to make us feel welcomed, buying us mangos a couple times a week, inviting us to his daughter’s birthday, even finding a pan shop that specially washed the pan leaves in mineral water for us. I feel like he’s as much a part of this experience as our Duke professors, or Bhavani, our cultural coordinator. So why is it that, when we eat dinner at Professor Prasad’s house, Jagdish must wait outside in the car? Of course, this is how having a driver works–it involves a lot of waiting, in order to be available, and this is, after all, his job. But this just doesn’t feel right to me: if someone is serving me so wholeheartedly and devotedly, I should not treat him or her as though he or she is lesser. Rather, it humbles me, and makes me aspire to be more like the one who is in the service role. Here, I’ve noticed that there is little thanks given to those in the service sector; in fact, there’s little acknowledgment at all. There is a separation, an invisible barrier that guards the upper class from having to deal intimately with the lower. And, again, maybe this isn’t accurate–this is merely what I’ve observed in my short time here. But I still can’t justify it.

Finalizing Plans and Swarms of “Rainflies”

So, last night, I was watching Gilmore Girls (shout out to Jay, the Paris to my Rory), and I heard tapping on the window. Oh, how nice, another gentle monsoon rain, I thought. And then I got up to use the bathroom. Our hallway was swarming with what looked like giant flying termites–the rain tapping on my window? Yeah, that was hundreds of their wings beating against the screen. And then they started detaching their wings and crawling under our door. There are about 10 of them currently smashed on my floor (thank you, Teva’s, for thick soles). We stuffed a towel under our door, went to bed, and woke to hundreds of wings scattered around Tagore. Bhavani explained that the bugs are known as “usillu” in Telugu, or rain flies. They come out following the rains, crawl around for a while, then die within 24 hours. I won’t miss them when I come back to the US.

(I didn’t take that last one, I just wanted to give you a better sense of how disgusting they were)

The past week has involved a lot of frustration and complaining. Expectations not met, plans not fulfilled, and now, plans completely changed. We’ve been attending lectures each day for the past week at the Tata Institute for Social Sciences, learning about various aspects of women’s rights, from history of women’s education to women’s empowerment movements in India. It’s been difficult sitting in an un-air conditioned room listening to a heavily-accented lecture for two hours, but they do serve us chai in the afternoons. Some of the interesting facts I’ve learned about India:

1. Because of the high rates of female infanticide and fetacide, it is now illegal for a doctor to tell a pregnant woman what the sex of her child will be.

2. During the Indian Social Reform Movement, reformers (men) worked for women’s education, based on an argument that in the Vedic “Golden Age” (think ancient times), many powerful women were highly educated. But the catch? Mughal rulers were the ones that interrupted the Golden Age, so this 19th century reform movement actually created a lot of anti-Muslim hostility as they looked back at the past.

3. Before laws began to ban it, the vast majority of Indian women were married by age 11.

4. India is the largest producer of processed nuts for export.

5. In America, we’re all about ethical practices. But in the East, where we outsource all of our production, the unethical practices are simply shoved under the rug, and women and children are forced to work in very dangerous conditions–without legal recognition as workers, meaning no legal protections–so that the process appears ethical on the surface.

Today, though, we finally visited the school where we will be volunteering as English teachers for the next 7 weeks. Initially, our plan was to focus specifically on women’s empowerment and its relation to education policy, including two weeks spent in a rural village interviewing women about their societal roles. But we couldn’t wait for 4 weeks to finally work in the field: we needed active engagement, not just more time spent in our international dorm. Thankfully, our DukeEngage coordinator, Leela Prasad, was able to find us a connection to a privately-funded school, in which all students attend for free thanks to generous funding from various NGOs. The school is located in a strange neighborhood, incorporating everything from slums to gated stone mansions, all on a hill overlooking the entire city of Hyderabad. Once we got out of the car, the stares began–people would stop in their tracks just to watch us walk. In order to enter the school, we had to walk through a construction zone–apparently, half of the school is in use while the rest is being completed. The classrooms are probably about half the size of my dorm room, incorporating maybe 30 students, maybe even more. But, when we walked in to introduce ourselves to a 10th standard class (13-year-olds), the students jumped up energetically to tell us about what they’re studying and how much they like school. The girls all wear their hair in two braids, and their uniforms are a bright, clean checkered green. We still don’t know a lot about what exactly volunteering will be like–we’re supposed to work with 8th and 9th standard students on their English skills, but also act as one-on-one mentors with students for the summer. Considering their limited English and my very limited Telugu, this may involve a lot of awkward silence and/or frustrated gesturing. But I’m excited to get out of my dorm and do something with my free time here.

After visiting the school, we visited a local weaving workshop run by Suraiya Hasan Bose. The workshop is the only one in India to still make certain kinds of handwoven fabrics, as many of the skilled weavers were put out of business when the luxurious royal lifestyles of the Nizams became out-of-place in modern India. Some of the saris woven here take up to a year and a half to make, each thread carefully put into place by 1 to 3 women working at a single loom. Most of the weavers at this organization are  women that have been widowed or otherwise deserted by their husbands, leaving them with little social capital in Indian society. All proceeds from the sale of these incredible pieces goes directly back to the program. All in all, a pretty enlightening day in terms of women’s empowerment issues in India.

And this is how complicated a single loom is. 

This piece of cloth is over 200 years old, and yet the silk is still as brightly colored as any brand-new item you could buy today.

Unadulterated stares: Getting acquainted with Hyderabad

India, so far, has been a lot of downtime, attempts to fight jetlag with Bop-It and 20-minute workouts and monsoon wonderings, food (I still can’t discern between the various types of mush served to me, but it’s all incredible), and shopping in the various markets around the city. Our dorms, in which we spend the majority of our time, are air-conditioned, clean, spacious, and safe–which I’m sure is a relief to my mother. So far, I’ve only seen one rat, but many a lizard has graced our room’s white walls.

On Friday, our guide and Hindi/Telugu teacher, Bhavani, took us around HITEC City, the newest portion of Hyderabad, just about 10 minutes from our dorms at the University of Hyderabad. I was impressed by how new most of the buildings were–glass skyscrapers, American-esque stores displaying neon saris, brightly-colored apartment buildings. And the construction. I guess it’s like any other developing country, but it’s everywhere–half-empty concrete structures with supporting metal poles sticking out in every direction. Bhavani kept pointing out small parks, trees, and noting that, twenty years ago, this was all jungle, where you could find water buffalo instead of a Cafe Coffee Day (essentially, India’s Starbucks). Speaking of, found these on campus the other day…

In HITEC City, Bhavani took us to Shilparamam, a recreation of a traditional Indian village in the middle of the city. It was a little unnerving seeing poorly-done wax recreations of tribal ceremonies and pottery-makers when, just a couple hours outside of the city, you could probably find the real-life version.

On Saturday, we drove about a half an hour into the old city. This was where the traffic started. I don’t really understand the purpose of lane lines here, because no one follows them. Motorcycles speed between buses and autorickshaws, stopping just centimeters behind the car in front of them; babies sit crammed between their mother and father on motorcycles, their parents acting as living helmets; one-way streets seem to turn into two-way streets when needed; it’s a nightmare, but it somehow works.

In the old city, we crossed our first street (only Nikki got hit by a bicycle, so I’d consider that a general success), bought scarves and kurtas to try and blend in a little bit more to the local style, ate an entire meal (puris, chana masala, daal, rice, paneer, soup, and ice cream) for less than $2, climbed to the top of the Charminar, and explored the old palace of the Nizam of Hyderabad (now a museum). The Charminar was originally designed in the 16th century as a mosque and monument, around which the city of Hyderabad was designed. It is a four-arched structure around which traffic struggles to flow, and we enjoyed the shelter from the monsoon rains beneath its stone archways.

Walking around the city, it has become obvious how different we are. I’ve given up any hope of ever fitting in here, simply due to my skin color. I cannot count the number of stares that have followed my path around the city, the number of “Madame, where you coming from?”s, the number of creepy smiles coming at me from passing motorcycles. I think for most, it’s just general curiosity, seeing a white tourist in a city without many tourists; but still, I’m used to American rules, where staring is only done as surreptitiously as possible, and eye contact with strangers is avoided at all costs.

Days without being sick: 4

Days without getting hit by a bus: 4

June 18: Takeoffs

 

Have you ever had that moment when your alarm goes off at 3:15 am, and you’re furious that you’ve only had four hours of sleep, but then you remember you’re going to India ?

Yeah, that happened today.

Road Trip recap

Thank you, Phoenica Zhang, for being far more creative than I.

Road Trip.The Monterey Peninsula: May 21/22

After staying the night on the 20th at a friend’s apartment in Davis (thanks again, Mo, for the free cookies and needed bestie catch-up time), we finally made it back home (for me, at least). Without stopping, I decided to take advantage of a brief respite from the fog and drive Jordan and Phoenica down to the Bixby Bridge, just to get that typical tourist view of scenic Highway 1. The sunshine lit up the ocean just like I wanted it to, but the wind made things a little precarious as we stood on a cliff for a photo-op. We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering Ocean Avenue, driving along Scenic, hitting up the free samples of olive oil and kettle corn at the Farmer’s Market, experiencing the joys of running into old friends from high school (small towns ftw), and just sitting on a couch and watching TV for a few hours. In the morning, we made our way to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. I’ve never been there with tourists before, which forced me to go slowly and actually look carefully at all the exhibits—and I guess I kind of understand why it’s such a big deal. That place is like a wonderland of magical sea creatures. I mean, where else can you touch a bat ray? Or see sardines swarm up in a giant shimmering cloud, knocking tuna out of their way just by the force of their synchronized circular swimming? Or watch sea otters perform tricks? It was nice getting the chance to be a tourist in my own hometown.

And so the road trip ended, with a brief stop for frozen yogurt and a quick goodbye at the airport. Until spring semester, my friends. Twas an incredible start to an adventurous summer.

Road Trip: Days 9/10

(Photos 3 & 4 courtesy of Phoenica Zhang. She so talentedd)

Road Trip.Silver Falls: May 19

The campsite at Silver Falls, Oregon, was the exact opposite from our secluded haven in Mendocino. Where Russian Gulch was silent and empty, Silver Falls stuck us right between two loud and large families. Where Russian Gulch’s bathrooms gave us the barest of necessities, but with plenty of spiders, Silver Falls gave us hot water, automatic sinks, and no bugs to speak of. We hiked for a few hours in the late afternoon and saw about 4 of the park’s 12 waterfalls, even getting to walk through the cavern behind two of them. Jordan and Anand made the fine choice of walking through the water at the base of Double Falls in attempts to stick their head under it (?), but were essentially screaming in pain from the cold after just a few steps in. Phoenica and I chose to stay on shore…and take a video. After yet another meal of goldfish and cheese sandwiches, and many a peanut butter s’more, we fell asleep spooning (4 in a 3-man tent) while we listened to the 7th Harry Potter. Jim Dale is pretty effective at drowning out crying babies and loud, drunk old women.

Road Trip: Day 7

(Photos, once again, courtesy of Phoenica Zhang.)

Road Trip.Vancouver: May 17/18

We left Seattle midmorning to start the two and a half hour drive to Vancouver, B.C. But we didn’t go straight to the city—instead, we drove north to the ferry station at Horseshoe Bay, waiting in the chilling rain for a boat to Bowen Island, about a 10 minute ride from the mainland. We reached Bowen around 4, just as the sun started to peek through the gold-tinged clouds. I don’t think I can even describe how beautiful north Vancouver is—the dark water everywhere, the low-hanging white clouds masking the deep green forested islands protruding from the sea, the small coastal villages on the shore that just look tea-time cozy with warm woodsmoke rising from their chimneys. A passive British man loaned us a few sea kayaks so that we could experience the region’s natural beauty a little closer. After a brief lesson in rudder use and taking off a skirt in case we flipped over (“highly unlikely”), the man calmly instructed us to “watch for the wind” and let us go without much other guidance. The first hour was stunning—the clouds carved the surrounding mountains in half, leaving us in a valley of sea, fog, and a few cherished rays of sunlight. At risk of sounding ridiculous, the only comparison I can make is to the green hills of Twilight—it was eerie, but in the most tragically beautiful way. And then we turned back, just as the wind started to pick up. The waves grew more and more ominous, threatening to tip us over and crash us into the rocks. By the time we got back to the dock, we were drenched through and thoroughly exhausted.

We drove back along the coast to the YWCA in downtown Vancouver, a cheap but comfortable hotel filled with young, poor hipsters. By this point, it was 9 pm, and we gorged ourselves at an Old Spaghetti Factory, indulging in our legal, if poor-quality, alcoholic beverages. We half-heartedly walked past a few clubs, but didn’t go in—we were under-dressed, tired, and feeling too poor to pay the cover charges. Although Vancouver seems like it has some great nightlife…if you’re actually in the mood for that and have a wallet. 

My cousins had recommended dim sum in Richmond, just outside of Vancouver, so we stopped on the way home the next day and were led to the Neptune Seafood Restaurant by a mysterious Chinese man we met at a Starbucks (thanks for the language skills from our token Asian, Phoenica). I had the delightful experience of eating chicken feet for the first time, and I’ve gotta admit, it tastes a lot like chicken.