Tag Archives: Union College

A Balancing Act

December 23, 2015 cutterd

I used to have this theory of equilibrium: all people, no matter where they are from, come out even in life. Essentially, for every hardship one encounters, a balancing positive will arise. This was my way to justify anything I saw in life as ‘unfair’: death of a family member, children with cancer, homelessness, or rejection. As an adolescent I truly believed this formula worked – if you lose a loved one, you will meet another to love. If you were poor and hungry as a child, perhaps the strength gained from that experience transforms into a successful adulthood. It’s a naïve formula that I no longer believe in. Let me tell you why.

This world is far from balanced. Most of us can’t ‘balance’ work, play, and family. I surely can’t balance a checkbook; hell, the ‘balanced’ diet you’re following is probably protein or carb-heavy. More poignantly, there is an innate disparity – a lack of balance – between social classes here in India.

Our journey on the mini term directly introduced us to India’s multitude of faces. I realized slowly that, while I thought I really understood India, Bagru does not, and cannot, explain Indian culture as a whole. Truthfully, it barely scratches the surface of rural India, without even touching on the differences with the urban. I’m currently sitting in a café in Mumbai that feels worlds away from Bagru – even New Delhi for that matter.

Going back to balance. The best forms of government create balance. This is playing out perfectly in the American election cycle right now, where ‘inequality’ is one of the most commonly used words on the campaign trail (aside from “boots on the ground.” Yes, I’m talking to you Ben Carson). The roots of imbalance are vast, ranging from crony capitalism to corruption and, in India, caste. Stability and balance are essential for functionality between families, socioeconomic class and businesses, between religions, political parties, and ourselves. In addition, balance is a key indicator to quality of life. It’s no secret that Scandinavian countries have the lowest Gini coefficient, (measuring economic inequality) and also the highest quantifiable quality of life.

While wealth is a main contributor to this hypothesis of balance, I’m not only talking about economic inequality.

On our last night in Mumbai we went to the rooftop of the Four Seasons hotel for a goodbye drink. The Four Seasons is the nicest hotel in Mumbai in the center of the city. The setting was picturesque. We looked out on a beautiful orange sunset backlit the skyline before us, the sun dipping below the ocean horizon for as far as we could see. As my eyes wandered down however, I descended upon the slums directly below. As I sipped my drink, millions of people living off less than $4 a day were staring up at me. I was wondering what they were thinking.

Only days before, we were on a tour of Dharavi, one of the largest slums in the world – home to 1 million people, and the location of Oscar-winning Slumdog Millionaire. As I walked through the narrow alleyways of filth and gut-wrenching odors, I was fascinated by the organization and lifestyle of the slum, but less concerned with the poverty. After all, I’ve seen slums in Cape Town, South Africa before, and I’ve lived with amidst poverty for the past five months. What bothered me more was where I was going – after I left the slum.

I had seen the way the inhabitants of the slum were looking at me before; it is the same way our printers in Bagru look at our foreign clients or tourists passing by. It’s not a look of hatred or jealousy, but rather pride. It’s a look that says, “you couldn’t live here if you tried,” or “you wouldn’t understand what I’ve been through,” or “have fun at your hotel. I’ll still be here.”

From my experience, most poor people aren’t ashamed of what they have – they’re proud of themselves for persevering and succeeding with the cards they’ve been dealt. Now, that is an admirable quality.

There is a distanced relationship between the passerby and citizen, where respect must be earned, not given. I wanted to stand there in the Dharavi slum and tell them that I can do it. I want to live with you. But, at the end of the two-hour tour, we boarded our coach bus and went to Starbucks, shopped around a mall with Gucci and Rolex stores, and slept in our hotel with fresh linens.

I’ve found it amusing yet perplexing that I’ve been able to seamlessly float between the rich and poor of India. I’ve seen arguments in Bagru about purchasing a 5-cent pencil. I’ve even screamed about 2 cents with a rickshaw driver. I’ve legitimately fired a printer in Bagru who make less than $150 a month, and gone to malls in Mumbai that are no different from American luxury. I’ve felt comfortable in both circles. Now I’m having trouble deciding to which I really belong.

I feel more unbalanced than ever before, like a swinging pendulum that shifts every second. Union seems closer than ever, but miles apart.

If you were to ask me if I could pinpoint 1 skill since I’ve been here, what would it be? My answer would be this: if you were to drop me in any village in Rajasthan, India, I would have no problem walking around and making friends. I wouldn’t feel intimidated approaching a Chai stand with ten Indian men with fabric wrapped around their heads, shooting the shit in Hindi. It’s an intangible skill that I’ve developed, a certain second-hand nature of how-to-act and what-to-do. Yet, at the end of the day, what does this really get me?

On the contrary, if you were to drop me in any poor neighborhood in Chicago or Detroit, I would feel lost and foreign. I’ve found a sense of belonging in a very particular place in the world – a very specific place in India. Now, I’ve been on the other side of the swinging pendulum; in Mumbai, I’m just another dude.

I’m still trying to find the balance. So is India, and America, and each one of us.

View from the Four Seasons in Mumbai. Slums below. Where's the balance? — View from the Four Seasons in Mumbai. Slums below. Where’s the balance?

A typical snapshot of Mumbai inequality.

December

Mini Term

December 23, 2015 cutterd

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.

The group having breakfast at a palace in Kishingar, Rajasthan.

Prof. George Gmelch doing some hand-block printing in Bagru!

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.

November

Blending In

November 20, 2015 cutterd

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.

October

Have I Become Numb to Poverty?

October 10, 2015 cutterd

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?

October

Simple Living: It Ain’t Always Easy

October 2, 2015 cutterd

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.

August

What Are You Looking At? (Part I)

August 9, 2015 cutterd

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…

August

What Are You Looking At? (Part II)

August 9, 2015 cutterd

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.

August

My Routine

August 9, 2015 cutterd

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.

: 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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

Some other pictures of my time here:

Mukesh printing some of our traditional Bagru designs

Puddi (which means Angel in English), me, Balraj

Bringing U to Bagru

Tag Archives: Union College

A Balancing Act

Mini Term

Blending In

Have I Become Numb to Poverty?

Simple Living: It Ain’t Always Easy

What Are You Looking At? (Part I)

What Are You Looking At? (Part II)

My Routine

Davis Cutter in India