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January

Goals

It was over six months ago when I left “home.” I said goodbye to my dog, Reggie, left family and friends and boarded a flight to India. I expected this journey would lead me to achieve new goals, reach new levels of cultural awareness, and be challenged intellectually.

Little did I know, the first goal I’d accomplish on this trip would be one I set long ago.

It dates back to December 2011, sitting next to my dear friend, and fellow fellow, Joe Hinderstein. Joe and I were hanging around one day and decided to make new years resolutions. Among them, admittedly, were prototypical resolutions like “bench press 240lbs,” and “ask ____ girl on a date” (both never happened). More poignantly, we also created a slightly more obscure goal for me: to cry.

From my memory, I hadn’t shed a tear since my grandmother passed away in 2002 when I was 9 years old. I had gone through my teenage years without an emotional breakdown, so Joe and I decided it was time for me to let some steam off (I guess this is what minerva fellows do in our spare time). Anyway, 2011 didn’t prove successful for my goal, nor did 2012, 2013, or 2014.

I’m happy to report that I accomplished my goal on the first day of my minerva fellowship, when I left my family at the airport. It completely blindsided me. I was a mess, overwhelmed with a stabbing pain that discarded life-as-I-knew-it, replaced with the unknown.

For someone who considers themselves a fairly mentally-sound person, I was unfamiliar with how to handle the uncontrollable feelings that were taking over my psyche. I surrendered, which has been a recurring aspect throughout my education here in India.

This occurrence made me realize just how hard it can be to unchain yourself, willingly, from what is most meaningful. These opportunities do not happen, but rather must be sought with conscious effort. Letting go means you must attach yourself to new pillars, new stabilities, and new people. You create new families and get enthralled in new literature. Interests and hobbies change, but you stay the same.

In my most vulnerable state, sobbing through security lines in Boston, sniffling my way through a blurry layover in Frankfurt, I began to identify myself as completely shattered; I was starting my journey at rock bottom.

I knew this wouldn’t be the first time that I would feel this way over the course of my time in India. I also understood that one must break to be rebuilt. One must confront their weaknesses before moving forward, stronger, with conviction.

Time has passed. I find it amusing how my perspective has changed.  I left behind my family, but have been welcomed into a new one; I left my country and have fallen in love with the soil in India; I left my school and am trying to run a business; I left friends and made ones of different skin color, religion, and dinner-table discussions; I temporarily entombed my past but now obsess over my future.

Today my family arrives. While I am not homesick, it has simply been too long since I’ve seen their faces. And while I’ve fallen in love with this country, I am also eager to see how I respond to surrounding myself with the people where I feel most belonging.

We will be spending a few days in Jaipur/Bagru, then heading to Kerala (southern state of India). Tomorrow is my birthday and we will be having a traditional, Indian birthday party in Bagru. I cannot wait to show my family how to dance like an Indian, eat like an Indian, and expose them to the subtleties of this culture. They’ll be pushed out of their comfort zones – that I can assure, but it will all be good fun in the end.

 

January

Does everything happen for a reason?

A Question.

I recently got an email from a student who asked, in short, “do you think everything happens for a reason?” The question stemmed from my post “A Balancing Act,” where I discussed economic inequality in this country, and the sense of contentment many Indians have with their social standing. So, do I think everything happens for a reason?

My answer is no. Things happen for reasons, many of which are in your control.

My time in India has opened my mind to the concept of karma. The theory of karma is deeply imbedded in Hinduism, though its general practice really exists in human action.

At its core, karma is a selfish entity. Any action that makes you feel good, contributes to your ever-fluctuating karma. People build karma their entire lives; with each action there is a re-action, an outcome, which decides the trajectory of your life.

I support an existential model where actions guide the hand of your future. This overlaps with the theory of karma, which is found in every crevasse of Indian culture. This is partly why, I think, my transition to living in this country has been one of belonging.

“Things” do not just happen – you make them happen.

 Indeed, good things will happen to those who deserve it. In essence, positives will arise if you work hard and meet the right people. Though, my support of karma does not discriminate. It’s an innocently unbiased and simple formula.

Bad things happen to good people as well. Didn’t receive a promotion? Got rejected from a university? Got rejected from the Minerva Fellowship? These things happen. Do they happen for a reason? Yes, they happen for many reasons – and you created them. The most important part is how you handle each adversity. How do you keep building karma, even when facing failure? The mirror of human action is the most genuine portrayal of an individual. It never lies.

Karma is inescapable and relentless. If you get thrown in a ditch, you have a couple options: you can wait for help, dig deeper in the hole, or start figuring how to climb out. Fate didn’t put you in the hole. You did. Now find a way out, then climb a mountain, and never look back. There’s endless opportunities in this world, so why get bogged down on one of them?

What’s he saying?

People who wait their whole lives for fate to rescue them are wasting time. We put ourselves in situations and often wonder, “how did I get here?” Only you know the answer.

Here, I am rejecting the concept of fate. Fate is a dangerous concept for its followers. Outcomes are never “supposed” to happen to fulfill a mystical prophecy. They happen because of reason, action, and consequence.

Relating back to India

Many people (not all) in India believe in a lot of spiritual “stuff,” (yes, that’s a euphemism). While on one hand this gives people purpose, it does so at their peril. Today, for example, I stood in line for three hours to enter a famous Hindu Hanuman temple in Rajasthan that preforms live exorcisms on site – the only one of its kind in India. It was a tedious afternoon of waiting in line at this temple. Everyone was barefoot on freezing concrete that was lathered in mud. And, since the temple is known to extract evil spirits, there were occasionally manic people yelling and pushing their way through the sea of people. Chaos.

After getting shoved in the back countless times, I finally arrived at the shrine inside the temple walls. Immediately, people began digging hundreds of rupees out of their pockets to give to Gods in the belief that their wishes would be granted. These were people with practically no money, giving everything they had in the name of hope and fate. I watched in awe for ten seconds before we were ushered away from the shrine and out the exit by some temple employees.

Karma also incorporates reincarnation. The notion goes as follows: If you are born into a poor caste, have a disability, or work a low-paying job, people believe this is a result of low karma in a past life. As such, many people are satisfied with their socioeconomic standings in India. Even if you’re dirt poor, people have the mentality, “I deserve this,” as a result of karma carried over from a past life. It’s the complete opposite of Western capitalism, where upward mobility is built into the societal agenda – or at least into our minds (still working on putting it into practice). Here is where I depart from my support of karma. I do not believe in reincarnation.

What I do believe is that India has taught me how to progress. By progress, I am talking about increasing my karma.

Karma doesn’t just appear at your front door like a newspaper. You can’t order karma for delivery like Domino’s on a Sunday night. Instead, you must create karma yourself.

Returning from the Jagriti Yatra to Bagru, I immediately observed how stagnant the village seemed. It was the first time I’ve noticed the community as lethargic, as though everyone was waiting for something to happen. Now it’s a glaring eyesore. People wait for days, weeks, years, and lifetimes. Generations have passed, and people have waited: for change, for money, for God, enlightenment, and more. It’s encouraged me to ignite more action from those who are waiting.

You control your own future. Now make it happen.

November

Blending In

As I was walking down one of the busiest streets in Jaipur yesterday, a rickshaw (tuk-tuk) driver pulled to the side of the road – a common, daily occurrence. It happens wherever I go, at all times of the day. As a white person in India, I am constantly asked if I need a ride anywhere, want a tour around the city, or a number of other services. I’ve gotten used to brushing these people off without much thought, and carrying on my way.

So when the rickshaw driver first pulled over next me, I gestured with my hand that I wasn’t interested in a ride and kept walking, ignoring what he was saying. After several more attempts to catch my attention, I finally turned my head to hear what he had to say. In a perplexed curiosity, the man said to me:

“My friend, you look Indian. How you become this?”

I was incredibly shocked. The man wasn’t asking if I wanted a ride, wasn’t haggling me for anything. He simply was impressed and interested by my demeanor. I was honored an excited – wow! After living in India for four months, I’ve officially embedded myself into the deep crevices of this culture. It’s a hard-earned respect.

Admittedly, one could attribute this man’s curiosity to my mighty mustache, or even the Bagru block-printed shirt I was wearing. But, I don’t think that explains it all.

He said I “looked” Indian, which of course can be attributed to my appearance. After all, I’m a short guy, and I’ve lost all my muscle mass; now, I’m a frail vegetarian whose body mimics the Indians I live amongst.

However, that doesn’t answer the man’s question: “How did you become this?” The man wasn’t just commenting on what I looked like. He was commenting on how I acted.

There is a certain behavior, a flow, a chaos, which I now deeply understand and feel part of. There’s a level of comfort that is required in order to navigate India, its people, and streets – the sounds and color – to fully recognize that everyone is a piece of the puzzle. Together, the masses of people, animals, trash and street vendors – we all make the ‘beauty’ that people come to India to see. It’s for this reason that I never recommend seeing the numerous temples and forts in Jaipur, (sorry) but instead walk down the streets. Try, at least, to be a part of the tumultuous flow – don’t just take pictures and email home about it.

I’ve developed a swagger. This isn’t any type of swagger I can relate to anything back home. It’s not the type of swagger that Kanye and Justin Bieber have; it’s a swagger that isn’t learned – only lived.

My swagger blends in with the dirt and dust that covers each and every Indian street; it makes me disappear into the backdrop of the hustling scene. I am proud of this swagger, as it cannot be taught. It’s developed through an astute observation of cultural nuances, small things that are unspoken and unrealized by the local people.

Now, I not only “look” Indian, but I feel it as well.

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.