Hi friends,
This summer I was awarded a surprise that slowly crept up in my mind only the day before we returned to the States. It was unexpected, it physically stopped me for some moments as I ruminated over the discovery. I realized, in the most ordinary and monotonous part of the day, that I underestimated how much the trip would change me. I was overconfident about what I already knew—the emotions I already felt about the poor and disempowered I expected to see had already become facts that my brain had been immersed in. To be fair, I have been reading books like Development Ethics, The Politics of Human Rights, Big Business Poor People etc. since I was in the seventh grade. Having a dad like mine and friends like those of my parents has provided me with a rich and life changing exposure many 30/40 year olds who go into the social working scene don’t have. Yet before this trip, I had rarely spent time in communities like the Dalit and adivasi villages. Previously, I had only had a few face to face conversations with individual activists in India that centered on not only the breadth of their concentration, but the political underbellies and the financial difficulties they confronted. I had seldom spent time with actual villagers since I was six, talking about their financial collectives, their abused histories, playing hide and seek with their children. I had never eaten meals with them. And these actions, these brief moments in a jumbled universe where my life briefly ran parallel to other human beings’ lives, those that defy the socio-political dogma I am accustomed to, changed me.
I was surprised about the emotions I felt, about the vast knowledge of economics, political science, chemistry, and philosophy I received—as much as all my APs. I didn’t think the faces would be immortalized in my mind. I actually caught myself desperately trying to ingrain certain features of villagers into my memory so I would not lose them the next day, a month later, six months later. I was surprised that I would start to question the duality of being here and wanting to be there. I was unprepared for the jarring disconnect I initially felt after being back for the first couple of weeks—as I stared at Ballantyne Commons Parkway endlessly and emptily stretched before the windshield on my way to the grocery store. I am still undergoing the inability to reconcile the two habitats. Does any of this make sense?
Many of you have told me you’ve been reading my posts throughout the summer and sharing your enthusiasm with family and friends, whether you are sitting in your home in Charlotte, Mozda, a mountain house, or in Mississippi. I hope I can convey the gratitude and absolute joy your participation in my summer experience makes me feel. I know many of you have been trying to post comments and it doesn't work, but I think you need a google account for that. However, I love all the emails I've been getting! First and foremost I spontaneously decided to blog my adventures for myself—so I could document not only the specific occurrences and relationships I made with wonderful people, but also to see the progression of my emotions and record my internal personal transformation. Along with the fact that I’ve read hundreds of articles this past year for extemporaneous speaking and my fascination with hard hitting journalism, disciplining myself to write about every leg of my journey for a diverse audience has deepened my desire to write, to expose, to communicate.
For others, I am sure the amount of writing was too voluminous, and I completely understand. It became more like a series of essays, but I had so much to share; our trip was packed and I wanted you all to read about my activist friends and the work these dogged social workers do every single day. I wanted you all to read about issues deeply profiled, rather than simple superficial tidbits. As long as you browse through the posts and look at the pictures, I would be very happy. So for a short table of contents/preface:
· Click on Older Posts at the bottom of the page and go back to The Meeting-July 2. That was when we went to the Sonbhadra area of Robertsganj, my first major exposure of the summer. The parts before that are interesting as well, especially when I heard the Dalai Lama.
· I think the most descriptive photographs are posted in the Coal Day segment, when we toured the coal mining areas of Jharkand. The juxtaposition of the two scenes shows the power of relentless activism.
· The most nitty-gritty work took place during the anti-corruption drive/social audit experience in Bihar Begins and Finally in the Field, and these posts document the period where I got to interact with the villagers the most, where I was exposed to the children whose faces still linger in my heart.
· I had the most fun in GJ Adventures Begin, and that post is probably one of the bulkiest but most fascinating part of the writings. Those discussions and thoughts were the most transformative and engaging for me.
· Reading about sajiv kheti and the activists in the Baroda and the Wonderful People of A’bad posts are extremely important, especially if you are interested in the kinds of people I met, their work, personalities, and histories. The interactions with social workers became the most educational part of the trip for me—I learned so much by listening to their insights and watching their daily schedule.
· Understanding the situation of the Agariyas in Aashna and the Agariyas is paramount, especially because it is one endemic problem that requires the hearts and alliance of social entrepreneurs, chemists, organizers, and economists.
· Lastly Final Stop: Baria is close to my heart because I was literally taken away by the work of Anandi, the microfinance and social collectives, the legal support of women abused domestically, and being in the field on a motorcycle. I also got to share the memories of when I was with Anandi a decade ago.
Above was a short synopsis of the blog, and I hope you all check out any section you find interesting, though each partly is heavily intertwined with the others.
I am calling my journey epic—how else can the world that I inhabit for 95% of the year seem to shrink and fade into the background of a mere six-week trip? Sitting on my couch in Charlotte, I’m hovering between dream and reality.
