November Retreat Part 1- Backwaters!
(17-18 November)

Before I get started writing about everything that's gone down over the last few weeks (sorry about the lapse, loyal readers!), I'd like to begin by wishing everyone a very happy belated Thanksgiving. Wherever you may be in the world, I hope the holiday was an opportunity for all of us to reflect on the fact that, like the Pilgrims and Native Americans, we are not alone in this world and we need to both help and depend on one another to survive, and for us to give thanks for the people and love we've been blessed with. And as we gorged ourselves on turkey, stuffing, pie, and cranberry sauce shaped like a can, I hope that everyone could take at least a moment to think of those who lack the material necessities to survive, and vow to live in a responsible way that will not deprive others of their right to life and happiness.

November here has been kind of a funny month. I think we, as a group, had a programme or a visit every week this month. It was a bit disruptive to the usual routine, and Achen was experiencing a bit of guilt over the fact that our work at our placements was being so regularly disrupted. I, honestly, didn't mind.

The most pleasant and important visit we had was from Shannon Langley, of the Presbyterian Church (USA). After some sizeable cutbacks and organizational shuffling back in May, Shannon found herself head of the Direct Mission Involvement office and as such, more-or-less in charge of the YAV program. So for the last three months, she's been traveling around the world, visiting every YAV site, learning as much as she possibly can about the program and the different sites and placements. Shannon was in India from the 16th to the 19th of November (I think). She visited each of our sites individually; and for the weekend, we all came together to spend some time cruising the backwaters of Kumarakom (near Kottayam) in a houseboat and to share a bit of our collective experiences, insights, challenges, and frustrations with Shannon, Achen, and each other.

We boarded the boat around 2pm on Friday the 17th. It was a beautiful day, and the backwaters were the tropical paradise every travel book and website in the world makes them out to be. I'll try to get some pictures posted to my photosite soon. The shore was lined with resorts, and we oggled all the white (presumably European) tourists lounging about in scandalously revealing shorts and tank tops.

It's funny how "Indian" we've all become-- Shannon commented on how well we all have the affirmative-head-wobble down (I fear that this habit may be hard to break and will cause some serious confusion upon my return), and the novelty we find in seeing other white people is a perfect avatar of cultural irony.

The scenic, touristy beauty of seeing the Keralan backwaters from a houseboat is not a perspective that most Indians will ever have of their country. But I think it's important for us to occasionally see the India they talk about in Lonely Planet guides and tourism websites. Otherwise, I think we risk burnout from the constant, prolonged exposure to the (or at least, our) reality of the country.

So we relaxed and really enjoyed our time on the boat. We had lunch, afternoon tea, and dinner on the boat on Friday, slept on the boat, and had dinner there Saturday morning before returning to land around 9am on Saturday. All the food was AWESOME (i really need to do a post just detailing what we eat here). And between meals we did Bible studies, shared our perspectives on the YAV program in India with Shannon, and shared our reflections, experiences, struggles, and triumphs with eachother. And just hung around enjoying the scenery and company, and taking pictures.

The only problematic part of the trip was the night. While there were sleeping quarters on the boat, there were only accomodations for 6 people. There were 8 of us. So Kyle and I volunteered to sleep outside on the deck, figuring that it would be awesome to sleep out under the stars. I think we also figured that we'd have some way of keeping the mosquitoes off of us, and that the crew wouldn't stay up until 2am watching movies, listening to music, getting drunk, puking overboard and passing out 15 feet away from us.

Ha.

So between the insistent whine of mosquitoes in our ears and the sounds of drunken revelry, I don't think either of us slept that night. But it was ok. At least we were awake to enjoy the thunderstorm that swept over us around midnight.

So after breakfast on Saturday morning, we returned to land and went our separate ways. Or, the other volunteers all hung out in Kottayam, and I returned to Aluva with Achen, Betty, and Shannon. Once in a while it's nice to be able to travel in the luxury of an air-conditioned car in lieu of a crowded, dirty, hot, noisy, train. As an additional bonus, I got to attend a couple of functions that Achen needed to stop at on the way. The first was a conference of Dalit theologians at the Amos Centre (where we spent the second week of our in-country orientation waaay back in September). Sadly, we didn't really get to spend much time there or talk much with the participants. Achen was sort of the keynote speaker; so we rolled in there, he did his thing, and we left pretty quickly because he had another function to be at in Ernakulam, about 2 hours away. This was the engagement party of someone who I think is Achen's nephew. We got there late, just as the reception was wrapping up. So we ate (oh my God, I ate so much food this weekend!), gave our best to the bride- and groom-to-be and their parents, and left. We finally made it back to Aluva and I took one heck of a nap.

After church on Sunday, in order to give Achen and Betty a break, I took Shannon to Fort Cochin and Mattanchery to show her what there is to see. We basically duplicated my earlier trip, so I won't go into much detail here. But it was again nice to just be a tourist for an afternoon. Although this time I was wearing my Indian clothes.

I worry about what Shannon will think of the South India program after she witnessed me having my mundu rewrapped in public by three midle-aged women at the Dutch Palace in Mattanchery. Apparently they approved of the fact that I was wearing a mundu, but not of the way I had it wrapped, so they took it upon themselves to fix. Before I knew it I had six brown hands all over my waist. While I thought nothing of this, Shannon and several European tourists in the room stared at the scene with combined horror and amusement.

In all, this was a great weekend. By Sunday night I was exhausted and completely stuffed, but after meeting with the other volunteers and Shannon, I felt good about how and what I'm doing here. Always a nice feeling.

I'm an American...

... and let me tell you, it's an interesting time to be an American abroad. I've spent the better part of the last three days deeply in conversation with Indians of every hue-- Communist, Congress, and BJP; left, right, and centre; college professors, students, farmers, members of the legislative assembly, rickshaw drivers, shopkeepers, and theologians; men and women; rich and poor; Christians, Hindus, and Muslims-- about the Saddam Hussein verdict and how the rest of the world sees America. And the opinion is unanimous:

(and let me make it clear before I start that these views are those of the Indian people I've talked to. I don't want to start using this blog as my own personal soap-box. Rather, I'm making this post to inform other Americans of how we look to people in another part of the world. Even if my own personal opinions are conveniently similar to those expressed...)

Yes, Saddam Hussein was a horrible, violent dictator and tyrant responsible for the loss of untold innocent lives. And yes, world leaders need to be held accountable and brought to justice for their crimes against humanity. But I have heard over and over, to the person, that the US leadership is in absolutely no position to be condemning anyone for their human rights violations. Every single person I've spoken to thinks that George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, and Condoleeza Rice are the worst terrorists and greatest threats to world peace today. Worse than the DPRK. Worse than Iran. Every person I've talked to believes that if we're setting the precedent of punishing world leaders for their crimes against humanity, Bush should be the first to swing.

And nobody is even bothering to talk about the legality or legitimacy of the court and its proceedings. There's not even a question that this whole farce was orchestrated by the US to kill Hussein and justify our otherwise unwarranted invasion and occupation of Iraq. All these Indians roundly reject the idea and practice of "victor's justice" and would like to see an international tribunal established for trying political, military, and even corporate leaders (and i think we'd find a lot of cross-pollination between these groups) for human rights violations.

Oh wait, there was one. And it subpoenaed the American leadership, and they simply chose to ignore international opinion and the validity of this tribunal. The Indians I've been talking to here don't understand how the US can go around acting like it is the only country in the world. How we can just completely ignore the opinions and reactions of the entire world and do whatever the hell we want without holding ourselves accountable to anyone.

Let me reiterate here that I'm simply repeating and reporting what I have univocally heard from the Indians I've talked to. My purpose here is not to filibuster, but to make people in America aware of how people in another part of the world perceive us. The media has been saying that the deliberate proximity of the Saddam verdict and the mid-term elections was used as a tactic to drum up support for the GOP. But I'm not sure that's entirely accurate-- I think it was more of a diversionary tactic. But not in the traditional sense of creating a crisis abroad to divert attention from issues at home. Rather, I think the importance attributed to this mid-term election conveniently served to divert America's attention away from the crisis we've created for ourselves abroad. If we're totally engrossed in what's happening in the US, maybe we won't hear THE REST OF THE EFFING WORLD speaking out against us.

Ignorance is, after all, bliss.

So like I said, I'm just writing to communicate what people in another part of the world feel. Maybe people in America will pay attention if an American says these things. I doubt it though...

America's actions since September 11, 2001, in the name of National Security and a War on Terror, have, I am told, only served to create more hate, more violence, and more terrorism, and we are progressively making the world more and more dangerous for ourselves. These actions (the War on Terror, our invasion of Iraq, the sham trial of Hussein) do not, contrary to popular American opinion, portray us as brave, strong, decisive, and just. They show us to be petty, greedy, petulant, paranoid, insecure, and short-sighted.

I'm using the pronouns "we" and "us" very deliberately here. Of course, we know that the American people don't declare war or make our foreign policy. We know that our government acts without the consent of its people. But as far as the rest of the world is concerned, our leaders do represent our country and its people, our values and opinions. Their qualities, character, faults, beliefs, and ideologies (and of course actions) are the basis of international popular perception of America and its people. For all intents and purposes, our leaders are America to the rest of the world.

This is terrible news when most people view elections as a choice of the Lesser of Two Evils.

(everything from here on out is my opinion, for those keeping score at home)

But just because it is our leaders, not we, who are doing all this damage, We The People are not blameless. We're guilty, I think, of deliberate ignorance and apathy. We can't be bothered to know what our leaders and our government are doing. If we knew, we might have to try and do something about it. We might have to compromise our comfort and luxury. So we write it off as somebody else's job. And then when we do hear about the atrocities our country is committing and the cruelty of our economic policies, we choose to ignore it, or shake our heads, say "What a pity," or "I didn't vote for him," and change the channel to American Idol. Like I said before, we completely insulate ourselves from the rest of the world so that we don't have to question the way we're living or take any responsibility for the effects of our lives and actions, or inactions.

And this is tremendously irresponsible.

We can bury our heads as deep in the sand as we'd like. But there is a whole world out there. And our leaders and their policies-- undertaken in our name, and with the tacit consent and approval of our silence-- are only galvanizing the opinions of that world more and more against us. So much for national security.

I've got my ear to the ground halfway around the world, and I can't ignore the pain and anger I hear. The US has soundproofed itself against the voice of the world, but we can't keep going like this. Something has to change. Something has to give. And something big is going to go down unless we, as a people and as a nation can make a dramatic change in our collective mindset. And I hate to say it, but simply changing the majority in our Congress isn't going to hack it.

Like I keep saying (sorry for being a skipping record...), we need to very closely examine our own lives and become aware of every word we say and don't say. We need to take a very personal interest in what our government does, and not be afraid to speak out. We need to be mindful of our consuming habits. And we all need to learn to be peace, love, and compassion.

Yes, we absolutely need to change our collective mindset and our political and economic structures. But before we can do that, we need to change ourselves.

Contradiction, Diversity, Disparity

In my very first journal entry upon arriving in India, it was obvious to me that I wasn't in Kansas anymore. Or New Jersey, as it were. My first impressions of the country, based on a cab ride through Bombay, were that this country is the mother of all contradictions and dichotomies-- rich and poor, sacred and profane, East and West, Communism and Capitalism exist in an uncomfortable (for me to witness) but effortless unity. Having been here for over two months now, I'm gaining both confirmation and understanding of those initial impressions.

India has been Westernized to an almost troubling extent. Or at least Kerala has. In a conversation with a student yesterday, I was told, "You're in the wrong place if you really want to experience and learn about Indian culture." The basis of her comment is the fact that, among young people at least, there is a serious strain of Anglophilia. The more American you dress, act, and speak, the cooler you are. Students take a certain pride in not knowing their mother-tongue and in being ignorant of their history and traditions. But they can sing Western pop songs like it's their job. Understanding and appreciating the norms and culture of another, well, culture can be an important and valuable component of being a well-rounded person with a global perspective. Heck, that's probably a good portion of the reason I'm here. But when we abandon knowledge and appreciation of our traditions, history, and culture, we become trees without roots and we rob the world of one more set of valuable contributions and insights. And God knows global homogenization is happening quickly enough on its own. We don't need to help it along any.

But, like I said, India is a country where all sets of extremes nestle side by side. A.K. Ramanujan says, in the introduction to a book of Indian folktales, that "whatever you can truly say about India, you can also say the exact opposite with equal truthfulness." And even on the UC College campus, where students wear jeans and Nikes and proudly sing Brittney Spears, Backstreet Boys, and Celine Dion (all of which they, very troublingly, condsider rock...) songs, students also practice traditional arts and keep alive their ancient and vibrant culture and traditions. One boy in the men's hostel is a very talented tabla player. A girl in the English department is a singer of Carnatic music. Many students, both male and female, are amazing traditional dancers. So while some students have definitely traded in their Indian-ness for the prestige of looking, talking, and acting like Americans, many others seem to embrace their identity as Indian. And the majority, I'll assert, fall somewhere in between, possessed of a healthy balance of modernity and tradition.

Not quite so healthy is the economic disparity on display everywhere one looks in India. Before I came here, I was deluged with information about India's booming economy and unprecedented financial growth. But, as is the case anywhere in the world where a butt load of new wealth is generated, only a very small percentage of people in India benefit from this economic surge while the rest are plunged even deeper into poverty.

An editorial in yesterday's Hindu addressses precisely this topic. "India now ranks 8th in the world in the number of billionaires," the article tells us, "but clocks in at 127th in human development." In the last year, India "has added more newly hungry people [to the world] than the rest of the world put together." Child mortality due to easily preventable causes has actually increased since the 1990's. Millions of Indian children do not get any education whatsoever, and millions more are not having their nutritional needs met. And forget about medical care. "More than a fifth of [Indians] no longer seek health care of any kind. They just can't afford it." And it's not like people aren't working- "labour productivity in India shot up 84% between 1990 and 2002. But real wages in manufacturing fell 22 per cent in the same period." Forty per cent of India's population lives in a state of deprivation worse than that of sub-Saharan Africa. And yet the combined wealth of India's billionaires is second only to that of the US.

Something doesn't add up here.

I wish I could, at this point, say what we need to do to fix this. But I can't pretend to have the answers. I have ideas, and I know that there are people who are doing amazing things to both help the poor and suffering and try to change the structures that institutionalize this kind of inequity. But I hope this information can at least make us pause and examine our lives and the roles our consumptive habits and everyday choices may make in propagating and supporting this global inequality. Because they do play a role. Every choice that we make has global ramifications, and every change that we make can also create a change in the world.

Peace.

Me and My Mundu

As I mentioned in my last post (and I'm only going to mention it in passing here as well. I'll write something insightful and meaningful about it soon, I swear!), last week was Kerala's 50th birthday as a state. As part of the celebration, people wore the traditional Kerala garb-- a cream-coloured sari with gold trim for the ladies, and a mundu and white shirt for the gents. This was my first time wearing a dhoti out in public (I wear my lungee in my room pretty frequently), and I loved it!

So now I'm wearing a mundu pretty much everywhere I go. I'm realizing, however, that this may create a problem of sorts. It's completely acceptable, and the Indian people love it that a saipu is wearing traditional clothing. They've actually taken to calling me "the Malayalee Saipu"-- the White Malayalee. Which is great. But this is also precisely the problem.

I've now completely annihilated any possible chance at relevance.

In listening to the people at the college or at Chacko Homes talk about previous volunteers, they never mention the work they did or the impact they had; they only talk about to what extent they succeded or failed in embracing the culture here. I hear about how good such and such volunteer was at eating with his or her hands; what foods they enjoyed or really disliked; how easily (or impossibly) Malayalam came to them; the trouble they had wearing a sari.

So now, instead of being remembered for the stellar communicative English classes I taught; instead of being remembered as the guy who started up the inter-faith fellowship/social issues discussion group; instead of being remembered as the guy who really threw down the gauntlet and challenged the SCF, NSS, and college as a whole to have a social conscience and acknowledge the presence and needs of a world outside their walls; instead of being remembered for my smile, warmth, insight, or music, I'm going to be remembered as "That Guy Who Loved To Eat And Wore A Mundu All The Time."

But I guess there are worse ways to be remembered. It's not like I'll be "The Guy Who Ended Up Hating India And Indians So Much That He Went Home And Told George W. Bush That The Country Is Laden With Oil." But who knows... it's still early in the year.

And I shouldn't be worrying about how I'll be remembered anyway. Got to keep my head in the present.

**Nerd Alert**

Yesterday was Kerala's 50th birthday, and there's a lot that I wanted to write about its past, present, and future; its progress and problems. But while I was taking my after-dinner walk last night, I found myself thinking about something more important-- Lord Of the Rings.

In particular, I was contemplating what it means to live a life of service and how I view my role in the US in light of the experiences I'm having here. Old topics, yes. But somehow I ended up thinking about them in a new way.

The last line of the books popped into my head-- "'Well, I'm back,' he said."

Sam Gamgee had been on an amazing, transformative adventure and had played a pretty significant role in saving the world; but after that was all over, he returned to the Shire to live a "normal" life. And it seems to me that Sam's character and this line of text have some pretty deep implications for a life of service and for the transition from a great adventure into a "normal" life.

I see a lot of myself in Sam-- or at least a lot of qualities that I would like to have-- and think that there are some valuable lessons that I can learn from his life. To begin with, Sam is a servant whose actions are dictated by nothing but simple, uncomplicated love. And it is precisely these qualities that make him so noble and heroic.

As Frodo's gardener, Sam is, quite literally, a servant. He is motivated simply by the love of his master and the vow to never leave his side. So even after the Fellowship is broken and the other hobbits take on the roles of normative, combative, military heroes, Sam simply remains at Frodo's side as his servant and his friend. Even though he doesn't really understand it, Sam does everything he can to make Frodo's burden more bearable. And it's important to note that Sam's devotion and servanthood is based, not on submission or any power-based domination being exercised over him, but on love.

Frodo is the one who is burdened with the job of world-saving. While the powerful, visible, and famous heroes and leaders duke it out on the world stage, small, insignificant Frodo stumbles forward with the fate (and the weight) of the world around his neck like a millstone. He is, I think, our grass roots activists, struggling against all odds to save the world from the domination of evil, with no fame and no credit until their work yields fruit-- then they are snatched into the spotlight and turned into heroes. But labouring even more invisibly is Sam, who with his love and care supports his master, picking him up when he stumbles, keeping him company on the long, hard road. Sam isn't interested in the fame or power that the Ring represents and promises. He gets a glimpse of it, but it doesn't do anything for him. He actually finds the image of himself as a hero ridiculous. All he wants is for Frodo to be safe and happy.

I wonder if Sam ever questioned his role in the larger scheme of things; if he ever wondered what good he was in the Big Picture; if he was ever like "Man, Frodo and Aragorn and Gandalf are doing all the really important stuff. What the crap good am I?"

I don't think he did. I don't think he was at all concerned with or aware of what was going on in the Big Picture. For everyone else in the story, it may have been a matter of Good vs Evil, Fate of the World kind of thing. But Sam's only concern was Frodo-- keeping him safe and just doing the "Next Right Thing." The only thing that dictates Sam's actions is the mandate "Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee." Sounds easy, but I think Sam's job was harder than we give him credit for. Even though Frodo tries to sneak away, has his heart and mind poisoned by the power of the Ring and turns agains Sam, seems to be dead and captured beyond any hope of rescue, Sam's simple love and devotion spur him on to selfless, unsung acts of heroism.The most poignant of which, for me, is his insistence that "I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you."

When the burden and the damage inflicted on him during and by the harsh journey simply become too much for him, Frodo collapses, unable to get up again, in sight of their final destination. Sam has already possessed the ring for a short time and knows that Frodo could not bear to be parted from it. Sam is very clear that it is not his place to wield power. Their roles at this point are very well defined and immutable. Frodo is the ring-bearer, and Sam is his servant. But from his servant's position of powerlessness, Sam is able to make this heroic gesture. It's a powerful image; Sam, the servant, doggedly trudging up the slopes of Mount Doom carrying his half-dead master so they can get the job done.

When the real heroes become exhausted and fall short of the goal, it's the servants who have to pick them up and carry them those last few steps.

Wow.

So once the job is done, and the hobbits return to (and fix) the Shire, their adventure is over. Now what? Frodo, the ring-bearer, the saviour of the world, has been so changed and so damaged by his travels that he is unable to resituate himself in the life of the Shire. He suffers from the wounds and clings to the memories of his adventure, doing all that he can to keep his experiences alive-- writing a book about them, walking through the woods under the stars, meeting with elves and dwarves to hear news of the world outside. Similarly, Merry and Pippin, who became soldiers and warriors (of sorts) after the breaking of the Fellowship, also had trouble re-entering the normal, boring life of hobbits.

Sam was changed, yes, but he never stopped being Sam. He didn't have any trouble being a "normal" hobbit after his return because he had never stopped being one. Of course, he had grown from his experiences and adventures, and was wiser and more self-confident and had really grown into himself. But that's the difference... while the other hobbits were transformed into completely different people (or whatever), Sam just kept doing his thing and in the end was even more himself. And by returning home and re-entering life as a well-actualized, mindful, loving, and responsible hobbit, it is Sam who becomes the real hero by having kids and becoming the hope of the future. Sam was able to have the last line of the books and say "Well, I'm back" because he was the only hobbit able to return to and build on the life he left. The adventure of the ring pretty much marked the end of life for the other hobbits. For Sam it was just a beginning.

If that makes any sense at all.

So here, in brief, is what I get from this:
1) Be a servant. Serve from the basis of love and complete selflessness. Serve those who are struggling .

2) Because even the smallest act of love can have global repercussions, just be mindful in the moment and do the Next Right Thing. Don't worry too much about the Big Picture. And invest your energy working with people; not the Picture.

3) Don't overanalyze where you fit in or what possible good you are. Just do your thing, whatever that may be. And as long as you act out of love, selflessness, compassion, and mindfulness, your role will be a positive one.

4) Piggybacking on that last point-- don't judge what you do as any more or less good or worthwhile than what others do.

5) Contrary to what anyone might say, there is great heroism in living a "normal" life responsibly, mindfully, and lovingly and nurturing those same qualities in children (yours or others'). This is the only real hope for the future.

6) When your great adventure is over, take the lessons you've learned and use them to keep building a good, responsible life. Life doesn't stop when your adventure does.

7) Treasure the experiences and memories of your great adventure, but don't cling to them.

Peace