Today started off with meeting the kind man named Raghvendra who would be escorting me into the field. Mode of transport: motorcycle. Sidesaddle (to avoid seeming indecent). No helmet. These are all things terrifying to me, though the terror didn’t last long. I couldn’t help, however, but imagine what it would be like to have to jump, tuck and roll during some freak accident. Luckily my less-than-ninja-like abilities didn’t have to be tested out this time. I really had no clue where we were heading, which made each new discovery along the way that much more thrilling.
We first had to head into Orchha where I finally got to see the amazing temples backing the city. Along the way we pass ancient gates and buildings. Something resembling gratitude, but more elusive, starts to sink in deep inside of me. On the winding side roads I smell roasting peanuts and amazingly aromatic flora. Smiles. There’s a beautifully ridged mountain I admire, and as perfect as could be, a mountain goat is silhouetted against the blue sky at the top. A path of red soil is uncovered from repeated use among the brushy landscape. Pinch me! On to dirt roads where children roam in a much more clothing-optional environment. Finally, we reach the village of Pipra. My first visit! There is so much to say and to describe. The warmth and reception was amazing, especially after showing pictures of my family and hometown. Since there was the death of a village grandmother only two days prior, they were in a state of mourning and weren’t officially running class that day. Nevertheless, the women gathered to participate and I sat cross-legged with them on the floor as they read aloud and played games together. So much on a pedagogical level was happening. I have that recorded elsewhere. What I wish to share here is the sense of community. Struggling learners received help, support and encouragement from all the participants. After one women concluded her page of reading, at least two or three of her fellow village women tried the best they could to emphasize her progress from complete illiteracy to her abilities today. It was collective pride mixed with a sense of celebration in accomplishment. They were there for each other. I have never seen a learning environment where the participants were so connected. When we exited the building and walked through the street, I led what seemed like the entire village in parade-like style. Ruby, the 17 year old local leader of the program, invited me into her home. I have no idea how we fit so many bodies into so little space. Her brother, the eldest and only boy of four siblings, was crouched on the floor preparing the dough for dinner that night. Mama and I shared smiles and mutual understanding of raising a family of children with almost the exact same composition. Dad stood with confidence, kindness and obvious joy in his family. This is a special place. I had similar feelings when I first visited Powell River. There’s a familiarity and goodness. Maybe it’s less about the geography and more about the people. I left feeling so full and hope I can return again soon.
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On the road to Khajuraho: monkeys, cows and fields. Some noteworthy images to describe include:
All that tension melts away after stepping in the compound enclosing the Khajuraho group of monuments. As one of UNESCO’s World Heritage Sites, they keep the grounds immaculate. Visitors include the splattering of foreign tourists, but mostly travelling nationals and locals are the ones enjoying these amazing temples. Locals are easily identified by the way they ask, “One Selfie Ma’am?” I sure hope all these fine folk use my likeness in appropriate ways, lol! The temple carvings are beyond description. I could honestly camp out there all day long and watch the shapes and colours of the temples shift as the sun crosses the sky. It’s incredible. Adding to the reverence and the respect of the temples themselves, visitors remove their shoes before entering. Two female workers helped me offer a flower to the deity and offer prayer. It was special to see the women so devout in their faith and excited to share it with me, the clueless visitor (I use visitor instead of tourist intentionally, as I really do reverence this special place on earth.) Let’s be honest though, no one wants to read more. Just take a look at the pictures and enjoy! This will one of my most memorable days while in India, I am certain. I am so fortunate to be placed in my internship for this time period. Here, I had a chance to participate in DA’s annual conference, Taragram Yarta, and meet with professionals in this space from all over India. The networking was amazing. In one of our roundtable discussions themed “investing in people,” we had an amazing discussion on changing the language from one that elicits a response associated with expectation of return or monetary gain to one of supporting wellbeing. I walked away with a number of such “a-ha” moments. Over lunch I met with a young professional named Asha (in white above) who shared with me what was happening currently for women in India and the reaction in respects to clothing. I don’t think I can accurately summarize the half hour discussion, but what’s fascinating is the trend to “trousers” and jeans is reminiscent of the Western cultural backlash/ feminist movement women experienced in the 60s and 70s. Describing all the style nuances, Asha emphasized how it symbolizes choice. Her generation is the first to go out in the evening, to choose their clothes, their hobbies, their sexual experiences. These are all things, no matter where I fall on the spectrum of personal choice and value, I take for granted. At the same time, I recognize my own limitations as a woman in this country and don’t venture out at night, even to a market for food. Perhaps these pant-wearing feminists will make it possible for my daughter to be safe when she wants to grab a snack after dark on her own adventures to this beautiful country in the future. In confidence, as a woman, Asha told me that she really does prefer traditional clothing. She noted, was that once you cross that line and prove your point, women re-find/center themselves and want to wear saris and the like once again. However, as women they are still fighting so hard for choice, which Western clothing represents to them, and many feel they cannot admit their feelings openly. Personally, she still feels the need to push back and wear the uncomfortable pants for her fellow sisters and the next generation. No matter what they choose to wear, I am so honored to meet these women who are self-sacrificing in so many ways to create space for equality and get back to the true roots of their culture before the perversion of patriarchy occurred. The desire to exercise choice and the freedom to do so is as powerful as the women who are making it possible here. Today’s designs: head in to Jhansi, buy some easily digestible foods and search out some clothing to replace the tops that I left at home or just don’t seem appropriate once here. We crammed onto a shared auto (I got to snuggle up next to the driver) and went to Vishal’s Mega Mart. Like most places in India, you have to either check your bag or there’s a method of scanning and a metal detector. Venise walks right on through with her purse, but I stand at the door, fumbling with my lock and laugh with the guard. He sympathetically waves me in the store and says its ok. There are some perks to being a helpless foreigner at times! Shopping was surprisingly therapeutic, probably because it’s familiar. We get a lot of attention, but everyone goes about their business just like we are: searching for a deal and stocking up on the basics. At the checkout (standing still) is when people finally get courage to start talking to me. I realize how happy I am to tell them I’m Canadian (no offence to Caucasians of other nationalities) and they respond with the same enthusiasm. I share my picture I brought with me of my world: my family and a map of where I am from. One thing I know about the Indian culture is their communal nature and natural intrigue. I love being in a place where being free and open about my life and my home is appreciated. I had to venture to a market stand on the roadside for any fresh fruit, and before I knew it we had ten, maybe twenty boys and men all circling us, asking what we wanted. In Delhi, this would have been and was incredibly intimidating, but here, it came from a place of honest desire to be helpful. Or maybe curiosity? But it wasn’t at all threatening. I walked away with three bananas, four apples and a pomegranate for $1.23 CDN. I was likely totally ripped off, but how can I bargain down an old man with half his teeth and kind eyes for a few cents in my pocket? Now I’ll be honest, seeing these stands from inside an auto this past week, I was pretty fearful of them. It seems silly to me now that I faced it and experienced it. We made it home 10 minutes before a beautiful downpour, and now I sit, writing this blog entry in one of the most peaceful beautiful places I’ve had the privilege to be in. I feel so much gratitude that my fears didn’t stop me from this moment. (Interested in how much things cost? I purchased gifts for the kids, three tops, one scarf, all the comfort food I need, four large bottles of mango juice, toiletries, two bowls with lids and cookies for the office for the equivalent of $78 CDN.) Where I get to sit and type.Oh, the saga of Scotiabank that started before I left. It’s like the narrative of a Bollywood story, where things seemed so great, but events foreshadowed imminent disaster. That’s my life right now with Scotiabank. Sigh. I need this all sorted before I leave Delhi tomorrow and head out for my rural assignment, but right now my stomach is acting up and since arriving for work have started to fever. Never fear, I came over with medication and Venise is a Health Care professional. I’m sure I can sleep/sweat this thing away. The past two mornings have been especially early for me, first with my routine 2am wake up and attending my school board meeting yesterday and my Adobe class today. While 12.5 hour time difference works well generally for meetings, I think travelling suppressed my immunity a bit and the lack of sleep didn’t help. Oh, and we had a super shady driver this morning. He knew it too when he tried to double the fare to carry two people. I quickly called him out on it and we managed to get to work just fine, but it’s the tone of the day (or the lens I’m applying.)
Sleep, sleep and more sleep. And if you pray or send positive thoughts, I’d love some love sent my way! Thanks all. Tomorrow is a new, exciting day as we head off to Orchha via train. I can’t wait to see the countryside. (Since the above composition a blessed friend from the office added talk time to my phone and I found an ATM that accepted my OTHER bank card. Blessings all around and now I am tucked in for bed. Goodnight!) While getting ready for work this morning, Venise described the mood perfectly: “I feel like it’s the first day of school!” That subtle nervousness underlying a lot of excitement. We rode to DA’s office in Delhi with Shivani, our administrative contact we’d been talking to while in Canada. The building itself is simple, but what’s great is that it was built using the technology the organization developed to capture fly-ash and create bricks using local resources. They consider it Delhi’s “greenest” building. We met a lot of kind people who were very excited for us when they heard we will be staying at the apartments in Orchha. Apparently, we are heading to a pretty place. Our travel day will likely be Thursday and then we will meet with our team we will be working with for the duration of our assignment.
I am so excited to be placed with the Tara Akshar+ program and will update with more details once I’m the thick of it. I’d like to mention how great the food at the canteen is here. Also, I haven’t been in a kitchen for 5 days! Meanwhile Matt has a weekly meal chart and has made two batches of yogurt (go Dad!) While Delhi may not have been on the top of my places to visit while in India, it has provided a fruitful environment for personal growth thus far. Hopefully the lessons learned and friendships made will help bridge the more challenging times that most certainly will yet come. Tomorrow: orientation day 2. Day two in Delhi and I ventured out on my lonesome to get to church, which is actually held in the converted basement of a residential building. I sat near the back but in sight of the branch president (about Matt’s age with two kids, the daughter was about four in a beautiful purple dress and sat on the stand with him coloring most of the time) who started the meeting and looked straight at me when asking for someone to conduct the music. What? I point to myself, he nods, I shrug, and do my best 4/4 count I can. Sacrament was ¾, but seriously—I messed up the 2/2 intermediate hymn royally. One of the Indian returned missionaries was laughing at me trying to help, so I just laughed and plugged along. No one looks up at the chorister anyways. Back to 4/4 for the closing song and I feel like a chorister superstar. The people were so kind and welcoming and the talks and testimonies shared were as good as anywhere I have ever attended church. I even have a place to stay if I want to come back to Delhi for church a couple of weekends while here.
I “bravely” walked back to the B&B. Really, it wasn’t much of a feat to manage the 2km, but it was more like conquering a mental hurtle I had created. No one bothered me and every driver who asked me if I needed a ride continued onward when I politely declined. I even stepped out in traffic all Indian style (otherwise you won’t get anywhere around here) and felt like I owned my space. Maybe this is a window opening up for assertive Ashley. My go-to in social situations is always to be polite and quiet, but I am finding that does not work in India. Respect is given when it is claimed. A certain shift in perspective and honoring of my own value and authority will be required if I hope to help the people who need it the most. Heeding mom’s advice (I told you I would listen!), I woke up at 9am to acclimatize to my new time zone. Since we are staying at a nice B&B in Saket, a sub-community in south Delhi, we just stayed in and chatted with the owner Anand to listen to his suggestions for sightseeing. From our first rickshaw experience that mirrored a Disney ride but with zero safety sandards, Qutub Minar was our top destination choice as we knew we lacked the stamina to run from one location to the next. This historical sight didn’t disappoint! The relaxed atmosphere helped us ease into the experience. The five-story tower was remarkable and, interestingly, had been hit by lightning at least twice (similar to my Nono, but that’s completely unrelated.) The metro provided a nice break from the heat and the ladies only compartment was quite welcome. Old Delhi was… something. I imagine this place as one of the locations all of those travel bloggers say to avoid as a tourist (we later reflected on how we really were some of the only tourists there.) I was followed by a guy, but Venise caught on quick and helped us find a new path, leaving him in the dust. At least twice more we were followed, but managed to enjoy a few sights all the while. Coming home from the metro we aimed to source some food, but without a reliable guide telling us what was safe and what wasn’t, a top of all the young kids motioning to us that they were hungry, we left empty handed. Venise had her pre-packed oatmeal from Canada and I snacked on two Clif bars (at this point, I’m hoping my mom isn’t reading this….) All in all, it we accomplished a lot for our first day and conquered some moments I didn’t think I could. I’ll chalk that one as a win, even without dinner.
This morning my husband graciously gave me my final haircut before I depart on the 6am flight tomorrow. Despite best efforts to wipe down the counter, while brushing my teeth I noticed a few strands of hair left behind. How long will it take until traces of me disappear in my home? When will we finally be caught up in laundry and my last articles of clothing be placed to rest in the drawer until my return? (Honestly-- my bet is at least a month.)
This scenario reminded me of the BC adoption education classes Matt and I took 7 years ago (spoiler alert-- we never did adopt since they wouldn't let us so long as we kept having our own naturally-born children.) The social workers emphasized over and over that adoption is a process of loss. Loss of natural parents, loss of identity, loss of community. While I was empathetic to the realities of adoption and those very real feelings children must experience, my heart challenged this notion. At my core, I believe in good and trust and possibility. Just because the traces of me diminish in one location of the world does not mean I am not equally growing elsewhere. Watching the sun set yesterday, I thought of the time differences my family will experience. I reminded my kids at bedtime that while in India, I will have spent the whole day with the sun and will be sending it and all my love with it to them each morning. Traces of me may disappear at home, but I hope to fill that loss with something even greater. |
AuthorAshley J.E. Hull Archives
November 2017
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