Images of India – 3: An ethnographer’s dream

There were three rows of tin-roofed shacks, arranged irregularly but spaced apart. Small outlines of men, women and children were moving about. I stood for a while and watched them carry on their lives; it felt like observing a small society placed in a glass cage – an ethnographer’s dream, perhaps.

I was in the balcony of my sister’s apartment on the eighth floor of a high-rise building in Bangalore. In the distance, large campuses of high-tech companies dominated the view along with grey shapes of hollow structures under construction. Closer still, what initially appeared like empty, barren land revealed short columns of concrete sprouting from the ground. The city’s relentless push for growth was plainly visible.

But I was more interested in the patch of land next to the apartment. Here, one part was occupied by the basti – a colony inhabited by people working in the large building construction projects nearby. It had been setup recently – the tin roofs looked new – and was clearly a temporary arrangement: once the projects completed the shacks would be dismantled and moved elsewhere, next to yet another building under construction.

Yet, people down there seemed to have settled in a manner that gave little indication that their stay was provisional. Wires strung on bamboo poles brought electricity to the homes. A water tank had been constructed nearby, and this open tank served as the colony’s water source. Like animals in a jungle gravitating towards a water hole, people of the colony regularly walked the short distance to the tank.

Tank

A little away from the tank, a man sat washing his clothes.

Washing

The water from this spot flowed and collected in a stagnant pool a little away.

Collectionpoint

Near one of the shacks, a barber was at work.

Barber

In another open patch children were playing with mud. Next to them, a small girl was washing vessels while two others were writing on a slate.

Children

In between the rows of shacks there was periodic activity. A man squatting on the ground was holding a plate and eating his morning meal, while a woman – probably his wife – sat nearby, tying her hair.

Eating

Behind, in another row, a man was hanging clothes on a line spanning the two rows.

Clothes

Nearby, a lady poured water into an aluminum vessel.

L1000603

Far away from the colony, at the edge of the empty plot, I saw a man squatting. There was a small pot of water next to him.

I stood there entranced, watching and photographing the people below. The view made me wonder if anyone had studied a small, closely-knit group of people from such a height. An ethnographer usually spends time living in the society she wishes to study, which enables her, through close observation of people and their interactions, to construct a detailed picture of how that society functions. From this height the intention would be different: she could, by looking at the “big picture” and capturing patterns or clusters of behavior, gather aspects that would not be immediately visible from within. For instance, the dynamics around the water tank seemed an interesting candidate for observation: who from which household came to collect water? How often, and at what times? What was the water used for? What would happen if the water supply was drastically reduced – how would the collection and usage behavior change?

If there were meaningful patterns here, they would lead to questions that could be answered by going into the colony and living there – so such observation from a height could serve as a precursor of a detailed study from within.

I had only a day in Bangalore, which left me less than half an hour to observe this microcosm after I discovered it in the morning. My sister couldn’t see the point in my excitement – she was tired of the construction happening all around and wished it would soon end. Perhaps, I thought, someone else in the apartment block had seen the basti and gotten excited enough to jot down the happenings down there. Someone who would discover early enough that she had a passion for anthropology, and would dedicate her first book to “the colony-dwellers who inspired me into the field of study of human cultures.”

What are you thinking?

I got a short email from B today:

"Am I right in thinking that you did not enjoy your India trip as much this time as you usually do? Your posts on the subject have both sounded terribly irritated."

It made me smile, those lines. And it occurred to me that others must have felt similarly, reading the posts.

My mind wandered to some lines I had recently read. It was by an Indian writing about his experience trying to settle back in India:

"This fucking city. The sea should rush in over these islands in one great tidal wave and obliterate it, cover it underwater. It should be bombed from the air. Every morning I get angry. It is the only way to get anything done; people respond to anger, are afraid of it. In the absence of money or connections, anger will do…….

Any nostalgia I felt about my childhood has been erased. Given the chance to live again in the territory of childhood, I am coming to detest it. Why do I put myself through this? I was comfortable and happy and praised in New York; I had two places, one to live and one to work. I have given all that up for this fool’s errand, looking for silhouettes in the mist of the ghost time. Now I can’t wait to go back, to the place I once longed to get away from: New York. I miss the cold weather and white people. I see pictures of blizzards on TV and remember the warmth inside when it’s cold outside and you open the window just a crack and the air outside slices in like a solid wedge. How it reaches your nostrils and you take a deep breath. How you go outside on a bad night and the cold clears your head and makes everything better."

That’s Suketu Mehta, in Maximum City. 

I looked back at the email.  I sounded irritated? Yes, I was irritated and angry in those moments.  It seems like I did not enjoy my trip? No, not true. Any experience of India after a gap of two years is exhilarating, intense, and provokes a mix of positive and negative emotions. I’ve only just started (and time has not been on my side these last weeks, so progress has been slow, and the writing has just skimmed the surface) – there are many more episodes to come:  the Basti; the Passport Officer; Cochin to Bangalore; Hyderabad to Cochin; the ATM; the night watchman…

Let us see what emotions they bring out, what patterns emerge.

Images of India – 2: People at work

In the evening of our first day in Hyderabad we visit a nearby internet browsing centre. (The internet connection at home has stopped working; our complaint is number 18 in the “queue”). The lady at the reception appears busy working on a computer; we wait. When she does not pay attention for a while, I ask her if we could use a machine to browse. Without looking up she shakes her head – No systems free, come after half an hour. We can wait, I reply, and enquire if they have any facilities to send faxes. She continues to look at her screen, smiling occassionally while typing short keystrokes; when I repeat my question she shakes her head again – No fax here.

We take a seat. Her lack of alertness is disturbing, but Wife shrugs it off: spend a few more days here, she says, and you’ll get used to it.

Five minutes later the lady looks up from her computer and asks us to take cabin number 4 inside. No one has left the place, so how did a free computer materialise? I ask Wife. We’ve got what we wanted, she replies, so just walk in and occupy it before she changes her mind.

* * *

A few days later I visit an optical shop. There are no other customers inside, and the shop appears to have just opened: a woman is sweeping the floor on the far side, and some sections are still dark. The clock on the wall reads a half past eleven.

I approach the lady behind a counter and ask if they offer an eye-test service. We do, she replies, but our optometrist is not yet here; she will come at half past twelve.

I tell her that I’ll come back in the afternoon half.

On my next visit the optometrist is in but the eye test cannot happen as there is no electricity. When is it expected – is it a scheduled cut ? They do not know. Fine, I’d like to purchase some frames at least – do they accept credit cards ? They do, but the credit-card machine will not work since there is no electricity.

I thank them and leave.

* * *

A week later someone from BSNL comes home to check our internet connection. He is a middle-aged man, dressed plainly in an over-sized half-sleeve shirt, and is accompanied by another man who, by his subservient attitude, appears to be his assistant. This person is carrying a laptop bag. The senior technician switches on our computer and verifies the internet connection. When it does not work he asks his assistant to open his laptop – the assitant pulls it out of the bag, places it on the table and starts it. The technician then copies an installation program into our computer, and starts an installation. After that, as if by magic, the connection works.

He gives me his number to call in case there are any further issues. I thank him, and before he leaves I ask if I can offer him something. To my surprise, he refuses. At the gate I ask again, and he says if I want to give something I should give it to his assistant. I offer my tip to the assistant, who pockets it without even giving it a glance.

* * *

I’m at Cochin airport, standing in the queue for security check. It occurs to me that security has been rather relaxed this time: all checks I’ve passed through have been mere formalities, and I’m glad it is so. It makes me feel good about the general feeling of peace and safety that prevails here, which is such a contrast to the insecurity that drives all the checks and interrogations at U.S airports.

After passing through the metal scanner I stand in front of an officer who runs the detector from shoulder to toe. He is chatting with a colleague while he does this, but I’ve stopped being surprised at the casual attitude of these security check personnel. He stamps my boarding card and returns it. As I bend forward to gather my hand-luggage, I pick up one last bit of his conversation in Hindi: “…you know, I just got back from a vacation, and after a vacation one simply does not feel like working.”

I collect my bag and turn away quickly, before my smile turns into laughter.

Images of India – 1: Flying in

It begins at the gate.

I’m at Gate 39 in Frankfurt airport, sitting amongst other passengers, glancing occasionally at the newspaper on my lap, and staring, at other times, through the glass panel at the dull-colored airplane blending into a backdrop of grey sky. An announcement over the loudspeaker instantly triggers some people to stand up and walk towards the entrance; it turns out not to be a boarding announcement, but the people – all Asians, it seems to me at this distance – do not return to their seats. A few minutes later another announcement requests everyone to be seated: the boarding will not begin for at least another ten minutes. No one budges. After fifteen minutes or so we are asked to board in the order of our seat numbers; the rear of the aircraft is to be filled first. A long queue gathers behind this crowd already standing there. There is no room for those holding the appropriate seat numbers as the ones in front do not make way. The next section of the aircraft is now asked to board; more people queue up, but since the entrance is blocked few can make it into the aircraft. I find my irritation growing, but the Europeans around me are calm and polite: they simply wait. The situation lasts for a while. It takes much longer than usual to board the plane.

Inside the aircraft, just as we are about to settle into our seats next to the window, a lady from the middle section asks if we could let her have the window seat; it would help her baby, she says, else the baby would disturb everyone around. My wife, who loves the window seat and requests one for each flight, is upset. After a bit of indecision she agrees to the exchange, and we move into the middle section. We talk about it for a while, and both of us cannot understand what problems the baby would’ve had sitting where we were now. We should not give in so easily, wife tells me. I tell her that she would be feeling worse if she had refused the seat.

After the take-off entertainment channels are turned on. There are movies in the several languages, a few TV serials and documentaries. I choose a channel and push my seat back.

Hey! Hey! What are you doing?!! Move your seat up – I cannot see anything on my screen!!

It is a lady behind me, with a thick Bengali accent. Her assault has me dumbstruck – without thinking, I pull up my seat. It takes me a few seconds to realize that she can push back her seat as well, to maintain her distance from the screen. Before I can decide on how to tell her this, she taps me on my shoulder and asks me to move over to the empty seat a little away where there is no-one sitting behind. I can stand it no longer – I push my seat back and tell her that if she wants to look at the screen she should do the same.

I think back to Gate 39, and muse over how things changed after that. Europe – in its essence, attitude and behavior – ends at the gate; the India experience starts well before you cross its physical boundaries.

This is just the beginning, I tell myself.

A conversation with Kavita Ramdas

I am on a train to Amsterdam, on my way to a conference, when an Indian voice asks me: “May I sit here?”. “Sure.” I reply, and pull my laptop aside, creating space on the table in front. She is a middle-aged woman – in her mid forties, perhaps – with South Indian features, dressed elegantly in a jeans and poncho. She settles down in the seat across, opens her laptop, and begins to write. The train pulls away from the station; I see the sign Köln Hbf sail past my window.

I get back to the presentation in my laptop, looking up occasionally when the train crosses a bridge revealing a nice view of the Rhine with the cathedral spires in the distance. I am almost never the one to begin a conversation; I wait.

The ticket collector comes by. When he returns her ticket she says in a soft but clear voice: Danke Shön. Surely not a tourist; perhaps lives in Köln.

A little later, when our eyes cross, she asks: “Are you also going to Amsterdam?”

“That’s right. Do you live in Köln?”

“No, no. I live in SanFrancisco.” She gives a wide smile. “I was here to meet a friend in Köln, on my way back from Bosnia.”

“Bosnia ? That’s interesting. How is the country now? Recovering?”

“Very slowly. I was surprised at how poor the situation was. It was difficult to believe I was in Europe – the conditions are so primitive.” She looks out of the window, and I see her eyes water. She takes a napkin and dabs softly below her eyes.

“Do you live in Germany?” she asks. I reply briefly about the work I do, and the purpose of this journey.

“What do you do?” I ask.

“I work for an organization that raises funds for women’s human rights organizations in different countries.”

This was the beginning of a conversation that lasted almost three hours, until we parted ways at the Amsterdam central station. Although I soon found out – when she gave me her business card – that she was “President and CEO” of Global Fund for Women, it was only after I got back and googled her name that I learned she was a celebrity in the eyes of many.

I asked her about her work, and she filled the hours with fascinating details and insights…

“Bosnia is still in a sorry state. Most aid goes into the wrong places, like supporting a redundant political structure (with too many ministries) – so the real issues (like infrastructure, public health etc) do not get enough aid. The condition of women is poor – they do very basic work like knitting, weaving – and it was difficult to believe this was Europe, just a few hundred miles away from Germany. I visited a school where I found children segregated along the lines of 3 different religions – shocking.”

Later, on Afghanistan:

“I was in Afghanistan in 2003. Travel a little outside Kabul, and you’ll find complete wilderness – it is unbelievable how under-developed that country is. Most of the Western aid goes into the military or to beef up security for Westerners there. I learned from the locals that India had sent 50 Tata buses (which had been permitted by the Pakistani government to drive through), and these buses were the backbone of the basic transportation system in Kabul! I met some Indian doctors and nurses from Kerala who were doing a great job – and the locals would often ask why the West does not provide that kind of support…”

She spoke about her organization, which had funded projects in 160 countries. Since they covered such a large area, they mostly used the help of local NGOs and advisors to assess and fund the right projects. The amounts they funded varied, and they considered any form of application, in any language. She spoke of some projects, and of amazing people out there doing so much for others:

“We once received a funding application from a union of domestic servants in Chennai. Can you believe that? This organization was involved in educating domestic servants about sexual harrassment during work, about their right to a holiday each week, about their right to a minimum wage, etc. I couldn’t have imagined that such an organization existed in Chennai. ”

“In Nepal, we funded an organization that helps poor women in villages all over the country. It was started by an Indian lady who, when confronted with doubts from her women friends on how they could ask money from their husbands for a cause in Nepal, put down her gold bangle and said that each woman could start with what she owned!! The organization now receives most of its funds from within the country. Such a model is clearly what developing nations should aim for, where the aid for their institutions come from within the country rather than developed nations in the West.”

“In Cambodia, I visited a factory that employed girls aged 15, and the girls were happy they had a job. Interestingly, the factory was owned by an Indian who found it more profitable to invest there than in India.”

I asked her about fund-raising, and how had things changed over the years. Were there more people willing to give now than before ?

“Earlier there was a widely prevalent notion that one can donate only after acquiring a good amount of wealth. Now there has been a shift in this perception, and people realize that they can contribute in their own small way and make a difference. And our organization recognizes this – we accept any amount from any one, and we do not publicize our donor list sorted according to the amount contributed.”

What about people’s interest in NGOs as a place to work – had that changed ?

“I think there is a perception that people working in NGOs aren’t – or do not have to be – as smart as those in the private sector. That really isn’t true, you know. This perception has to change, for more people to venture into this area of work.”

On the role of religion in a democracy:

“Democracy and secularism go hand in hand. What is the point of democracy in a country that is woven around a single religion? In such a country, if you are from a different religion, you become a second class citizen.”

We spoke of Indian books and movies. She liked the works of Vikram Seth, especially his latest one: Two Lives. Rohinton Mistry was another favourite, and she had found Family matters – a novel where, unlike A Fine Balance, Mistry had to operate within the boundaries of that social circle – very enjoyable. “Isn’t it wonderful that so many Indians are writing so brilliantly these days ?” She found it amazing that movies like Rang De Basanti and Lage Raho Munna Bhai were being made, that Bollywood was adopting such themes. It was a positive indicator of the shift in our society’s taste and its awareness towards social issues, she said. She was thrilled with Omkara, and felt the director’s earlier movie, Makbool, was even better.

She talked about her family, her Pakistani husband who was a writer and worked from home, which had interesting consequences on their daughter: on a visit to Pakistan some years ago, their daughter went upto an uncle and told him that “he had cooked all dishes really well”. She spoke briefly about growing up in Germany when her father was part of the Indian commision in Bonn (which explained her excellent German). Later on, I found on the web that her father had been the head of Indian Navy and had fought two wars against Pakistan. That also explained the opposition she faced from him about her proposal to marry a Pakistani.

She reflected on the changing times, on how social interactions amongst children revolved around the computer and the internet. Her husband had once suggested that their daughter spend a two week vacation doing nothing. “He stresses the importance of boredom: only when one is bored one starts to think, to be creative.”

Later, when I thought back on this conversation, it occured to me that the reason we were able to discuss a variety of topics with openness and ease had a lot to do with our common cultural background. I am able to appreciate this better now, having lived outside India for almost six years: the ease with which we connect to others from the same culture is something we take for granted, until we find ourselves surrounded by people with whom we sometimes do not even share a language. And in such a foreign surrounding, sitting near four Europeans conversing in formal tones, when you encounter someone whose roots are not far from your own, the result is a memory that promises to stay with you for a long time.