Integrating India

I have been home in Canada for about 2 months, and have been asked many times by many people about my time in India.  It is never an easy question to answer, and I am aware that so many of my experiences, thoughts, impressions have gone unrecorded on this journey.  I am not sure if it was just because I was (and still am) too busy trying to keep up, or if it was/is because I just feel confounded trying to articulate the experiences.

India was, for me, an experience of constant paradox.  By the time I left, I finally felt equipped to really live joyfully there....AND I was SO ready to come home.  I couldn't wait to get on the plane.  There are things about India that I miss, and things that I don't.  There are people that I came to care about deeply - and I miss them for sure.  But I'm not in any hurry to go back, and I know that I would never choose again the experience that I had there.

It's so interesting to see the paradox of my experience mirrored in the faces of those who ask me to tell them about it....Sometimes I get the reflection, "Sounds like you really enjoyed that".....sometimes I hear, "sounds like that was a brutal experience".  Yes....and yes.

My friend Amanda had her own experience there - and it has left some pretty significant, albeit colorful, scars for her.  I know that it has left some for me, and also left me with some new wisdom, skills, and confidence.  She wondered in her blog post if I was also afraid to talk about my experience - it hit a chord with me, although I'm still trying to unravel it.  I haven't yet sorted through my pictures, and I feel many posts behind in terms of sharing my stories - and although I wouldn't have called it fear.... there is no question I am in resistance about it.

I think that part of it is my need to present a balanced picture, and to ensure that I don't cause anyone to 'lose face' (including Mother India herself).  ....Or perhaps it's just my own face I am protecting.

My journey to India was a gift, albeit a challenging one; a profound, transformative, learning journey..... and I am still unpacking it.  My intention is to post some retrospectives on some of my experiences....but we'll see how that unfolds.  For now, I am back home and trying to figure out what life on the ground here looks like....and how to take the best of all the parts of the world I've been in, and combine them with all the best parts of me to create the next chapter in my journey.

India's gender divide...

The gender divide is still alive and well in India - sometimes it is thought-provoking, sometimes amusing, sometimes frustrating, and sometimes reassuring. (chivalry can be lovely)  Whatever the impact ... to say it isn't there would to overlook an important thread in the fabric of society here.  Unquestionably, it's changing... the thread is thinner than it was, a little frayed at the edges, but it's still surprisingly strong.

Yesterday, at the 'conclave' I attended on Talent Management for HR Leaders, the opening speaker - the head of a (prestigious?) management school offered some of his experience and perspective on engaging the workplace.  Globally, he shared with us, women earn 2/3 of what men do.  (Sad, but true!).  For organizations, he continued, that means that if it costs a dollar to hire a man for a job and a given level of productivity, it only costs them 66 cents to hire a women for the same thing.  So, he concluded, in times of fiscal restraint, recession, or just anytime, you should hire more women, it's a fiscally responsible thing to do.  He continued, explaining that meetings were also a great example - women only required a few cups of tea and a single packet of cookies....as they don't eat much.  So, women are really affordable to employ.  He boasted proudly of the many women professors he has working for him.  (at 2/3 what he pays the male professors??)

I actually had to use my hand to bring my chin back up and close my mouth - because I could feel my jaw just flapping.  It is a testament to the Indian capacity for grace, dignity, and face saving that the largely femail population of the room did not show any noticeable reaction.  At first I thought maybe his comment wasn't considered as outrageous by others, but I checked with my colleagues afterward, and they reassured me that his comments were as unacceptable in India as they would be in Canada.  I guess the difference is that in Canada, I can't imagine any man still thinking such comments were ok.  (they might THINK the ideas - but they would know that they couldn't say them aloud.)

It led to an interesting conversation with my female colleague here about gender in India.  She pointed out that while there is still that clear lack of representation numbers wise in the corporate arena, that there are also many women CEOs - some who have been leading their companies for over 25 years, not to mention that the president of India is a woman.  She also explained that really, women are revered in India - because of the spiritual history / nature of the society.  Wisdom, knowledge, wealth, change, rebirth - all these are governed by Goddesses - and revered.  Mothers are often the final word in their families - even if that word is delivered through father.  Just think Kali or Durga as the voice of mother: "I brought you into this world, I can take you back out!"

And that is part of the paradox that is Mother India - because what many of us westerners would call chauvinism, many in this culture might refer to as reverence and respect.  A woman's place may be in the home - but that is not because she is lesser than, but rather because that is where she rules.  I'm not saying I agree with the perspective ....just that it is one.  And as horrified by the idea as many western women might be, there remain many who yearn to to stay home with their children, and just don't see it as a viable option in current western society.

In yet another gender divide experience .... The day before the conclave, my American friend and I went for pedicures. As the nice men, all in matching black with spiffy dress shoes, got our pedicure tubs ready, we looked around and realized that the salon was entirely staffed by men - with the exception of the receptionist, and one young woman doing facial waxing.  This is such an interesting phenomenon on SO MANY levels. 

Because another feature of the gender divide in India is the no-touch between the genders phenomenon. Men here are physically quite affectionate with each other - much the way women are in the Western world.  It's not a sign of homosexuality; as I believe that is quite unacceptable here - at least publicly - indeed, any display of sexuality is quite unacceptable here.  So men hold hands with each other, but not with women - even married couples refrain from any public displays of affection. Like many other things - some of this is changing amongst the younger generations....but PDAs are just not part of Indian culture.  Men generally just do not touch women in public (they will walk widely around to avoid it).

It also touches on another feature of the great gender divide.  Many of the 'menial' or service jobs that typically see female workers in the West, are done by male workers here, because women simply don't have the same access to the job market.  There is a socio-class divide here too...because in upper classes young women now go to university and generally function quite equally in society. But in lower classes, where young people leave their villages to go work in the city for someone - it's the boys that go. 

My friend here has been quite troubled by her 'maid' - a 14 year old boy that doesn't go to school, because he looks after the house.   Where I stay, it is also young men that take care of the house - and it doesn't matter how old they get, they are forever 'boys'.  At my last guest house one of the 'boys' was in his 20's and had been married for a year (with his wife living at home with her parents) and the other was over 40 with three kids and a wife - all home in their village, hours away, while he slept on the floor in this guest house in Delhi, taking care of the family and guests.  (And the generally accepted assumption is that these 'boys' are grateful for the opportunity to serve.)

So - back to the salon.  I had poked my head into another salon at some point that was fully staffed by women, and yet this one was all men.  What I've come to understand is that this is a 'higher end' salon - and therefor it is staffed by men.  I'm not sure how they reconcile that with the men shall not touch women piece, but Amanda and I concluded that the men there had chosen the work because it is the one way they CAN get some contact with women outside their family.  Who knows what the real story is?

Mother India, above all, forces me to examine my assumptions about what I believe, about what is right, what is wrong.....how society 'works', and to acknowledge how western-culture-centric my world view is, and how easy it is to think that view is 'right' - just because it is familiar and comfortable.  So, while I often experience the gender divide here as uncomfortable, or even insulting... sometimes it is that very divide that makes me feel safer (I love the women-only car on the Metro), and respected.  (I love having doors opened, and things carried for me when they're heavy...)

For the record, the pedicures were awesome, the foot and calf massages divine, and we left happy, pampered, ladies.... with another story to tell in our respective blogs.. 

Pilgrimage to the sea - Kerala part 2

From our most excellent lunch in Trivandrum, we headed South into the state of Tamil Nadu - to experience the town of Kanyakumari, the southern-most tip of India, and the place where the three seas meet: The Bay of Bengal, the Arabian Sea, and the Indian Ocean.  Apparently you can actually see where they meet - the waters are slightly different colours.  I didn't find this out until afterward, so I neglected to look for it, but I could unquestionably feel the convergence.  The air in the city is charged, as if there is a storm coming in off the water. It's incredible.  It's also the one place in India where you can watch the sun rise and set from the same basic vantage point.

The late departure of our train meant that we arrived in the dark, but we wandered through the village anyway, and found a beautiful place in front of the temple to look out at the water.  I am continuously awed by the power of water - especially the ocean, and the energy there was immense.  I think I could have quite happily spent the night sleeping (or just being) on the beach.  I am certain that I could have spent a week or more there and never gotten tired of being in that energy.

We missed the sunset but we set our alarms and got up for the sunrise the next morning.  As most of you know, that's a real sign of devotion for me to get up that early (and two days in a row, with jet lag!)  We walked down to the beach and down the very long pike of huge rocks, and planted ourselves near the tip to watch the sun come up.  When we looked back toward shore we could see the hundreds of people that had come down to various places along the shore, in front of the temple . . . anywhere they could get a water-front view, to watch the sun rise.  Just by coming, and watching the sunrise, we had joined a sacred ritual of pilgrimage. 

It's interesting to me to reflect on that experience and recognize it as pilgrimage - because certainly that wasn't the conscious intent that either of us had going in.  I can't say what my friend's experience was, but I know that the word fits for me.  I have always been drawn to the water, and I consistently return to it for healing, for reflection, for rejuvenation.  After my first difficult month in India, and my race home for the holidays, I recognize that I was called to this powerful convergence of great waters to connect back into source before re-embarking on my journey, both personal and professional, in India for the coming months. 


We continued that pilgrimage from the pike, along the shore, over to the temple . . . where we followed a 'guide' through, offering prayers, getting anointed with oils and ashes, and then ultimately down to the beach behind the temple where we joined the many bathers - dipping themselves in the sacred ocean.  Fully clothed, of course, because we were female.  Had we been men, we could have gone in our underwear - but as women, everything must stay covered . . . . so we did.  I am eternally grateful to Sabrina who led the way, as we were both watching the bathers with envy and it was she that announced that she could no longer just watch, she had to go in.  I was wearing completely impractical clothes for the experience and decided to just dip my toes in ... but the call of the water was stronger than the hold of practicality.  The day was hot, and it was an experience not to be missed. 

Afterward we both dripped our way back to the hotel for breakfast and put our clothes in a bag for our train ride North. 

PS: my pants took 2 days to dry....and it was totally worth it!

Heading South

When I returned to India in January, the first thing in my loosely held plan was a trip to Kerala with an old school friend, who happened to be in India for a month.  Two girls, headed for the beach . . . sort of.  Being more of the intellectual hippy persuasion than the wide-eyed, bring-on-the-party, beach bunny persuasion, we decided on Kerala over Goa, because although both have beautiful beaches, Kerala has far more to see and remains somewhat less commercialized. Part of the appeal of Kerala, in fact, was its famous backwaters, lovely rides down old canal-like waterways, and witnessing the ancient ritual dancing that is purported to be seen everywhere. (I do sometimes wonder who writes the travel guides - as the gap between reality and the books is often . . . .well . . . significant). 

Our trip started with the plane ride from Delhi - we discovered mid-flight that we had a brief stop in Kochi, and as we hadn't really started planning the contents of our trip until we were in the air . . . we decided to try and get off the plane there instead of going through to Trivandrum - that would enable us to essentially start at the top of Kerala, and work our way south.  Unfortunately, despite all evidence that India is a by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of place . . . . it turns out this airline wasn't; they wouldn't let us off the plane before our ticketed destination.  And we did try . . . So we continued on to Trivandrum where we emerged into the heat and humidity of Southern India. ( with our luggage intact - I wonder, if they had let us out in Kochi - would our luggage would have joined us or would it have traveled on to Trivandrum and waited for us there?)

Once in the airport, we spent about half an hour at the tourist booth getting information on where we were, where to go, what to do.  We almost missed collecting our baggage we took so long with the tourist booth guy.  So after collecting our luggage and a scary trip to the bathroom, we headed out into the muggy air and I had my first chance to witness my travel partner in action: negotiating with the tuk tuk driver.  Damn, she's good.  I owe much of my current ease negotiating transportation in India to that week with her.  We headed for the train station to begin our adventure  .. . . which, that afternoon, entailed an hour long search (with two very heavy packs) for lunch.  Turns out our driver had dropped us at the back of the train station, not that we realized that until we had walked in circles for almost an hour - and then had to walk the long way around, up hill and over the tracks, to the front of the station to find our place for lunch.  I think I might have whined most of the way about the weight of my pack.  I had forgotten how heavy those things are when you're out of practice (and out of shape again??? shhhhh).

Lunch, however, turned out to be (almost) worth it.  We had traditional South India tali: 4 curries, rice and papad, along with the usual chutneys.  What made it amazing was the presentation.  The tables are set with banana leaves as people sit down, and there are several guys that walk around carrying the various components of the meal.  One guy walks around with a huge bowl of rice, and drops a big pile on your banana leaf as he comes by; another walks around with the super cool server thing that has 4 deep tiffins, each with a different curry, and he heaps some of each of them on your banana leaf.  Another guy walks around offering papads.  Essentially, it's all you can eat, but the buffet comes to you.

Perhaps because we were white tourists, they also included some cutlery on our table - no one else used them . . . and mostly I didn't either.  The South Indian way is to eat with your fingers - right hand only, of course.  Surprisingly, it takes some practice, having been admonished for so many years not to play with our food!  But it is an art form - to scoop up rice and dal or curry into a form that the fingers will pick up and carry to the mouth.  It was fun and satisfying; and really, really, good. 

Once we were stuffed to the gills, we were pretty much pushed out of our spot at the table so that it could seat the next in line.  I've noticed this is pretty typical of South Indian restaurants - even in Delhi.  They are busy, high turnover, and there is no dawdling over the end of your meal . . . and the food is always amazing.

After lunch we waddled back to the train station where we parked ourselves, first for a cup of tea, and then on the platform to wait for our train.  And wait. and wait . . . and wait.  Ahhh, India, how she likes to remind me that plans are such folly.  Our 'plan' was to head down to watch the sun set in Kunyakumari.  Of course, somewhere on a schedule, it also said that the train's plan was to be on time.  Neither plan unfolded quite like that.

A Sacred Tuk Tuk ride

I caught a ride today in a tuk tuk (auto-rickshaw) with the music blaring - it was the most beautiful chanting and I couldn't help but smile and hope he didn't turn it down, on account of the white girl in back.  As he caught my smile in the mirror, he explained, "Sai Baba".   I haven't studied the gurus, and I can't tell you what the philosophy is of this one, but I do recognize the name.  He's well known, with a large, devoted, following and many temples. 

As we drove along, both of us tapping to the music, the driver occasionally head-bobbling in time, I found myself getting choked-up, my heart overflowing with this sense of humble devotion, amidst the chaos of traffic.  While I can't, from that brief encounter, assume to really know anything about the man that was taking me home from the market, it was clear by the pride on his face as he announced "Sai Baba" that his guru is important to him, the music is deeply moving, and sharing it is a blessing and an honour. 

Can you imagine, in Canada, listening to Christian hymns in the back of your taxi cab?  It would be completely out-of-place . . . and in our culture, perhaps even inappropriate.  But here in India the sacred and the profane go hand in hand, un-apologetically, unabashedly. 

My sense of this driver, as he navigated impossible turns and traffic snarls, was of someone content and grounded.  (But what do I know?)  And he's not the only one I've had that sense with. This is a huge, chaotic, unruly, stinky, CRAZY city . . . that I see through the eyes of a Canadian white girl.  But sometimes, like today, I am privileged to see it, just a little, through someone else's heart. I catch glimpses of what life might be like for someone who just lives and works here, for whom this is truly home. 

And I am reminded that comparisons truly have no place here.  That what I know about how life works, from my home in Canada, has very little value here.  That the only way to be here is to BE HERE. 

Blessed be.

Returning to India - the next chapter

Despite the desperate last-minute nature of my race home for the holidays, it never really occurred to me not to come back. As I made that difficult decision on the morning of the 24th to 'abandon ship,' I was asked by the people who talked me through it if I would pack up everything - in case I didn't want to return.  I declined.

Perhaps I didn't want to risk giving myself the 'out', if I changed my mind on the other side, but I also knew that India and I weren't finished with each other.  The journey was incomplete.  I wasn't quitting, just engaging in a temporary strategic retreat in order to regroup.

Now that I'm back, I've been asked if it was difficult to return.  The answer is yes, no, and yes.  It was hard to leave my loved ones all over again.  It was also with genuine anticipation that I got on the plane, and with excitement that I navigated my way through Heathrow, and out from the Delhi airport back to my guest house.  I smiled, even as I choked on the noxious smell of Delhi rising to meet the plane as it landed.
And it was hard to return to this country of immense and constant paradox, feeling only marginally more prepared to navigate her pathways. 

Perhaps, most of all, it was hard to return to the site of my humility.  To this place where I am faced, over and over, with my own ego and pride, with my privilege, and assumptions and stories.  To the place where I get to witness my own shadow in its fullest embodiment as I am faced with constant ambiguity, and the reality of how truly not-in-control I am.  Because if there is any place in the world to get *really* clear that control is just a big 'ol illusion - Mother India is the place.  She tolerates no insubordination from her children.

One of my favourite jokes is the line, "Want to make God laugh?  Tell him your plan".  That would be Mother India.  Go ahead, make her laugh: get attached to your plans, or to being on time, or to your reservations, or your belongings, or to your identity.  It is suddenly of great clarity to me the correlation between the philosophical concepts of non-attachment, and their geographic place of origin.  Non-attachment is not just a spiritual precept here.  It's survival.

So I'm back, with a very loose plan, holding it very lightly . . . . ready to see what will unfold.