India Journal

Last night I finally found the tiny moleskine journal I kept in Mumbai, Chennai, and Andhra Pradesh last spring. Here it is, unadulterated, unedited.

Day 1
Taylor and I sit on the balcony of our hostel, the honking of cars on the street sounding much the same now at 11am as it did when we arrived around 5. So far little to relate other than a pleasant air-conditioned sleep, being hustled out of a lean 40 rupees by an unaffiliated taxi middle-man at the airport, and various preliminary observations on India and the stark contrast it provides from Japan. Exchanges almost never involve Thank yous or your welcomes even between perfect strangers. Things run a little faster as a result. Men and dogs sleep on cars, platforms, anything available. Cows roam the streets. A diamond jewelry billboard advertising above a rotting lean-to. Plans for today include finding the Gateway of India and catching a boat to Elephant Island.

Day 4
We're in Chennai now. A lot different than Mumbai, most obviously (from my perspective) in that it doesn't cater to tourists in any way. Mumbai was an incredibly vibrant city, with one of the strongest heartbeats I've ever felt. Everywhere there was activity, laughing, arguing, horn honking, bargaining- 17 million people, 8.5 million of whom live in slums, who seem to be living a life relatively unhampered by the unending rules and codes of conduct that filter Japanese and American interactions. The “Reality Tour” we took of Mumbai's largest slum was probably the experience that will stick with me the most. I'm still processing everything I saw. Images of aluminum foundries bordering two-story sheet metal houses filled with children, all of the thousands of micro-businesses operating in remarkable efficiency and resourcefulness. One of the primary industries of Mumbai slums is processing recycled goods and selling materials to manufacturers. There were schools operating under the auspices of NGOs and volunteer teachers. Crime was virtually non-existent. Everyone knows each other, everyone shares the same overarching situation, everyone has molded their existence to mutual dependency and common goals. And they seemed happy. We've been trained to look at such things with pity, with the implied duty to donate a dollar to the Red Cross to help improve things. But these people are self-sufficient and seem to have struck a balance between what they can have and the many things they can't.

Crazy Chowphatti beach rides (man-powered ferris wheel and swinging ship) and amazing 480 rupee group dinner. Calaba market, growing love of bargaining. Woman feeding us in cave. Gandhi museum, bought hand-made paper book, very inspiring.

Day 5
Sweating. Diarrhea. Long train, bus, and boat rides. So Thursday the 30th has been.
Indian people- no bullshit.
More freedom. More happiness?
Sense of respect for overpopulated populace carrying on.

Day 9?
Tuesday. We hit a motorcyclist into the lake on our bus ride into the village yesterday morning. I heard the metal clatter against the broad side of the bus and turned to look out the window, seeing him standing in knee-deep, muddy water, his defeated motorcycle on its side on the bank next to him, him glaring and gesturing and shouting at our driver. A few of our group went out to check on the unlucky guy. Returning to the bus, someone asked “Is he pretty mad?”
Rob: “Well yeah, but not nearly as pissed off as I would be”. The dirt roads are hardly wide enough to accommodate a bike next to our monstrous, attention-grabbing tour bus.
I've learned to look at cows a lot differently. Not quite as holy yet, but after reading an exposition on the subject by no less than M. Gandhi I've come to respect their gentle, slow, peaceful nature. They pass on roads amidst honking traffic and add a natural, incongruously serene element to the chaos of Indian roads and markets.
The communities here are close knit. At night, from Mumbai to our little Dalit village, most everyone seems to come outside, just to enjoy each other's company. During the day men in twos and women in threes walk together, sit on porches together. Everyone's children mix in throngs. They play volleyball and cricket, no one seems strained, their interactions are genuine and familiar. And they seem happy because of it. It throws our atomized, individualistic, eat dinner in front of the TV in the evening societies of the U.S. and Japan into sharp, unpleasant relief. Logically, humans are meant to live in groups, not at work and on the bus, but in the real settings of life, after dinner, in the mornings, during lunch breaks.

Dalit Talk
Potential of rebirth in higher caste functions as justification for keeping the Atai Shudra (Untouchables; slaves) down. Dalits are restricted in the trades they can choose. In India, only Dalits (still) do shoe making and shoe repair. Dalit means “broken people” in Sanskrit. They prefer to go by “Shudra”, meaning “lowest caste”.
Discrimination and segregation via the caste system is programmed into Hinduism, into India's religion and culture. Brahma (God) is synonymous with justice. Dalit's are born believing that their position is sanctioned by transcendent authorities. No wonder the village we work in and many others are increasingly turning to Christianity instead...