Un-answerable questions

September 24, 2011 Un-answerable questions

It’s probably been about a month since I’ve written. I haven’t been inspired or felt like putting in the effort to put up another post in a while, for two reasons: one, I am currently writing seven applications for grad school, so my mind is pretty spent every day as it is; and two, because living here wears on you some days and I think my words would be more pessimistic than necessary, so I’ve decided to just avoid writing during those times. A couple weeks ago, I reached my first real low point of the trip. Being here would not be a realistic experience if no “low point” ever occurred. Working against huge cultural barriers that I cannot begin to understand, with little resources and even less human input, trying to turn around what is a mentally ingrained and socially institutionalized pattern of poverty in this city, or country, often feels bigger than the motivation I personally possess. The self-indulgent and didactic undertones of my previous posts are not going to be present here: I am surrendering to the fact that there is just too much I do not understand. I think I had previously subconsciously prided myself on observing cultural differences between what I consider normal from my American upbringing, and how things are done here, and determining when one “side” could be considered better than the other in a given situation. In other words, when my different opinion was truly of value, as opposed to when I was the one who should be learning/ not interfering. Now I realize that my ability to accurately interpret such situations is flawed by the fact that I have never fully appreciated how differently people here perceive various aspects of people and of society, and how deeply those convictions are rooted in their “cultural norms” which have been perpetuated through multiple generations.

Studying International Studies at UNC, I had considered myself above the blind eye of political and economically driven-development initiatives which ignore the fact that all communities function differently in that they must cater to members of varying capabilities and needs. My classes focused on the social and cultural side of development programs, in terms of how peoples’ needs and likelihood of accepting new policies could only be assessed through becoming familiar with a community on their terms, not on your own. Coming here, I thought that’s what I was doing—but here’s the question I have now, that I cannot answer: how do you maintain a definitive standard of what you consider to be right and wrong, without unfairly judging a group of people who are simply products of established, accepted cultural norms? As a foreigner working here, is it my principal duty to assimilate to their norms and work within their cultural boundaries, or is it my responsibility to take advantage of my outsider position and question that which I believe to be wrong? I’m not talking about cultural “norms” which dictate that it’s ok for cows and goats to saunter through the middle of every small dirt road to the chaotic national highway, although I do think a huge number of unnecessary dangers could be avoided if people thought it normal to keep animals out of the road. That is not a question of morality. What I am referring to are inbred cultural assumptions about poverty, about children, about social hierarchy, and so on. That’s really all I can say about it. The actual issues at hand are not appropriate for open discussion. Suffice it to say that I think a true appreciation for how important it is to understand a different culture on their terms before deciphering it on the basis of your own cultural standards and beliefs is ESSENTIAL in working in an international community. My failure to do so has held me back in both my approach to handling problems, in attempting to help these children, and in interacting with the other people working here. That being said, I’m not sure how I would have done it differently. As stated above, I don’t know what the answer is.

As far as other updates go….my sister Mary Kate and her husband Adam visited in early September which was initially really strange but overall really good. It was SO weird to have someone from my American life over here in Durgapur, and will probably be even weirder when my parents get here in a couple days. The kids loved them of course—they love anyone I love, even my friends whom they haven’t met. One day last year I had helped them make name cards to hang on their beds with stickers and markers, and I walked in later to see that not only had many of the girls written my name somewhere on their name card but also Jenna’s, after I had shown them a couple pictures of my friends from UNC and they had learned her name. Mary Kate and Adam helped paint the huge dining room in the hostel. The walls were so dirty due to the 25 children constantly running around, and the amount of dust floating through the sweet air of Durgapur (home to multiple steel and other factories). Priming the walls took two days in itself, trying to cover up all the black spots and scrub off some of the dirt. With the boys help though we finished before MK and Adam left 5 days later to keep traveling. The dining room is now a beautiful Carolina blue (my choice?…..but of course). The kids will go home for the Durga Puja holiday on October 1st for two weeks. My parents and I are traveling to Varanasi, Agra, and Delhi on the 29th and will be back on the 4th so after they leave on the 6th, I will basically be here alone until the 15th in the hostel. Even all the staff are leaving, I think I will literally be alone. This will probably be really nice in some ways/ sort of lonely, but ultimately will FORCE me to study for the GRE and finish my applications so I can’t complain. It will also be crazy around here (meaning, in India) during Durga Puja. It is a huge festival that is especially big in West Bengal as Durga is the main god here (I get confused but I think different regions have gods that are especially specific to the people of that area). The whole city—every city—will basically shut down from Oct. 2nd to the 8th. It becomes one huge fairground for 5 or 6 days, and I don’t think there is work or school for a week more after it’s over. Every community member, from the poorest to the richest, contributes to the Durga Puja committee fund closest to their home to help pay for the decorations, buildings, food, festivities, etc. that will go up for that week or two. It is a big deal—this is when everyone buys their new clothes, and the kids have been talking about it since June. My hair and outfit were both planned by the older girls months ago, so I already know what I’m wearing (I do not have a choice in the matter). Apparently all the streets and fairgrounds are completely packed with people—every hotel, every bus, train, etc. is full as people move around for the festival. I’m excited to see it. Maybe a little nervous—I’m not sure I believe I could experience a more chaotic situation in India that what happens on a daily basis in Kolkata, for example, but apparently I don’t know what I’m in for yet.

It will be interesting to see other parts of Durgapur too—Durgapur is a big city (2nd biggest in West Bengal after Kolkata) and due to the big industrial investment influx over the past few decades, as well as a huge increase in higher education institutions, this city attracts both the low-skilled laborers and the highly-educated upper classes. I live sort of towards the outskirts on the less developed side of the city so I don’t think I really have an accurate view of what the city or the people are like. I honestly don’t see a lot of it—I live inside the walls of this church compound all day except when I walk to the market or other stores. Sometimes I walk to this grocery store where there are a bunch of stores, restaurants, and hanging out places and if I go around 3:00 I run into all the people around my age coming out of classes for the day. Not all my age but probably older high school students and some college students. These people remind me more of Americans. The look and dress and act like what I’m used to at home. My other views of Durgapur include the slum villages where the children in the program live, and the market place that is one huge outdoor collection of stalls set up along muddy roads where goats’ heads get cut off in front of you, etc. When I go the more developed parts of the city I remember that a lot of India is rather similar, in many aspects, to what I am used to America (despite some obvious differences of course). I forget this living in my little section of Durgapur.

Joydev, his brother, and his sister at his parents' home in the ITI basit

I have had a lot more opportunities to visit the kids’ homes lately, which I love to do. I try to go at least once a week to one of the two closest bastis (villages). Most of the kids in the program do not live in the hostel, so they love when I come to visit, and most of the other village members seem really genuinely happy when I show up. Many (sometimes too many) invite me in for a cup of tea, glass of soda, biscuits, other food, to watch their tv, etc. I am learning not to eat before going because you cannot say no once they offer you something—it’s very impolite to turn down a drink when its offered, and going into their homes is the best way to see what their lives are like. So you want to take that opportunity whenever it’s offered. This also gives me the chance to talk to their parents about the kids work in class—tell them if they are doing well, or to encourage the parents to make sure the kids actually do their homework (it’s worth a try!), etc. I think it might be a big deal for them to have a foreign visitor in their home—something impressive—so it’s a win-win in some cases. In the D.P.L. basti across the street, there is a couple living with their son, his wife, and their child. The grandson, Sumonta cannot walk, eat, sit up by himself, etc. I think he is around 4 years old now, and his parents do not look much older than me. Lynn tried to get him protein supplements and powder when she was here so that he could develop muscle mass, but it’s the kind of situation where without constant medical input, which is not possible in their situation, I don’t know if a solution exists.

me and Shanti's aunt's son's daughter....or something.

Anyway the grandmother is so nice—she always gives me tea and way too many sweets when I come over, and sits and talks with me even when I have no idea what we’re saying anymore. The grandfather owns a little tea/food shop on the way home from my walk to the market, and always insist I stop and drink tea (for free) when I walk past. He won’t accept my money. Yesterday he also gave me a biscuit and a chop (this onion thing breaded and deep-fried) that I usually really like but this one was unquestionably old—it was stale and cold and I had to eat it. What could I do? It was a gift. But it wasn’t easy. The biscuit was kind of awesome though so they balanced out. By the way “biscuit” in India (as in England) means cookie. After living 4 years in North Carolina, I do not agree with this terminology—I know what a biscuit is. It’s served with sausage at Bojangles. Or with bacon and egg at Sunrise Biscuit if you have, by the grace of God, the luck to spend time in Chapel Hill. I have to use a lot of British terminology here, as it is what our Indian friends were exposed to 100 years before the American monopoly over global media. A lot of it is outdated—like “shall” and “slay” and “arise”—the kids’ homework will have sentences like “He has slain a great man” or “I shall arise at 6:00 in the morning.” I’ve also learned to call the trashcan a dustbin, an eraser a rubber, and so on. I will never, however, call pants trousers—I have to draw the line somewhere.

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So my last 6 weeks here are approaching quickly. I saw them cleaning the room I stayed in here during my first month while Akino was still in the room I am in now. It was weird—that first month seems so incredibly long ago. At the same time, I feel like my time here has gone so fast, and like there is still so much to do and no time to do it. My stress level has become exaggeratedly high lately, which I regret to say is probably being taken out on the kids, for multiple reasons, including my attempt to relearn math before taking the GRE in December. I used to be so good at math in high school! Now I feel like it was created as an attempt to kill me, slowly and painfully. I think I can feel my brain re-expanding as I refill it with the ridiculous number of rules of geometry and algebra, that I will most likely never use again after the GRE. That’s not true, I know, but it’s the only comfort I have right now. Why am I applying to seven programs, you may rightly wonder? Because like all areas of my life, I can’t make decisions. I made one good one yesterday—I was trying to decide between chocolate and strawberry flavored granola at the store. I chose the strawberry. I couldn’t have been more right. All the schools—George Washington, Georgetown, American University, and U. of Denver—have multiple programs in their International Development departments which sound awesome. This decision is a little harder. If anyone knows anything about grad school essays, writing resumes, etc., now is the time to send me the sword of Gryffindor. Aka, your help. For now, I am trying to remind myself to relax, to enjoy the kids and my time here genuinely, and to recognize that I will never have all the answers I know I want and/or need for my time here to go as well as possible. That’s life. Life is messy and India is messier. I’m not sure we, as Americans, could ever truly appreciate how lucky we are that our country formed and developed so late in the span of history—as populations grew, our growing economy and ability to provide necessary public infrastructure grew with it, in a fairly uniform pattern. Our cultural beliefs and social expectations were formed in conjunction with this process. In India, enormous populations—with their own disparately established cultures and social rules—existed long before a unified government or economic system could attempt to unite them. As a consequence, development has occurred at very different levels and at very different paces, even within the same cities. People living a “western” lifestyle live next door to people showering from a bucket of water at water pump, who don’t know how to read but maintain an existence through selling some vegetables at a small market stand. Something that may help one person will offer nothing to someone else, either because that person’s needs are different or because they hold very different beliefs preventing them from accepting the same program that their neighbor did. It’s like the cure to cancer—people want to find it, but the solution seems hypothetical and elusive at best. Maybe there are no answers. Maybe you just help the individuals that you can. I’m not sure. Maybe that’s what grad school will teach me. Who knows? For now, I know that there are children here who I can teach and I can try to love as much as possible, so it’s all I can do.

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