Tag Archives: india

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.

Mini Term

Yesterday I finished a 3-week mini-term with a group of 16 Union students. To be honest, I currently writing from Mumbai where I find myself overcome with a deep sadness, a sadness that I haven’t felt since coming to India.

From a holistic lifestyle perspective, spending time with Union students was a treat. I honestly forgot what it felt like to be an American college kid again. In the past six months I’ve gone from doing keg stands and playing Edward 40-hands, (if you’re not a millennial, look it up) to spending time with my family and dog, to living in a rural Indian village, to getting in the best shape of my life, running the world’s highest marathon, to living comfortably in solitude, thriving in a new city, and expanding the definition of my home. My latest journey on the mini term might have been the best of all.

The first few days were incredibly frustrating. As I described in “Fitting In,” I have developed a liberating belonging in India. The streets don’t scare me, but rather invite me to explore. As such, when 16 Americans arrived in Delhi and ventured out for food the first night, only to return minutes later and order room service, I was a bit befuddled. I quickly realized that my five months of “just do it” mentality, and understanding of the small cultural nuances of a foreign culture couldn’t be adopted in a few short days. But, as time went on, I realized I couldn’t blame them (sorry Julia, Hannah, Jessica etc.). I was the same guy not too long ago, deeply afraid of purchasing a banana from a fruit stand in Bagru. And just like I did, the students on the trip grew immensely with each passing day, learning and exploring India, becoming ever more accustomed to the poverty and chaos around them.

It was also nice to have intellectual conversations with other people than myself. Finally I had the opportunity to delve into issues I’ve been grappling with for months, and seeing others go through the same process made me reflect on my own experiences thus far. It was also nice to kick back and have a few drinks and have fun. Good, carefree fun with friends is perhaps the greatest thing in the world. Thank you, friends, for a fantastic time on the trip.

As the trip went progressed, I realized how far I’d strayed from the person I was back at Union. As the trip developed people kept commenting that I was transitioning from “Indian Davis” back to “American Davis” in my dress, appearance, language and behaviors. I even shaved my moustache. I’m not sure if I ever explained the reason for the stash – but there is a saying in Hindi, “Mooch Nahi, Tookuch Nahi” which translates to “Without a moustache, you are nothing.” I grew my moustache to gain respect in Bagru (and yeah, because I’m 22 and living in India). So, Davis is now clean-shaven. You’re welcome to all those who have requested to bring out the razor.

To be honest, I’m no professional when it comes to India. It the grand scheme of things, I still know nothing. I have way more questions than I’ll ever have answers. For better or worse, I think I’m just “Davis” and don’t need a country tagline.

Nonetheless, spending time with my peers made me understand just how different my life has been, and what the implications of are. I made amazing new friends that have changed my perspective on returning to India next year. While I am free and happy here – I miss my family and friends back home. Life is going by without me, and I truly feel that way now. I watched every student pack and leave for the airport, talk about what their first meal home would be, what their New Years plans are, and how they can’t wait to see their boyfriends/girlfriends. I’m still here. My brother’s engagement party last weekend, Christmas Eve, ski trips and family dinners. It’s all going by. Feeling a bit stuck, yet, this is what I signed up for. I find beauty in small moments, like walking outside and being overwhelmed by noise and color, or screaming at the top of my lungs on a beach run. Freedom.

IMG_3489

Scooting around Goa
Scooting around Goa
The group having breakfast at a palace in Kishingar, Rajasthan.
The group having breakfast at a palace in Kishingar, Rajasthan.
Prof. George Gmelch doing some hand-block printing in Bagru!
Prof. George Gmelch doing some hand-block printing in Bagru!
A wedding in Agra!
A wedding in Agra!
Taj Mahal
Taj Mahal
Taj Mahal
Taj Mahal
Seconds after I got my stash shaved in Rishikesh.
Seconds after I got my stash shaved in Rishikesh.
Hanging in a mosque in Agra. These kids were really interesting - they were adamant on telling me they weren't terrorists and said they are frustrated by foreigners coming to the mosque and thinking all Muslims are terrorists. I've come across many Trump-haters who have been offended by his recent comments.
Hanging in a mosque in Agra. These kids were really interesting – they were adamant on telling me they weren’t terrorists and said they are frustrated by foreigners coming to the mosque and thinking all Muslims are terrorists. I’ve come across many Trump-haters who have been offended by his recent comments.

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.

Have I Become Numb to Poverty?

Every day as I leave my house, I shut a black metal gate behind me. The rusty clank of the fence has become a sound buried in my mind, an orchestra that plays outside my window countless times per day, symbolizing a divide between my home and the rest of Bagru. You never know who, or what, will come through the gate, or what you’ll see on the other side.

As I turned around yesterday morning and closed the latch, my senses were acute and mindful of the morning’s surroundings: my ears, conscious of the jingle of the fence, my nose, stimulated by my neighbor’s chai and dung below me, and my skin, embracing the breeze at dawn – the best time of day, before the day’s intense heat.

When I looked up, my eyes locked with a teenage girl about 50 yards in the distance, no more than 16 years old. She was standing in the middle of field of debris – an area where I, along with the rest of the community, dumps their trash. Her back was turned to a stonewall that marks the boundary of Chhipon Ka Mohalla – the “printers quarters” of Bagru, an area that has become a famous snapshot of hand-block printing around the world. Pigs and dogs circled the girl like a hungry pack as she disengaged from our stare, looked down at the ground, lifted her dress with embarrassment, and assumed a squat position. Un-amused, I continued on my way.

Two minutes later, I turned a corner into a narrow alley, nearly tripping over an even younger girl around ten years old. Her jeans were at her ankles, and her dark, Indian eyes gazed up at me with disturbance. Her crouched position placed her feet on edge of the road, with her rear sinking down into an open irrigation gutter that runs alongside the street. As I rounded the corner, she stood, pulled her pants up, and put her head down in shame. Pretending I saw nothing, I strode forward; then, out of my peripheries, I could see the girl pulling down her pants to finish her business.

My day carried on as usual. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think much of these occurrences. Sadly, many do not have proper toilets in Bagru. . Instead, the streets, bushes, and hidden alleyways are the most available bathrooms for many. This includes all ages – from toddlers to the elderly. Such is life, and these instances happen every day.

We (Bagru Textiles) have had multiple clients and tourists visit recently, all of them hailing from the Western world. A few of them saw these acts of public defecation like I described, and immediately asked me about it.

“Are they…? Actually…?” My answer, bluntly, was something close to “Yeah, they’re shitting in the street. Is there a problem?”

The simple answer is yes, it there a problem. Yet, it wasn’t until I said these types of comments out loud, did I realize how numb I was to the poverty surrounding me. Foolishly, but perhaps justifiably, I’ve been defending the repulsively of these images in my mind; after all, I’ve had my own fair share of outdoor bathroom experiences while I’ve been here – indeed, this is India – it happens. And furthermore, I know plenty of people in Bagru—happy people—that do not have toilets. Who says they need them? Here, I can’t ignore my own ignorance; it’s neglectful and misguided thinking.

I’ve never been close to living in such financial deprivation that I cannot afford a toilet or sanitary living conditions. Previously, I’ve never known anyone who has even come close to such a state of poverty. But now, some of the students I teach have to squat on the side of the road. In some parts of Bagru, I’ve even seen children bathing in these sewage gutters. My stream-of-consciousness lead me to believe this is just the way things are, and not much can be done.

To stay brief, but also offer a response to these observations:

I feel intensely bothered by my numbness to these unmistakable demonstrations of poverty. Indeed, I am surprised and concerned about it, but I am also satisfied with my level of comfort.

To combat poverty, one cannot be captivated by its aesthetics, nor startled by its afflictions. In contrast, there must be a level of comfort with inequality, a certain type of comfort that allows you to live in and amongst it, but also observe through a critical lens.

It is this thorny relationship that I am struggling to find in Bagru, treading closer to the acceptance of poverty itself, while maintaining a careful eye, constantly dreaming up new ways to improve, build, and raise this community up. To be fair, I myself am not living a lavish lifestyle of luxury, but at least I have a toilet.

Certainly values play a strong role in poverty. From my (admittedly unqualified) perspective, the lack of sanitary practices appears to be low on the priority list for people in Bagru. Of course, the deeper issue here is education; if people don’t understand why a toilet is useful or beneficial, there isn’t a reason to invest in one.

Unfortunately, even a donation of 1,000 toilets will not, and cannot, fix this issue. Its roots run deeper, longer, and require more than just monetary change.

Now, every time I hear the sound of the metal gate, I know – at least in part – the types of realities that exist for this destitute community. The question remains, how should I feel about it, and what am I going to do?

 

Simple Living: It Ain’t Always Easy

My life is simple. Perhaps the simplest it will ever be.

A few nights ago I found myself in complete disarray – overwhelmed and pulling my hair out from stress which had engulfed my every thought. But why?

It was a long day. My sunrise run had parlayed into my morning temple trip, which quickly blurred into a hectic day at the Bagru Textile office. A large order had been misprinted, another was behind schedule, the email inbox seemed to be growing much faster than our outbox, and on top of this – we had a client visiting that needed to be tended to. It was, naturally, “just one of those days” – I couldn’t catch a break. Truthfully, these types days have been happening more often than not – with business picking up, there is always more to be done, particularly when deadlines need to be met.

After work winded down around 5pm I excused myself from the office and walked to a nearby school where I teach English. Teaching has been a rewarding reprieve for me, and something I look forward to. Since my students attend school all day, I try to keep class light and energetic. My thought-process is that if they’re speaking English at all, it’s a victory. Anything they learn is more than they would sitting at home. This often creates a half-circus/half-English class jubilation. On this particular day I was attempting to describe the difference between “a favor” and “favorable” – all while a young toddler was crawling under the benches and tickling everyone’s feet. In addition, there are always kids coming in and out of the classroom, women poking their heads in and yelling in Hindi, more heat, and no AC.

When I walked back home after class I had a throbbing headache and was greeted by a slew of urgent emails. Since we are 9.5 hours ahead Eastern Standard Time, our most important emails/calls of the day come at night. I drafted an email with Vijendra, helped prepare a shipment, ate a quick dinner of 8 chipatti breads alongside some dal, and went to my room at 8pm. Finally, the day is done! This moment was short lived, however, as two hands wrapped around my neck and another two covered my eyes. “Davis! Davis! Davis! Play some music – let’s dance!” My siblings, Yash and Chehika, wanted to play. They started jumping on my bed, (a nightly routine) their feet obviously painted with dirt.

If I ever refuse to play with them, Yash and Chehika start slapping the mannequin next to my bed across the face (I’ve named the mannequin Shelby, after my sister.  They know I don’t like it when they hit Shelby). This is when I started pulling my hair and swearing under my breath.

I walked out of the room, went upstairs onto the roof, laid down on the pebbled concrete and looked up at the stars. I immediately noticed the silence. I’d never heard such echoing tranquility in Bagru – no horns, animals, people, or buzzing mosquitos. Just me, the stars, and the same moon you saw get eclipsed by the earth’s shadow a mere 48 hours before.

I can almost guarantee that my life is simpler than yours. The only responsibilities I have are my two meals a day, trying my best at work, and being respectful. That’s it. I’m not joking.

I have no boss, no salary, no girlfriend, no mortgage, no debt, and a life without luxury – no car or the desire to buy the newest fashion statement. I wear the same underwear for three days at a time and haven’t shaved my grotesque moustache for almost three months. I eat virtually the same meal, twice a day, every day. In my free time I mindlessly scroll through LinkedIn and realize how far from a cubicle I am in Bagru. My weekly food shopping includes 10 bananas for 50 cents and a pack of almonds for 6 dollars. I’m in bed by 9pm and haven’t had a hangover in India. I beat to my own drum – doing what I want, when I want.

Simplicity is a stream of life that many strive for. My father, for example, is a “simple man.” What does this mean? He can count on one hand the things he needs to survive: Family, dog, cycling, health, and challenge. That’s it. He’s been eating the same turkey sandwich for lunch every day for the past 30 years, and he’d choose his morning routine of [biking-coffee-dog walk] over any 5-star tropical resort in the world. Simplicity at its finest.

You can read Thoreau, Emerson, and other transcendentalists to fully understand the privileges that life simple life in solitude offers. And although I’m not outcasting myself from society, I have indeed detached myself from many of my ‘old’ habits. There’s some merit to this, and parallels can be made.

Though to be fair, a simple life isn’t for everyone.  Many people would prefer more hustle-bustle, busy schedules, and unpredictable change. For some, simplicity isn’t exciting enough.

Either way, this debate isn’t about which lifestyle is better. To each their own, if you can make it work, that is. For me, the question remains: If my lifestyle of simplicity is supposed to hone my values, keep my goals in-check, and reduce stress, why do I still find myself kidnapped by pressures, anxieties, and worries?

The answer is twofold: I admittedly don’t step back enough to address the accessibility of my simple life; it’s not complex at all. On the other hand, I have an insatiable desire to challenge myself – and, with each new challenge, there is another set of unknowns, strains, and stresses. The trick is identifying how to keep these in line.

During my time in India, I am trying to balance the two – living a simple life, while pushing my limits in every capacity: personally, professionally, socially, and athletically. This is how I can gauge my successes. Yet, we still see there is no predestined calculation to engage in an intercourse of simplicity and complexity.

Maybe just doing what makes you happy isn’t a bad place to start.

 

What Are You Looking At? (Part I)

Everywhere I go people stare. Well, almost everywhere.

It’s certainly a cultural difference; back home, making eye contact causes embarrassment. In India, I am constantly gazing deep into a pair of dark, brown eyes – examining my examiner.

At first I felt threatened, like I was a target or an unwanted guest. But, I quickly learned the stares are more of interest than anything. I cannot go anywhere without being approached, getting asked if I know Barack Obama, if I want to be their friend, or, in a promiscuous, sly Indian whisper: “if you eat meat, we can make sexy BBQ together.”

My runs in the countryside are when I get the most stares. I can understand why. Camels, bulls, cows, dogs and farmers are my only company while I run. So when a family sees a white guy jogging past their farm, it prompts a few questions I can decipher in their peculiar study of my presence:

1. Where are you going? Where are you coming from?

2. Where are you actually from? Most people in the countryside haven’t seen more than a handful of white people in their lives.

3. Why are you running? What is the purpose? Nobody exercises, especially in and around Bagru.

4.  Are you ill? Do you need help?

Then something funny happens. 

The word “Jaisirayam” (jay-si-ay-ram) is synonymous with “Hello” or “Namaste.” Jaisirayam actually translates to something like “I see God in you” or “I see spirit in you.”

As I run past people, I smile, wave and say “Jaisirayam!” – and suddenly, perplexed faces are instantly transposed to welcoming smiles. In a moment, I am no longer a foreign wacko running by their farm, but I’m a man of peace, of God, and just someone appreciating the beauty of their environment. “Jaisirayam!” people reply to me, belting it out like a peanut salesman at a baseball game.

It only takes one spiritual word, and no longer do people stare. Instead they look with gratitude, happy to share part of their lives with me. I feel this same experience every morning, in a different place…

What Are You Looking At? (Part II)

Every morning I go to temple with Vijendra.

Before I begin Part II of this post, I need to address a notable aspect about Indian travel.


Before I left for India, many people asked me if I will come back “all spiritual,” “awakened,” or a “yogi.” What the heck does that mean?

Many people travel to India for a spiritual experience. I can see why. There is something special about this place, no doubt. The familial bond between friends, the color, the sublime shrewdness of the everyday citizen.

But, many people look for quick fixes – whether it be a seven day meditation retreat or backpacking across the country. I’m in no position to say this stuff doesn’t work, but instead offering an insight: one cannot simply travel to India to fix their problems. This place has healing power, but you must first find what you are trying to heal within yourself before you can even digest the healing. Nothing is earned without effort. One must get lost in India before knowing what to look for; yes, I’m still lost – and that’s okay.

There is a process for everyone. If you are looking for a spiritual experience in India, I’m not sure what that even means, but I’ll go ahead and support it. However, there must be a paramount understanding that the process does not begin and end within the borders of this country.


Religion undoubtedly plays a crucial role here in Bagru. I recently read that Hinduism is not just a religion, but more of a system of tradition, ritual, and lifestyle. It dictates how people live, and as a result, it is dictating how I am living.

Religion is a bottomless tomb that can be debated for eternity, we all know that. Nonetheless, one thing has been glowingly transparent during my time here in India:

When I enter any temple in India I am not stared at. It’s the only place nobody looks at me. A quick glance, maybe, but I’m not even sure they realize I’m a white guy wearing shorts and a Union t-shirt. There is no judgement, no accusation, no disheartened stares thrown my way.

Sometimes during my meditation I will open my eyes and there will be an Indian man no more than six inches from me, and the rest of the room is empty; his eyes are closed, fully focused, and he couldn’t care less if I’m a young Jewish kid or an elephant. Respect trumps all.

A short aside on meditation: I have no idea what I’m doing. I mostly attend temple with Vijendra out of curiosity and because it clears my head before work. Yet, when I try to clear my mind I immediately have visions of my family, a donut, my dog, and my morning tea. For those of you with any meditation experience you will know how hard it is to “recognize the thought” of the itch on your foot, tickle in your throat, or sweat on your brow – and “move on from that thought.” Now, imagine sitting in a boiling hot room and falling victim to a full-on assault by the flies of Bagru. They are little demons buzzing in my ear, landing on my damp neck and resting on my earlobe. Moral of the story: apply copious amounts of bug-spray before meditating in a Bagru temple.

My primary purpose here in Bagru is to work, while simultaneously helping a community that can benefit from my skills (still trying to identify those). The community that I happen to live in is deeply embedded in Hinduism, thus making my job extensively interconnected with this spiritual and religious mentality.

For now, I get stares – for the most part. What are they looking at? They’re looking at a guy who is finding his way. He’s lost, for sure, but he’s figuring it out.

And you can always stare back.

My Routine

As my friends and family know, I am a man of routine. So here it is:

6:30am: Wake up, do either a quick push-up exercise or some reading.

7am: My host mother, Santosh, serves my my frist cup of tea in a Union mug. I also have my own breakfast: a banana, pair, almonds and some dry chocolate cereal that I purchased from the loud, bustling Bagru market the evening before.

IMG_0422
View from the the porch

8am: I go to temple with Vijendra. This has become a nice habitual part of my morning that I look forward to every day. The temple we go to is just a five minute walk, but little is said on the way over as we are both getting in the spiritual “zone.”

The first couple times I was confused as to what was going on. At Hindu temples, it is rare for there to be a formal service or communal prayer. Instead, everyone goes on their own time, does their own gig, chanting their preffered versions of different prayers doing their own customs, etc.

Before we go to temple Vijendra picks flowers from the trees outside our house and fills up a kettle of water to bring with us. When we get there, he does his prayer exercises while I sit and meditate behind him (a more detailed blog on my temple experience is above). After fifteen minutes we go into another  and a similar procedure follows, before I am marked with a tilaka – a red dot on my forehead. This is to symbolize the opening of my “spiritual eye.”

I have been reading up on Hinduism to get a better understanding of what Vijendra is doing, and what I am taking part in. On our walks back to the house I allow myself 1 question per day about the temple or Hinduism in general. I’m learning.

9:30am – I return to the “office” (also my bedroom and the textile showroom) where Sonia has arrived. Sonia is the other manager that was hired 5 months ago by the previous fellow, Dave. She is amazing. We sit and work together in what actually feels something like an office environment. It is very nice to have her company and wisdom.

We work until about 11:30, when I am served my first meal of the day. Chapatti (bread) and some potato subji or chickpea. No meat.

IMG_0352

After lunch we get back to work. I am going to write a post soon on what, more specifically, I am doing at Bagru Textiles; for now I can say that I am quite busy. Even though it is monsoon season and business is slow, we have hit the ground running. I’ve set up long-term business plans, made new pdf’s, learned how ordering processes go, learned the printing process, had daily skypes with clients, and am working on innovative programs to benefit the community. On the operations side, I’ve been exposed to so much already; it is a privilege I have such an integral role in running this business.

3:30pm: I’m served my second cup of tea in a Union mug, and continue working for another hour or so. This is also the hottest point in the day and you can feel the heat sucking the energy out of you.

Second cup of tea in my bedroom - you can see the Bagru Textiles desk where Sonia and I sit every day.
Second cup of tea in my bedroom – you can see the Bagru Textiles desk where Sonia and I sit every day.

4:30pm: After I finish work, I play with Yash and Chehika, which usually consists of them pretending I am a jungle gym and climbing on my shoulders, or simply trying to guess the password on my kindle or computer.

Although most of my work is on the business side of things, I am slowly learning the printing process. Here I am reppin' Bagru with Chadrakantha, one of our full-time female printers.
Although most of my work is on the business side of things, I am slowly learning the printing process. Here I am reppin’ Bagru with Chadrakantha, one of our full-time female printers.

5pm: I  fill up my camelback, hop on my bicycle and head out of Bagru. I ride 10 minutes out of town and into the countryside where I lock my bike to a tree. Then I head out for a run. Sometimes Yash and his friends cycle alongside me while I run, or other times it’a just me. It’s good to get out of my bedroom and Bagru in general, clear the head, and work up a fierce sweat.

IMG_0397

6:30pm: I walk to the market downtown and buy my necessary food items.

All you need is 5 minutes in the Bagru marketplace to get more cultural exposure than a layman does in year. Sights, sounds, smells – interactions you see, animals, and people things say to you – it’s a wonderful and overwhelming experience.

Funny to think how I was nervous to go to town and buy a water on my first day, and now I feel calm and comfortable haggling over fruits and vegetables. Seeing how far I’ve progressed in less than a month baffles me; I can’t wait to see what I can accomplish in nine.

IMG_0175
Vijendra buying flowers in the market to bring to his (and my) Guru, on Guruprav day.

 

I then took the flowers and a coconut and gave them to the guru. The guru told me I was "innocent." I'll take it as a compliment.
I then took the flowers and a coconut and gave them to the guru. The guru told me I was “innocent.” I’ll take it as a compliment.

7pm: Chehika and I go on the roof to watch the sunset. Sometimes we bring an English book. In the beginning I read to her, but now she reads to me. Then we go downstairs and I’ll help Yash with his homework as well.

A few days ago Yash was learning about Hitler, the Nazis, and the Holocaust. After I told Yash I was Jewish, we looked at a picture in his textbook of two young Jews in Warsaw walking to a gas chamber. Yash couldn’t believe that I would have been one of those boys because I’m Jewish – that I would have been killed. It was simply unfathomable to him. When I asked him why he was learning about the Holocaust as an Indian, he promptly responded: “Never again. Never again.” A beautiful teaching moment.

IMG_0169
Taking a break from reading

 

English homework
English homework makes Chehika happy!

8pm: Dinner, another amazing helping of all-you-can-eat Chapatti and vegetable, or some variation. The food has been an adjustment, but I haven’t had any issues and I actually love it.

Batti, which means "circle" in hindi. It's basically a tasty ball of bread, which you break up and put in a spicy broth.
Batti, which means “circle” in hindi. It’s basically a tasty ball of bread, which you break up and put in a spicy broth.

9pm: Long day! I say goodnight to our Bagru Textiles mannequin/model at the foot of my bed, who I have named Shelby (my sister’s name). Goodnight, Shelbs!

Shelby  @ Bagru Textiles
Shelby @ Bagru Textiles

 

Some other pictures of my time here:

IMG_0425
Mukesh printing some of our traditional Bagru designs
IMG_0464
Final product: drying on our roof
Vijendra boiling fabric
Vijendra boiling fabric
Puddi (which means Angel in English), me, Balraj
Puddi (which means Angel in English), me, Balraj

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.

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.