Moustaches of Rajasthan

Rajasthan is full of beautiful forts, saris, and colors. But it is also home to the most remarkable moustaches in India, if not the world. Here's a sneak peek of pictures I took on my recent trip through Rajasthan...


Airport security breach: ENORMOUS moustache



Trying to capture the moustache...



...got it!

Holi

Holi, the festival of colors, celebrates the coming of spring. People throw colored powder, water and colored spray at each other. I celebrated it with Dharmender's (the guy I work with) family in the resettlement colony I'm studying. Here are some pictures!!


more pictures at this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/thaliag/sets/72157623644019034/

India's Romance with Modernity -- Four Visions

I. The Metro

Construction workers at the Lajpat Nagar Metro stop, to be opened in 2010.
A modern take on traditional, caste-based division of labor (in many places different colored turbans mark your caste) -- different colored helmets mark your place in the metro laborer hierarchy. (Purple helmet - engineer; orange - supervisor guards; red - electrician; and at the bottom are the all-around workers).

Built with cutting edge technology from around the world and partly funded by a large loan from the Japan Bank for International Corporation (JBIC), the Delhi Metro, opened in 2002, is an avatar of India's future. It's sleek, safe, clean, and colorless; it glides like a silver bullet over and under one of the most congested cities in the world without so much as a whisper. It is a haven of modernity, where things like eve-teasing and mechanical failures are no longer a problem, and where announcements reminding people not to travel on the roof, sit on the floor, or play loud music maintain proper decorum. The Delhi Metro Rail Corporation (DMRC) has painted large, socialist-realist-esque murals in its stations, depicting female metro employees sitting confidently in front large switchboards, happy commuters emerging from glossy escalators and the larger-than-life metro itself, a symbol of India's unstoppable progress. First time escalator riders -- often women from nearby villages -- giggle and shriek as they jump on this strange, wonderful machine. According to the DMRC website, "spiritualism is a guiding force at DMRC," and Delhi Metro employees are given copies of the Bhagavad Gita upon joining the metro. They begin their workday by reciting devotional prayers from the Gita. Prayers like this: When you are inspired by some great purpose [...] all your thoughts break their bonds; your mind transcends limitations...The Delhi Metro already has a museum full of statistics and fun facts about its construction. But the construction of the metro has also displaced many people, and, unlike public transportation systems in most Western countries, it is mostly used by middle and upper-class Delhi residents. An auto rickshaw driver recently told me what he thought of the metro. "Too risky, too dangerous," he said.

Environmental Safety Oath.

A makeshift home built from the large, metal placards advertising the construction of the metro.

II. India's International Trade Fair
All of the the newest gadgets were exhibited at the International Trade Fair. A man enjoys a motorized foot massage at the "Czar Lifestyles International" company booth.



The branch of the government responsible for power and electricity, "The Ministry of Power," exhibits an elaborate theme-park-esque vision of the future in which all, from the the very poor to the very rich, will be "empowered."

III. Caste



Jitendra Makwana's (middle) father, a member of the Dalit sub-caste Chamar, skinned animals for a living. Now, his 23-year-old son manages a plastics company in Gujurat and is pursuing an MBA. The company hires 99% Dalits, most of whom are women and live in Makwana's community. A self-proclaimed athiest, Makwana is vehemently opposed to Hindu religion, which he sees as the root of caste discrimination. "You shouldn't blame God for your problems," he says, adding: "God is anti-scientific." Does he think the rise of technology and businesses will erase India's culture (i.e. village life, family values, religion)? "If Indian culture is getting lost, that's fine," Makwana says. But while his father shares his views, his mother, who is illiterate, is still a staunch Hindu. For Makwana, the internet, Google and English are great things because they are caste-neutral. "Google is the biggest democracy. When you're on Google, no one knows who you are," he proclaims.

IV. Gurgaon

After a wave of multinational companies decided to locate their call centers in this former undeveloped farmland, Gurgaon, a city just outside of Delhi, is now one of India's most developed and modern cities. It is a futuristic phantom city of Sim City Archology-like buildings, of large indoor malls and intimidating glass high-rises with addresses like "Infinity Tower, Sector 2, Phase 5" and "Dream Condominiums." There's no where to walk; and one rarely sees people in the open -- instead they move between the closed spaces of their cars, the mall and their offices. It's a nightmare.

All norms are broken at the Ambience Mall, one of Asia's largest malls with 1 km of shopping on every floor.

Hail English, the Dalit Goddess!

The Dalit Goddess of English

The birthday of Lord Macaulay, the controversial British colonial figure who first advocated the use of English (rather than Sanskrit or Arabic) in Indian higher education, is not widely celebrated in India. For many Indians, Thomas Babington Macaulay deserves no less grand a memorial than Delhi's dusty, overgrown Coronation Park, the resting place of about half a dozen decrepit (yet strangely regal in their faded marble) statues of British imperial icons such as King George V, most of which have been stolen or destroyed. This is, after all, the man famous for proclaiming: "We must at present do our best to form a class who may be interpreters between us and the millions whom we govern; a class of persons, Indian in blood and colour, but English in taste, in opinions, in morals, and in intellect." But the Dalit intellectual Chandra Bhan Prasad, who recently celebrated Lord Macaulay's 206th birthday with much pomp and spectacle at the Indian International Centre in Delhi, does not have a conventional view of Indian history.

The invitation to "English Day," Lord Macaulay's birthday celebration, written by Chandra Bhan Prasad, really says it all:

The mission of gaining freedom from regional languages begins with embracing October 25, the birthday of Thomas Babington Macaulay, as the English Day. On this day every year, we would explain our progeny how debilitating regional languages were. How long can we allow regional languages to restrain billions of minds from exploring secrets of matter and nature! Waste of brain power is a colossal waste the mankind can ill-afford...Humanity needs Dalit Goddess English for more than one reason. Universalism being central to the soul of Goddess English, English is a unifier. Regional languages, on the other hand, are quarrelsome and divisive.

Amidst much merriment, a mix of Dalit writers, poets, painters, and activists clinked their glasses of whiskey triumphantly, while a smattering of journalists, members of the British Council and intellectuals such as sociologist Gail Omvedt and social theorist Ashis Nandy looked on with a mixture of dismay and amusement. After a portrait of the Dalit Goddess of English, painted by Dalit painter Shant Swaroop Baudh, was unveiled, Prasad stepped onto a chair and began to speak to the completely packed room. He spoke of Lord Macaulay as a liberator who helped lower castes break out of the iron grip of Sanskrit and Arabic and explained how the British first let people of different castes study side by side.


Chandra Bhan Prasad heralds the Dalit Goddess of English

"We have several Dalit betrayers here," Prasad then announced proudly, introducing several successful Dalit businessmen by citing their something-crore annual turnover. According to Prasad, they had "betrayed" their traditional caste duty. Each was awarded a small bronze statue of the Dalit Goddess (made specially by Prasad), a Statue of Liberty-esque woman wearing a shapeless robe, a droopy sunhat, a pen in one outstretched hand and a computer with the Buddhist Chakra engraved on the monitor at her feet. The "Dalit betrayers" -- including 23-year-old manager of a plastics company Jeetendra Makwana, whose father once skinned animals -- were then finger-fed cake, a symbolic act reversing the traditional caste hierarchy and challenging notions of untouchability.

A series of passionate speeches on the liberating character of the English language followed. Dr. Bubek Debroy, a (non-Dalit) economist who regularly writes for the Indian Express, spoke articulately on Lord Macaulay and Indian education in English. "English is far better understood in India than it is in London," Debroy quipped, after quoting Horatius, whom he had first discovered at age 12 and whose texts had had a profound impact on his life. "When I look at this Dalit Goddess, I think of Bhavani, the Goddess of the Universe, and that means globalization!" he announced to cheers from the audience. Narendra Yadav spoke about how the Indian education system changed from Gurukuls -- religious schools -- to secular schools with the help of the British empire.

In perhaps the most comical part of the evening, the British empire itself -- or its modern-day representative, a tall, soft-spoken and confused-looking man from the British Council -- was awarded a statue of the Dalit Goddess, albeit sixty years too late. "Oh, it's very pretty," he said, cradling the Oscar-like statue in his hands and looking a bit helpless. "I've never gotten anything as pretty as this, you know... I've gotten trophies and medals, but this is really quite nice." His tone changed as he contemplated the book he had just read about the Indian Mutiny -- his first introduction to the bloodbath that killed some 100,000 Indian soldiers. "I feel as if I haven't done anything to deserve this," he told the feminist theorist Nivedita Menon, joking: "I've learned more about Lord Macaulay in the last hour than in the last 45 years of my life." Menon told him with a glint in her eye: "You represent the British Empire, anything that's not Indian, the not-India. But don't get too ahead of yourself," she teased.

Ashis Nandy, who has written much about the psychological harms of colonialism, offered his own perspective in a speech. "I am not a great supporter of Lord Macaulay, nor am I a great supporter of Chandra Bhan Prasad," Nandy, who has declined every invitation to Prasad's previous pro-Capitalism parties, said somewhat grimly. "There has been a great injustice done to the Dalits," he said gravely. "And I am fine with English -- I publish in English. But I believe that people should have the right to speak in their vernacular, to study their own histories, to worship their own gods," Nandy said, speaking of the richness of Dalit culture. But he ended his speech on an optimistic note: "I am very honored to be here, and I have just heard that Chandra Bhan Prasad has named his daughter Khushi, which means happiness, and overcoming the tears cried in past generations and affirmation of self. I think that is great."

While much of Dalit literature stresses the pain and suffering associated with being Dalit, Prasad's pro-English, pro-Capitalism voyage to erase Indian culture is perhaps the only Dalit movement that is full of optimism and positive energy. The Hindi language, as well as the myriad of other Indian languages, may have more nuances and may be better equipped to express the particularities of vernacular cultures. But to Prasad, English is the great equalizer, the language that only has one form of address -- simply "you" -- in contrast to Hindi's hierarchical three forms of address. And so, nuances be damned!

Nizamuddin Basti

Here are some photos of Nizamuddin Basti, a poor Muslim quarter that grew out of a 14th century Sufi village (where I go to teach English to girls from the neighborhood).

go here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/thaliag/sets/72157622566869586

visits from the policewallah

Local police officers watching fireworks for the festival of Dussehra.

Every once in a while, we get a visit from our local police officer. He drives up on his motorcycle, his bushy mustache twitching, his facial expression a mix of determination and slight bewilderment. Minutes later the doorbell rings, and he and our landlord are standing in front of the door.

"He needs two copies of your visa and passport," Sanjay (our landlord) says. The police officer nods vigorously and his mustache twitches.

We dash into our rooms to retrieve some copies of our slowly diminishing stash of photocopies of every single documentation we have ever owned. Triumphantly, we emerge with several slightly tattered (that's what happens when you wade through knee-deep monsoon water) photocopies, which the police officer proceeds to turn upside-down and stare at. He finally nods and leaves.

Five minutes later, the doorbell rings again. This time, Sanjay and the police officer march into our apartment and sit down at our dining room table. The police officer, speaking rapid-fire Hindi, hands us the police registration forms we had to fill out when we moved into our apartment 5 weeks ago. He points to a part of the form we forgot to fill out, which goes something like this:

Village:
Village Police Office:
Village Post Office:

(A third of the form is devoted to physical features. It goes something like this (with my responses):
Mustache: no Face: small, round Hair: brown Eyes: brown Identification Mark: USA)

So, Kyle and I write down our respective villages (the small farming village of Zehlendorf, Berlin and the remote tribal area known as Palos Verdes, Los Angeles) and our post office and police offices ("Zehlendorf Police Office"; "Zehlendorf Post Office"). Meanwhile the police officer is looking at the "permanent address" part of Kyle's form with a very confused look on his face.

"This California -- is it district? A country?" he says.
"Oh, it's a state -- like Maharashtra," Kyle explains.
The police officer seems unsatisfied. More discussion in rapid-fire Hindi ensues between our landlord and the police officer on the status of California. Perhaps it is a separatist region? Finally, after much time spent wrinkling his forehead and asking us for five more passport photos, the police officer and the landlord leave, but not before explaining to us the reason of this surprise inspection.

Apparently Delhi is on red alert for terrorist attacks. So, the Lajpat Nagar Police are understandably concerned about foreigners' safety. Should anything happen, I am sure contacting my local post office in Germany via snail mail will guarantee my safety.

In general, security measures in Delhi are a parade of formalities with a whole lot of thin air behind them. Almost every public place (popular restaurants, markets) has a dinky-looking metal detector at the entrance. I've never seen them turned on once. The Delhi metro has much more enhanced security, but a recent encounter I had with a security guard made me think otherwise. I had my huge camera in my purse, which was being screened by a sleepy-looking security guard. As it came out, he looked at me with a big grin and said: "Camera, right?" I flashed him a big smile and said: "Yes, yes!" Of course.

At the evening ganges aarthi (prayer ceremony) in the holy city of Haridwar.



My roommates and I jumping in Rishikesh.

A short update:

I have started working for an NGO in a poor Muslim quarter called Nizamuddin Basti in Delhi. The neighborhood -- a Sufi community -- goes back to the 14th century, and is full of beautiful, ancient tombs and mosques. Crammed alleyways and dirty roads will suddenly open up into majestic tombs or anonymous graves hundreds of years old (since so many famous people were buried there, everyone wanted to be buried there). It is a common sight to see residents of the neighborhood sitting on these anonymous marble tombs, going about their business. The daughter of Shah Jahan (who built the Taj Mahal) is buried here. I have been teaching English conversation to girls aged 11-19, all of whom have had to drop out of school for various reasons (their families are often very conservative). The girls are very sweet and VERY eager to learn English. While they don't know much English -- I taught them a simple "How is the weather" dialogue last week -- today I found out that they have been hiding their vast knowledge of English beauty terminology from me. In a conversation about what things they had bought for the upcoming festival of Eid (the end of Ramadan, which is apparently celebrated by buying new dresses, earrings, shoes, etc), it emerged that they knew how to say lipliner, eyeliner, mascara, face powder, lipstick, earrings!

I just came back from a weekend trip to Haridwar and Rishikesh, two holy cities along the Ganges to the north of Delhi. It was nice to get away from the heat and crowds of Delhi, although we almost got attacked by several vicious monkeys. Kyle learned an important lesson: when encountering a baby monkey, don't try to kick it, especially if its mother, father sisters and brothers are surrounding you. Check out my most recent flickr album for the pictures!