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.. 

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.

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.

Three Weeks in India. I can go home now.

 The last time I saw my 'boss' before I headed off to India, he said to me, half-jokingly,  "please promise you'll stay at least three weeks?"  I know that he's never been to India, but I think in that moment he suddenly had some deep connection with the immensity of this journey he was sending me on.  And he's a wise, wise, man.
Because at the 3 day mark I was ready to pack it in, but I couldn't, because I promised.  At the week and a half mark, I was SOOO ready to come home!  But I couldn't.  Because I promised. And at the two and half week mark . . . yep, you guessed it:  I want my mommy, and I want to go home.  But . . .I bet you know what's coming: I promised.  So, here I am at the three week mark, and I can go home now, because I've kept my promise.

Funny enough, now that I have the choice, I'm ready to stick around and really experience this place. I don't know how Peter picked 'three weeks' as the magic number, but it appears to be just that.  The last week has been an emotional roller-coaster, dominated by frustration, impatience and irritability.  (To all my friends and family who have borne witness and listened to me vent, Peter and I thank you.) Something shifted last night as I slept, and I awoke softened, more open, more able to see what is . . .and what's possible. 

There is so much to learn from this incredible country, from its people, from its heritage.  When I pause to think about a place with thousands of years of history and heritage, as compared with my country that really only recognizes a couple of hundred years.  wow.

I won't say I'm smitten with India; just like Delhi streets, the relationship is just not that clean.  But, somehow, I'm hooked, and I'm ready to open myself to her.  And there are so many opportunities here to both look outside myself and look deep within as Mother India shines her mirror back at me.

The paradoxes and contradictions here boggle my mind. Every day I pass poverty on the streets like I've never seen. I spent Sunday afternoon with a friend and colleague at her golf & country club, surrounded by immense wealth, and had a powerful conversation with her about holding that place of paradox.  I know that part of my journey here is to make peace, hopefully once and for all, with the incredible wealth that I already have, and the freedom it provides me. (I have a Canadian passport.  I actually kissed it the other day, as I recognized just what privilege and freedom that passport affords me).   We talked about that balance, the ever grey lines around what is enough . . . and the implacable, painful realization that no matter how much we give, we cannot solve all the problems around us.

Literally, my head begins to ache as I think about these things.  Some part of me can't let go of the notion that there is a systemic solution or a system of solutions that could change how we all co-exist in the world . . . . like a series of threads that if we could just reconnect them, would return us to balance.  I am grateful to know that even as I get older, wiser, and generally more cynical, I remain an idealist.  May I never grow up or out of that.

And may I never be hardened so that I can't see and feel the pain of the children on the streets, or the dogs that limp along hungry.  And may I continue to open my heart to see the balance, rather than getting trapped in the sorrow.  To laugh at the simple joy of children playing; even as they weave amidst the traffic, trying to sell me things through the car window . . . and get distracted into playing tag when I won't buy.  Dogs, sleeping in the sunshine, looking content in that moment.  The cabbie smiling at me, surprised, as I give him a 20 rupee tip (about 50 cents).

I truly do not know what this journey holds for me.  I have spent the last three weeks struggling against the not-knowing, wailing against the injustice of the universe demanding that I surrender into trust.  I can't promise I won't continue to put up a fight occasionally, or that I won't continue to have moments of home-sickness, overwhelm, or just general India-fatigue.  In fact, I think I can promise that all of the above will resurface again and again . . . .but I'm ready for them.  I survived my first three weeks in India, and fulfilled my promise.  Now I'm here because I choose to stay, because I am willing to trust the path unfolding in front of me.  Because I can't resist, like a child in front of a christmas tree laden with gifts, the opportunity to unwrap the packaging and see what I find.

PS: Of course I know that I always had a choice to go home if I really wanted to, and I never really considered throwing in the towel . . . but it was touch and go for a moment or two, I'll admit.

My first week in India

How do I put this first week into words?  Delhi is a cacophony of sounds, smells and sights . . . perhaps in that order.  When I was in Guatemala, I thought San Marcos was noisy - I devoted an entire post to it, in fact.  Sanny M has *nothing* on Delhi.  Horns are a constant discordant melody over the rumble of the traffic itself.  At night, it appears that Indians like fireworks almost as much as Guatemalans.  I haven't heard so many dogs barking - outside at least, although they are everywhere on the street.  Inside I hear dogs barking, mind you, as the guesthouse I'm staying in right now has two yappy little poms.

As for smells . . . the air here is so think sometimes I am amazed I can breathe.  I am starting to wonder if I will ever get the grit out of my eyes, or if it's permanent now.  My lungs yearn for BC's beautiful fresh air.  The smell is mostly not as bad as I expected - I was warned that I would find it intolerable getting off the plane, and really it hasn't been so bad.  It is interesting though how markedly stinkier the city gets after dark.  I'm not sure what that is . . .but it's a sickly sweet smoggy icky pungent aroma that seems to envelope the roads as the evening sets.   As always when I travel, I came down with a cold this week and it has almost been a blessing in that I can't smell much.  On the other hand, I have a hunch that the air quality didn't exactly help my healing process.  Fortunately I'm on the mend, although I still don't quite have my sense of smell back.  I'm counting my blessings.

Maybe sights should have come first on the list - there are so many.  It is such an interesting place to be witness to; the paradoxes and contradictions are everywhere.  Hindus, Muslims; happy, cared-for children, poor, dirty children with no shoes; women in fine traditional silks and saris, women in western business suits and stilettos; shiny BMW SUVs, beat up old suzuki hatch-backs; hundreds of homeless people and dogs, wealthy people with servants and spoiled fru fru dogs; tenement style concrete block buildings beside stunning palatial houses.  What's most remarkable to me is not that these contradictions exist, but how they co-exist in such proximity of each other.

Much to my surprise, I was here almost an entire week before I saw my first cow on the street.  Apparently they herded both the cows and the beggars out of Delhi for the Common Wealth Games in October.  I think the beggars have resumed their numbers more quickly overall.

The same day I spotted the cow - meandering through the market, I also spotted my first elephant, walking along a main road.  Her (I am assuming it's a girl, not sure why) face was painted with beautiful blue and gold markings and she carried a platform and rider. As we drove past her my host, Ashish, graciously stopped to let me get a picture.  Turns out they walk fairly quickly, as by the time I got my camera out I ended up with a fantastic shot of her rump walking past us.  We zipped ahead of her again and then had to stop for a light, so I hopped out to get another shot, but the light was fading, so it's not very good.  In the mean time, as we waited for the light, she pulled up behind us in the traffic line to wait for the light also.  Ashish hoped aloud that she wouldn't rest her trunk on our roof - as no doubt it would collapse. What an image to contemplate!!  Fortunately, she kept her trunk to herself until we had pulled away and then she used it to reach up for a snack as she walked under a big leafy tree. It was really quite an awesome sight.

Ashish also made sure to stop by a place known as the "Lotus Temple" en route to and from the office this week so I could take pictures.  Once in the morning and once at night.  It's Delhi's Baha'i temple, and the building is constructed such that it looks like a lotus flower. It's really quite a remarkable structure, and it's amazing all lit up at night.

I'm slowly getting to know the little area I'm in, although I think I'll be moving to another neighbourhood next week.  As lovely as my hosts here are, I've found another guesthouse that feels like it will better suit me for a long-term stay.  It's in a little enclave, with gardens and grass, and more independent private space, including a desk and sitting area.  Given that I'll be working primarily from home that feels essential. Sitting in bed working has a pretty limited novelty. Really, how many hours a day can you spend in bed??  Admittedly, I get regular tea service in bed here . . . but still, the novelty is wearing as my butt gets numb and I begin to develop cabin-fever.  My body and spirit need to have a dedicated workspace, if not in another room, at least one that requires me to stand up and move to another spot in the room. I'm positive it's better for circulation and sanity.


A quick end-note to sum up my first week.  I spent a fair bit of time driving around this week. (passengering, actually.  I don't think I EVER want to actually *drive* here)  Zipping around South Delhi, I discovered yet another fascinating facet of Indian road laws:  As I watched all the motorcycles and scooters zip by with women riding the back side-saddle, I discovered that not only is that legal (you can't possibly straddle a moto in a sari!!) but the law also holds that helmets are required for men, but not for women unless they are driving. (Apparently this decision was made to honour women - the decision makers felt that women wouldn't want the helmet to mess up their hair)  So, women passengers and the children all piled on the bike are not required to wear any kind of protective gear.  I totally see the logic: clearly the woman on the back sitting side-saddle with a baby in her lap is not only far less likely to fall off, but surely she won't crack her head if that should happen. And children are resilient, they'll bounce. Surely. ;-)