Images of India

Making use of your constitutional right to vote is very important. Especially to Nanna who was to vote for the first time in her life when the Danish PM Fogh announced general elections on 13 November 2007. In order to fulfil our obligations as citizens of Denmark we had to travel 2½ hours on two different buses from Jhalra Pattan to Ramganj Mandi train station where we boarded a 12-hour train to New Delhi. We then spent one day shopping in the Diwali haze of Delhi's busy markets and went to bed early to be on time Monday 5 November for our 10 AM meeting with an official at the embassy. In this picture, Hans, Stine and I are in a tuktuk on our way there, singing the national anthem (something I never thought I'd do whilst abroad considering my luke-warm feelings for my home country) and generally spread the vibe that democracy is something fun for everyone :-)

After some practical introductions in the art of letter voting we cast our votes and had this picture taken with our ballots as proof. Notice how incredibly grown-up Nanna looks (the pretty blue one on the right)?
...and just to prove that we were actually there, we didn't just pose in the living room...

From the weekend in Jaipur. We had just come down from Amber fort where we had a nice touristy afternoon, riding on elephants and getting pumped for tips.

And for the amazing Deepavali (Diwali) celebrations which in importance equals a Danish christmas; we were invited by our Indian family, Sohan and Pankaj, to their village, Bheslana 65 km west of Jaipur. It was, in all honesty, an amazingly intimate experience. The celebrations are kicked off by lighting candles at dusk on 9 November. In this little village, we stood on the roof of Sohan's family home and watched as hundreds of candles in rows on each roof top was lit by excited children and relaxed husbands and fathers. The two families welcomed us as integrated naturally in their lives.

Pankaj took me on an exciting motorcycle ride through the villages and landscapes of the area, I had a chat with his friends; Sohan's wife and sister-in-law sat on the roof with us and chatted in Hindi. And all the women of the household sang traditional songs for us women when we were leaving. These memories from the festival of lights are by far the best I'm taking home with me from this place. This is Pankaj, my chotti bhaia (little brother) and Sohan's wife, Ghita, for whom I have no words, but I shed a tear for her when we left and she honoured my arm with a friendship bracelet.
Women actually. I'm truly fascinated by them anywhere I go. They show their fragility and weakness in the same gestures as they show their power. This I learned from my own mother (even if she might not realise it herself). I strive to be a little bit of every woman I've met in my life. The images below are first of all the Kanjari women leading the dance at Nawaratia festival, reinventing themselves as carefree and wise, living their historical dream of being the dancers for the Maharajas in Rajasthan. The traditional dances have been passed down for generations and are incredibly intense. Sunita, our protegé who's 16 and married off to a village 3 hours away from her family. She wants to be a teacher. Githabai, Sunita's mother and the village leader. She has 10 children and insist on sending them all to school - the boys have all gone to government schools at some point whilst the girls come to us. And lastly, myself and Kalawati, hte younger daughter of Githabai. She attends school regularly and is one of the strongest resources amongst the children.

And while we're talking about women and dancing. Yesterday we attended a wedding in JP. I guess somehow this image speaks for itself. I was coaxed into dancing with this granny who taught me some Indian moves. Earlier in the day, Nanna and I had gone to Meenakshi's Beauty Parlour to prepare, and when I told Meenakshi that I was wearing a traditional Rajasthani lahenga, she styled me up the Indian way. Very glamorous was I. Agreeing to dance with the women in front of the entire wedding party is also part of me learning about them. The only thing really necessary in this situation is the ability to block out the crowd and cameras that follow me whatever move I make. But I seemed to be quite popular - and maybe they laughed, but who cares, Aunty called me the winner of the IDEX team and I had a great time :-)

Reporting from Indian reality

Every morning. I now have the womderful opportunity to flick through yesterday's English newspaper, the Indian Times. Every morning, I learn something new and mind-boogling about Indian society.

Sometimes I learn some interesting facts aout the political system and how a repulic of this size actually functions bureaucratically (or how it fails).

One morning, I learned about Indian nationalism (not to be msitaken for the so-called Hindu nationalism), curiously in the sports pages. The story of a cricket match contained the story of an Asutralian player who had accused the public of shouting racial slurs and making monkey sounds at him during the game. The newspaper portrayed the player as being childish and unintelligent, and further mocked him for not playing well in the match. It had been proven that the public did in fact shout racial slurs and imitate monkey sounds (and one wonders who's looking the fool) after which the newspaper defended these practices as part of the game (!!). Many things in these reports fascinated me. For instance, how easily a claim of blatant racism towards a sportsman was ignored. It got me thinking about tolerance levels in a society with a clear and sharp social division based among other things on the colour of skin. Or how a supposedly respected newspaper engages in the same kind of childish arguing that fanclubs would about the team's performance. It got me thinking about how different it is to study such things in countries where institutional racism has been suppressed, or where there is at least a high elvel of awareness about such injustices - and then to live these differences every day of your life, having it ingrained in your social education and creation of your identity. Such differences. They make me feel humble.

Another morning, I learned about different categorisation mechanisms in institutional India. In the 1947 constitution, the founding fathers made an effort to protect and promote the rights of the 'untouchables', now the Dalits, a term that in my ears sound just as degrading. According to Wikipedia, it means "'held under check', 'suppressed', or 'crushed', or, in a looser sense, 'oppressed'". Great word. The constitution identifies and grants special status to groups of these and termed them as either Scheduled Castes or Scheduled Tribes. As commendable as this move seems, it signifies the defeat of the nation. By granting a group special status, their special-ness is stressed and thus, this special-ness - rather than their equal-ness to other groups in society or society as a whole - is made the object of institutionalisation. It is cemented for decades to come and the institutional structures do nothing to deconstruct the devastation and debilitating social order. But granted, some groups in this society are so underprivileged that upwars social mobility is impossible without the help of institutional sturctures. In a society where some ethnic and cultural minorities are labelled OBCs, that is the Other Backward Classes, by the relevant authorities, there are buond to be a feeling of injustice running so deep that it seems to be the very spine of the nation. My obstinate self wants to ask who has the right to call other people backwards? Who if not those who have held the powerful poisitions for generations, and thus have no interest in sharing their privileges with others?

What I learn every single morning is that this is a society of violence in every thinkable and unthinkable shape and disguise. I am made painfully aware of physical violence in reports of police brutality (often leading to deaths) with no consequences whatsoever; in the accounts of political groups blasting bombs to make a point; in the stories of abducted, molested and mutilated children and women. I see the violence on the television where fathers and mothers slap and beat their adult children in frustration over failed marriages; I see how my Indian friends do not even frown, how they make fun of the infamous 'stick' of the Indian school system. I learn of young students tortured by their peers in hostels on university grounds, hung by their feet and made to drink kerosene, of how a day care worker made a 3-year-old drink urine. The child had wet herself during nap time. I guess I'm moer sensitive to these issues because I come from a society where violence is not accepted at any level, especially against children, the most vulnerable humans and the ones most in need of protection. It seems I should harden up and get used to reading these things. But I fear that my own sense of humanity - however over-sensitive it might be - will suffer from it.

So I choose to be apalled every morning. This morning I learned that Naxalites (violent Maoists) had blasted a bomb near a bus full of innocent humans. The report included the gory details of the bomber's fate: "his severed head was found some way off the road and the remains of his mangled body was stuck to the outside of the bus! (Indian Times, 01 November, 2007). How can I not be apalled, both when learning of this disgraceful attack on innocent people and when reading the less-than-human portrayal of the death of another human being? How can I not?

Confused the Indian way

My blogging seems rather sporadic. If only I could write everything I'm thinking... I'm currently confined to the head office of the organisation I'm working with. Jaipur is an amazing palce but I've had little time to enjoy it due to the famous Indian stomach flu. It's a curious feeling to be so helpless - all I wanted was my mother. The good thing about these things is that recovery is fast. Yesterday's visit to a proper Indian beauty parlour certainly helped, and today I'm almost at 100 per cent.

Coming to Jaipur this time has been an experience I will not soon forget. The purpose of our visit has been to sort out some organisational problems with the head office and also to try to speed up the process involving the release of our passports. Because yes, in the end the police decided to obstruct our work by making us worry about our right to stay here. Suffice it to say here that the intention of the police is clear, and to a certain extent they got what they wanted. We haven't been to the villages since last week. Here in Jaipur we've met with the right people and they're expecting to release our passports on Monday. I know these notes don't make much sense to an outsider because I can't write everything that has been going on in a public blog for everyone to read. The lesson I've learned is that Indian bureaucracy is best left to the Indians and diplomacy has many aspects.