This past weekend, several of us travelled out to visit "the Colonel" at his polo estate. It is a little bizarre to see so much green grass out in the desert. We wandered around and recieved a strange tour of "the village" nearby, and then went back to chatter with the other rich people scattered around. Eventually he insisted that Libby, Kristen, and I go for a dip in the pool. To our delight, the bottom of the pool was covered in slime so we could slide around and sign our names in the sludge...the Colonel walked up and explained that his first well had run dry, so he sank another 400-footer just so he could fill his pool and water the lawn. He went on to say his son is an investment banker making $25 million every year just to sustain an interest in polo--which is just about the most expensive hobby around. As we stared up at him from the pool, the video crew from the polo match decided that the white girls in the pool was the perfect introductory shot--particularly when they brought us the imported beer. The club professional photographer asked our names for some caption on the brochure, and the Colonel interjected with "oh, I forget their names but they're just pretty faces so that's all thats important!" Kristen and Libby are women's studies majors, and really started to protest when the photographers egged us on to pose, and overall it was extremely awkward, and at awkward times in the conversation very large dead bugs and soggy trash floating in the water would brush my side and I'd jump.
The match itself was pretty exciting. A lot of the villagers watched from the sides, and after the match during the prize ceremony a policeman walked around with a stick and slapped at the uppityones that tried to sit in front of the white line. We went to high tea with women wearing golden polo stick necklaces and various polo players of all shapes and sizes...I was manipulated into yet another awkward conversation with a young guy and after maybe five minutes of midunderstanding accents about a dozen people jumped out from behind a corner and shouted "YOU'RE ON CANDID CAMERA!" Apparently the joke was on him--he was supposed to say akward things in the presence of a blonde girl flirting with him. Awkward--the word of the day. Week. Month. I did everything possible to promote the stereotype of blonde American girls as "forward." Go me. Afterwards they invited us to a very swanky after-party. My host family didn't want me to go--in their opinion, I think, the polo players are pretty crass. Crass they are. Apparently the whole party was flooded with random foreign women who are invited more to contribute to the atmosphere than anything else.
It's strange, sometimes our white skin gets us treated like whores, and other times it commands an unorthodox amount of respect and admiration. The other day I went with Dr. Gupta, the charismatic and genuine founder of a really great health NGO, to a meeting where I would meet the person I'm going to be interning with in a few weeks. RIght now, the plan is that I'll be living in the village of Bhadesar, which is outside of Chittorgarh, which is outside of Udaipur, where no one even really speaks Hindi--working on Dalit land rights. Dr. Gupta led us into a room with a circular table with one microphone at each seat and dozens of people were yelling at each other in Hindi. Two men got up from the center table and gave us their seats, so Jessica and I sat in the crossfire of this argument feeling bewildered and recieiving important-looking documents in Hindi. Eventually, we figured what it was all about.
Basically, the food distribution system is set up such that everyone who falls below the poverty line recieves government-subsidied food, fuel, and other living commodities. Every few years the government conducts a census, decides who is poor, and issues them ration cards. Apparently the census that was taken in 2002 just took effect, and it has been found that thousands of poor families were excluded and have lost their benefits. So, there were representatives from several panchayats (village councils) who had put in requests with the Supreme Court that the census be thrown out. The other side of the argument was that the methodology of the census ought to be changed before the next one in 2007. The government representatives were peeved because they'd been asked to re-survey so many times, and everyone else was furious with the bureaucratic process.
One man was particularly fiery, and I found out that this was Khemraj, my intern host. By reputation he is the farthest left you can be in the NGO community--he thinks that NGOs here have diluted their grassroots spirit with all of this professionalism and organizational mumbo jumbo. He organizes Dalits to protest land takeover by development projects. I have been forewarned that he definitely won't go out of his way to make sure I'm comfortable (as in, have a toilet to pee in or a sheet to sleep on). I met his assistant--an Indian girl who had gone to U Texas, Austin for three years to study telecommunications and then went through some kind of existential overhaul and ended up on the dirt floor of this office out in the boonies. She seems wonderful, and I'm glad that there will be at least one person who speaks English. All of this sends chills down my spine.
Yesterday Jeremy and I were walking past the University of Rajasthan, and noticed a sign advertising a law conference on human rights. We wandered in out of curiosity, and awkwardly stood under a tent where everyone was eating a buffet lunch. People welcomed us as foreigners and within a few minutes the principal of the law school had our pictures taken with him ("this is very memorable moment. honor that you are here.") and we were asked to give a lecture at their next conference. They had absolutely no idea who we are beyond the fact that we were American, but they kept shoving ice cream at us so we didn't attempt to escape. We sat in on a few lectures. They were, as to be expected, very vague and general but passionately so...similar to an academic conference in the states but with heavy accents. One guy made a comment about America going to Iraq and Afghanistan merely to assert our status as a developed country, and I went up to the podium and responded, but they all smiled and nodded so fervently that I don't think they caught a word through my accent.
Sheila, Shobha and I are getting more and more upset every day with the way Purnima is treated. She sneaks to the balcony and whispers with the servant next door, who is apparently recieving clothes and medicine for her family back in the villages. Purnima gets less than a dollar every day and she works very hard all day long. She's pissed about it. She's warmed up to me and Sheila a lot, but her way of showing affection is often playfully hitting us with metal pots and spraying me with the hose. Jeremy is convinced that it isn't cultural difference, she's just absolutely nuts. Very true.
A big crowd of us went out to a bar yesterday--I have really relished all three drops of alcohol I've had in this country. Vijay came and seemed to be a little more clear in his expectations. He seems perfectly normal except for frequent bizarre text messages.
The other night Shobha, her friend Adite, Sheila and I went to the City Palace and more or less just made fun of the tourists. Shobha convinced us to take a ride in a rickety horse-drawn cart, which was great--I have no idea how the driver can convince that poor animal to make hairpin turns in that rushing traffic. Giggle giggle giggle all the way home.
The match itself was pretty exciting. A lot of the villagers watched from the sides, and after the match during the prize ceremony a policeman walked around with a stick and slapped at the uppityones that tried to sit in front of the white line. We went to high tea with women wearing golden polo stick necklaces and various polo players of all shapes and sizes...I was manipulated into yet another awkward conversation with a young guy and after maybe five minutes of midunderstanding accents about a dozen people jumped out from behind a corner and shouted "YOU'RE ON CANDID CAMERA!" Apparently the joke was on him--he was supposed to say akward things in the presence of a blonde girl flirting with him. Awkward--the word of the day. Week. Month. I did everything possible to promote the stereotype of blonde American girls as "forward." Go me. Afterwards they invited us to a very swanky after-party. My host family didn't want me to go--in their opinion, I think, the polo players are pretty crass. Crass they are. Apparently the whole party was flooded with random foreign women who are invited more to contribute to the atmosphere than anything else.
It's strange, sometimes our white skin gets us treated like whores, and other times it commands an unorthodox amount of respect and admiration. The other day I went with Dr. Gupta, the charismatic and genuine founder of a really great health NGO, to a meeting where I would meet the person I'm going to be interning with in a few weeks. RIght now, the plan is that I'll be living in the village of Bhadesar, which is outside of Chittorgarh, which is outside of Udaipur, where no one even really speaks Hindi--working on Dalit land rights. Dr. Gupta led us into a room with a circular table with one microphone at each seat and dozens of people were yelling at each other in Hindi. Two men got up from the center table and gave us their seats, so Jessica and I sat in the crossfire of this argument feeling bewildered and recieiving important-looking documents in Hindi. Eventually, we figured what it was all about.
Basically, the food distribution system is set up such that everyone who falls below the poverty line recieves government-subsidied food, fuel, and other living commodities. Every few years the government conducts a census, decides who is poor, and issues them ration cards. Apparently the census that was taken in 2002 just took effect, and it has been found that thousands of poor families were excluded and have lost their benefits. So, there were representatives from several panchayats (village councils) who had put in requests with the Supreme Court that the census be thrown out. The other side of the argument was that the methodology of the census ought to be changed before the next one in 2007. The government representatives were peeved because they'd been asked to re-survey so many times, and everyone else was furious with the bureaucratic process.
One man was particularly fiery, and I found out that this was Khemraj, my intern host. By reputation he is the farthest left you can be in the NGO community--he thinks that NGOs here have diluted their grassroots spirit with all of this professionalism and organizational mumbo jumbo. He organizes Dalits to protest land takeover by development projects. I have been forewarned that he definitely won't go out of his way to make sure I'm comfortable (as in, have a toilet to pee in or a sheet to sleep on). I met his assistant--an Indian girl who had gone to U Texas, Austin for three years to study telecommunications and then went through some kind of existential overhaul and ended up on the dirt floor of this office out in the boonies. She seems wonderful, and I'm glad that there will be at least one person who speaks English. All of this sends chills down my spine.
Yesterday Jeremy and I were walking past the University of Rajasthan, and noticed a sign advertising a law conference on human rights. We wandered in out of curiosity, and awkwardly stood under a tent where everyone was eating a buffet lunch. People welcomed us as foreigners and within a few minutes the principal of the law school had our pictures taken with him ("this is very memorable moment. honor that you are here.") and we were asked to give a lecture at their next conference. They had absolutely no idea who we are beyond the fact that we were American, but they kept shoving ice cream at us so we didn't attempt to escape. We sat in on a few lectures. They were, as to be expected, very vague and general but passionately so...similar to an academic conference in the states but with heavy accents. One guy made a comment about America going to Iraq and Afghanistan merely to assert our status as a developed country, and I went up to the podium and responded, but they all smiled and nodded so fervently that I don't think they caught a word through my accent.
Sheila, Shobha and I are getting more and more upset every day with the way Purnima is treated. She sneaks to the balcony and whispers with the servant next door, who is apparently recieving clothes and medicine for her family back in the villages. Purnima gets less than a dollar every day and she works very hard all day long. She's pissed about it. She's warmed up to me and Sheila a lot, but her way of showing affection is often playfully hitting us with metal pots and spraying me with the hose. Jeremy is convinced that it isn't cultural difference, she's just absolutely nuts. Very true.
A big crowd of us went out to a bar yesterday--I have really relished all three drops of alcohol I've had in this country. Vijay came and seemed to be a little more clear in his expectations. He seems perfectly normal except for frequent bizarre text messages.
The other night Shobha, her friend Adite, Sheila and I went to the City Palace and more or less just made fun of the tourists. Shobha convinced us to take a ride in a rickety horse-drawn cart, which was great--I have no idea how the driver can convince that poor animal to make hairpin turns in that rushing traffic. Giggle giggle giggle all the way home.
posted by Sandy at 8:37 PM
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