Monthly Archives: July 2015

July

Dinner Party

On my fourth night in India I went to my first dinner “party.”

The party took place in Sangara, a small town similar to Bagru, but closer to Jaipur ( it was about 20min away). Sangara is also a “printing town,” but now they only do screen and digital prints. Bagru is essentially the only town in Rajasthan that still does traditional hand-block printing, making it that much more unique, special, and a place I can be proud to call home.

For those that don’t know, Vijendra Chhipa is owner of Bagru Textiles and my host father. The party was for Vijendra’s sister (he is one of 12). She and her husband are moving into a new 4-story home; the husband has three brothers – so there is one floor for each family. Considering each family has about ten kids each, this is roughly a 40-person home. In India, when you move into a new home, it is customary to invite your family and the entire community to celebrate. This, along with hanging different symbols around the house, attempt to keep bad omens away from the new residence.

As Vijendra’s guest, I was considered ‘family’ and thus a host of the party.  We arrived around 4pm to set-up and ‘pregame’ – with Chai, of course, there is no drinking here 🙂

From 4-9pm it was basically a ‘normal’ family party – kids running around, the men conversing about politics and business, and the women…well, the women seemed to be forced to sit in the basement until the food was presented. Blog on gender roles is forthcoming.

The family hired a team of cooks to prepare all the food – what a production! They had to feed 1,000 mouths (can you imagine hosting 1,000 for dinner?) The process is an art; they prepare food in massive trash cans and stir with large wooden sticks. Seas of flies swarm all the food – it’s part of the deal.

During this time I felt lost and alone. Nobody spoke English, I didn’t know what to say or how to act, and truly felt like an outsider – like I didn’t belong. And finally, this loving-happy-family vibe made me miss my own kin back home.

At about 8pm the food was all cooked but needed to be carried up four flights of stairs to the roof where the party was taking place. It was a clear, crisp, beautiful night.

An aside – I would post pictures, but I didn’t have my phone with me. My two beautiful younger siblings, Yash (yesh) and Chehika (chai-yi-kah), were playing with my phone so I tried to change my password to lock them out. In the process, I locked myself out, and haven’t had a phone since. Some things just don’t go your way. But, just imagine a bright Indian skyline with me standing and looking out, wind in my hair, motionless, contemplating the purpose of my journey here. That’s when my solemn evening started to change. 

I eagerly volunteered to help carry things up the stairs, and received major brownie points for doing so. In the process I worked up a massive sweat. Finally, guests started to pour in and the rooftop suddenly looked like an illuminated Manhattan summer cocktail party (no alcohol to re-iterate).

The hosts (me included) were in charge of serving food to the community who came (all 1,000). It was actually stressful because the hosts want to make a good impression to all their guests. So, when I asked if I could help serve food, they were reluctant to say yes.

The way it works: hundreds of people at a time sit crossed-legged on the ground (this was a big roofdeck). The servers walk between rows of people asking if they want water, puri bread, caccuri, sauce, yogurt, and other things that are foreign to me. If they say yes, you can place it on their plate with your hands. After I kept asking to help, I finally got my chance to hand out some puri. I did a good job until I accidentally gave an older, traditional woman some unwarranted puri and then tried to take it back off her plate (a big no-no). I was relinquished of my duties.

After all the guests were served, we (the hosts) got to eat. And the food was great! When we left at 10pm, I couldn’t help but grin, zooming in the dark on a motorcycle in who-knows-where, India. In the cool night air, something about the dinner experience made me glad I went.

If I am to make a difference here, even small, every lesson is important. Looking back at the beginning of the night, obsessing over my lonely solitude, I could have been a wallflower. But, on the Minerva Fellowship, there are limited ‘perks of being a wallflower.’ Indeed, one must observe, but at some point, you have to get your hands dirty in the action. I made an effort and the people received it well.

While it may seem negligible that I served some bread, it:

1. Did not go unnoticed, 2. Gave me purpose, and 3. Taught me something new.

Cheers to many more Indian dinner parties.

July

Getting here

It’s hard to capture what my eyes are seeing. I feel like a newborn baby trying to take in the world for the first time.

I arrived to India on Thursday at about 6am, and waited outside the Jaipur airport for over an hour for my ride. I had no phone, no idea where I was, and hadn’t slept in over 24 hours.  At one point, a skinny mustached-man with a “welcome home” sign told me to get in his van. Being the only white person in sight, and his sign being in English, I followed. I soon realized he was taking me to the hospital and got out quickly.

With no idea what to do, I went over and bartered with a man to borrow his cellphone to make a phone call (for which I certainly overpaid). Somehow, about a half hour later, a small Indian man named Mukesh pointed at me and said “Davis.” If figured if he knew my name, he must be the guy. And so the adventure began – the adventure to Bagru.

The ride from Jaipur to Bagru is 45 minutes of pure absurdity. I use the word “absurd” carefully here, as many have used it to before describe India. I found myself constantly double-taking things passing by: donkeys carrying people, people carrying donkeys, roaming dogs, cows, and pigs, children bathing in sewers, no rules of the road, constant honking horns (they are more of a form of communication), and anything and everything carried on motorcycles.

I was immediately opened up to the fact that India is organized chaos. But the beauty is there, quietly hiding beneath the chaos, and that was what kept me grinning the entire way to Bagru.

Now, I have almost been here a week. I am living moment to moment; some are hard, difficult, and lonely – others lead me to joy, adventure, and curiosity. Since I am often alone, I find my mind wandering and thinking more than ever. In contrast, at school I was always surrounded by friends and academics to occupy my firing synapses. I never know what the next day, hour, or minute will bring. Now my best friend, and worst enemy, are my thoughts. At any given point I am thinking:

What’s next? Am I doing things right? Am I being respectful? When am I eating next?  Beer. There’s no beer. I feel good. Stay focused. Go with the people. Live with them. Learn from them. What’s my mom doing right now? I miss my mom. Wow, that smells funky. I like it. Is my heart racing? I’m sweaty. Still need to workout.  Hindi is a hard language. People are nice. I don’t understand anything. Anything. There’s a lizard on my ceiling staring at me. I wonder if he knows I am foreign. I must learn more about Hinduism. Pigs outside. Shh. Beautiful textiles.  Go do something.

And the thoughts continue. I am trying to pull away from the chaos and constant noise of my thoughts, and I think work is helping with that. As I learn more about Bagru Textiles, my thoughts have become more productive and satisfactory. I had my first skype with a client yesterday; slowly but surely I am pushing myself to find innovative ideas and contribute something positive to this business and community. As each day goes on, I am becoming more and more comfortable in a place that is far from normalcy and routine.  For now, I am taking it all in.

 

July

Final Thoughts

For the past four months people have asked me what I’m doing post-grad, what job I have, or how many interviews I’ve set up. I rarely receive a ‘normal’ look when I tell them I’ll be living in India. I usually get a strange half-grin with wandering eyes, their minds instantly picturing me sweating profusely in a 110 degree room, drowning in curry, engrossed by horrible body odor, feeding naked children, and then making some joke about arranged marriages. But to be fair, I’ve had the same pictures in my own head from time to time.

“So what are you actually doing in India?” My answer has become so routine that it almost feels like fantasy. I know what I’m doing, but they’re just words. Until I get there, it will remain that way.  I’ll be working for a textile company, Bagru Textiles. I’ll be in Rajasthan, about an hour from Jaipur in the town of Bagru. I speak zero Hindi. I don’t know much about Indian culture. I’m not even sure if I like Indian food. What do I know about running a business? I was a poly-sci major – I know as much about business as the menstrual cycle. So yes, I am pretty much walking in blind. Any other questions?

People stare with trepidation. They stare with fear, almost scared that I won’t even survive. Indeed, I’ve looked at myself with the same bold glare, asking myself, “what. in. the. world. are you doing?”

But that’s when I get this feeling of shear excitement. I can do this. What’s stopping me?

So what if I don’t speak the local language? One doesn’t need words to communicate. Food is food; I’ll be okay. Running a business? Sure, why not? I’ve learned from incredible professors, I’ve read famous texts, and recently received a wonderful liberal arts degree. I wrote a thesis, made presentations, worked with brilliant and hard-working students, foreign students, drunk, hungover and high ones too. I’ll get along just fine. And while many would say I’m in over my head, that Joyce and Shakespeare can’t prepare me for what is to come, I have to turn a blind eye.

There’s this strange confidence I have that I’d be lost without. Once I start thinking “I can’t this, I can’t that,” I shouldn’t even board that plane.  I’ve essentially attempted to transform every negative thought into something constructive – at least tried.  I’m not trying to change the world – I’m just trying to plant a seed. And one day, maybe, that seed will grow into a garden, and that garden will change a community – and maybe, that community will somehow change the world.

Honestly, I don’t blame people who look at me funny when I tell them I’m going to India. They genuinely hope I do well and stay healthy. My friends and family have been incredibly supportive, and it’s just the beginning. Am I being naive? Perhaps, but there is a fine line between ignorance and pragmatism, between dreams and drive.

Part of me wants to tell them they could do it too. It’s incredible how much doubt people have in themselves. I want to change that. I realized this not too long ago:

Last saturday I spent a relaxing weekend on Cape Cod with my family. Before I left for India I desperately wanted to run a marathon. I’d run many halfs, but not the full 26.2 miles. It was just something I had to do before I got on that plane.

There weren’t any formal races in the Cape, so I decided I’d do it on my own. My brother, with zero hesitation, said he’d pace me for the final 15 miles. So I laced up the shoes and hit the pavement. My mom and dad biked alongside me, handing me water as needed.

I’m telling you this because something happened at about mile 23. With 3.2 miles (5k) left I wanted to quit. My two-ish weeks of training hadn’t been enough – my legs felt like bricks, my achilles was popping in and out, and it felt like the cartilage in my knees had disappeared along with all my energy.

But I didn’t stop. I kept running, not because of the fans, (there were none) the prize ceremony, (there was none) or the free race t-shirt (wish there was one). I ran because something inside me wanted to push harder, challenge myself, and learn something new.

I know my experience in India will be full of mile 23’s: times where part of me says ‘no’, situations where I want to leave, quit, and fly home. There will be hard times, sure. But after all the unexpected, I know I’ll come out a better person; more importantly, I hope to leave a footprint behind that makes Bagru a stronger community, build a transformative, entrepreneurial business, and push toward a path of sustainable development.

This is an opportunity. It’s a chance to learn, to teach, and to create something meaningful. The journey starts now.