Traveling and meeting new people

Traveling and meeting new people

As my time in India draws to an end I wanted to start to reflect on one of the answers I first gave to the question “why do we travel”. The specific answer I am referring to is: “To meet other travelers”. Thus I have decided that this post will be a tribute to the different people I have gotten to know beyond a 10 minute banal conversation. The fellow adventure seekers I have met have also spent an extended period of time in Benaras/Varanasi (right away you can discern a seasoned India traveler if they refer to Varanasi as ‘Benaras’-its name in Hindi). These travelers  present an interesting range of personalities from hippy to hedonist and from researcher to convert.

I met my first comrade due to our shared love for Mac computers (side note: 90% of the people in the internet cafes here have a Mac computer—do people who travel to India buy Macs or are Mac owners the type of people who travel to India?). Anyways ‘Eric’ and I often bumped into each other at one of the two cafes that offer free wireless service as long as you consume their menu items. Soon enough after we became familiar with each others faces we started engaging in random social banter. Eric like many people had come to India to escape. He had bought himself a ten year visa to India and by renting out his house in California he could live like a king. For the past six months he had been traveling from Ashram to Ashram, meditating, practicing yoga, and learning the Indian flute.

 I have no idea what he looked like in his ‘previous’ life but now there was no mistaking him as a seasoned India traveler. A single glance at his physical features would immediately cause you to place him in the category of hippy/alternative/Eastern Religion convert. His arms, legs, and torso are extremely thin presumably from hours upon hours of dedicated yoga practice. His limberness was frequently demonstrated while we chatted as he would always sit, spine straight, precariously balanced on the small café chair in lotus position. When speaking his soft slow California drawl would animate his small intelligent eyes causing them to sparkle and dance under what he jokingly called his ‘jesus hair’. Taking care of and grooming his dirty blond/light brown greasy shoulder length locks had obviously come second to reading about eastern religion and meditation. He loved explaining his theories on enlightenment and would always do so with a soft mystical far-off gaze and goofy smile framed by a patchy excuse for a beard. However it struck me as odd that such a young person who was only a few years from thirty had already had enough of ‘life’ and had come to India to run away from the real world. Yet, Eric’s quest for ‘real happiness’ came from what he described as ‘a time of darkness’. This ‘dark time’ was the five years he had spent in England at the University of Suffix completing a PhD in Neroscience and Nano-technology. He claimed to have had enough of the physical world and no longer wanted to spend his days staring at a computer. He believed spirituality was the only true happiness. When I pressed him about this fact he explained that, “the frontal cortex is responsible for thinking and consciousness thus by engaging the rest of the brain we can unleash the sub-consciousness and make the most use of our brain”. Additionally he constantly linked Nero-scientific explanations into eastern philosophy in order to ‘prove’ why it was ‘valid’. In fact, the deeper in conversation I went the more I felt he had turned spirituality into a article right out of Scientific American. After each subsequent conversation I would usually leave chuckling to myself thinking, oh yes he’s really leaving ‘the west’ behind ha!  Moreover for someone who was attempting to escape a life behind a computer screen the majority of the time I would bump into him he would be transfixed by his iphone. One day, curiosity overtook me and I asked him what he was working on. He promptly explained that he was writing program for an iPhone application that would help people master meditation. The phone would vibrate at random intervals and if you were ‘aware’ of these vibrations and ‘let them go’ you knew you were in the correct mental state. I’m sure this is not exactly what the monks in the mountains had in mind when teaching meditation but I'm pretty sure the monks teachings doesn’t include iPones. What Eric has taught me is our past will forever shape us. The new is hard to embrace and the old even harder to escape.

Another very interesting person I’ve come to know relatively well I met during my first 7am yoga class. The girl sitting next to me looked about my age and soon enough we began the usual investigational interrogation into where and what brought us to India. Based on her physical features I would have guessed she was from Ireland given her auburn hair and pale freckled complexion. Yet after she dropped a few “eh’s” it was more than apparent she hailed from my home country’s neighbor to the north, ‘Canada’. She has kind grey eyes, which rested above her petite upturned nose. Although she has small lips they carry a big north American voice that ‘is totally, like, the bomb, like you know!?’. I enjoyed speaking with her because it was nice to be reminded of the characteristic North American enthusiastic speech pattern. North Americans’ and especially North American females’ dialect is usually filled with enthusiasm, smiles, and optimism. We are easily excited and constantly breaking into loud laughter. I found speaking with her very comfortable and enjoyed the familiarity from my youth.

This familiarity also probably had to do with our similar age range and experiences. Bronwyn is twenty years old and had just made the decision to drop out of University. Yet the ‘University’ she had been attending was not to learn literary theory or scientific laws. She had been going to ‘Circus School’ in Quebec and had been involved with the circus for most of her life as an acrobat. However after years of rigorous commitment she had lost the love of performing and felt it was more of a job than joy. Thus she had given up the circus, which had been very difficult because it was such a crucial part of her ‘identity’. For her whole life she had been an acrobat, now what was she? Who was she? Speaking with her reminded me of when I had quit running and was asking the same questions. In order to answer these questions, she had chosen to return to India to volunteer at a poor local school in Nagwa. She originally fell in love with India last year when the troop she was involved with had done a series of traveling workshops through the country teaching circus performance to rural areas in India. So leaving everything behind she came here by herself at the hottest time of the year. Bronwyn is the only volunteer at a school where no one speaks English, there is no set ‘volunteer program’, and she is responsible for entertaining and controlling sixty unruly ten year olds.

I am truly impressed by her spirit. She has chosen to live with an Indian family and I rarely see her at the popular ‘foreigner hangouts’. I bump into her every now and over a chai or coffee where she continually amazes me with her stories of how she has adopted to Indian life. She dresses in traditional clothing and has begun to master Hindi (although the irony of seeing this pale red head perfectly execute the Indian head ‘wobble’ meaning yes does always bring a smile to my face). I am not sure if it is a front, but she is one of the happiest people I have met here. Unlike the dread-locked hashish abusers who find happiness through hits and highs, Bronwyn really seems to be truly happy through having ‘re-made’ herself. When I ask her about the things that personally exhaust and frustrate me to the point where I’m ready to lock myself in my room at night and escape to the fantasy world of a novel she merely shrugs. She claims to have just ‘gotten used to’ the gender bias, the cat-calls, and the stares. I find this hard to believe but perhaps the new sense of purpose and identity offered by India overrides the negative aspects. After throwing away what she has known as ‘life’ for so long it seems to me that essentially ‘becoming Indian’ has replaced the circus. She has found contentment in culture and remade herself from her period uncertainty. When I ask her how long she will stay she replied, “In all honesty I never want to leave”. Sure some people might say that she is distracting herself from her loss of identity and pretending to be something she is not. Yet, who is to say what is ‘right and wrong’ when it comes to identity fabrication. Bronwyn has shown me that there are many ways to cope with personality crisis and I think participating in social work and Indian culture is a bit more constructive than drugs or alcohol and ironically is being used for the same purpose.

These are just two examples among many characters I have crossed paths with. Some other interesting people with incredible stories are Emily, a girl from a small ranch in Wyoming who came here on a three month culture program and ended up marrying an Indian man and now plans to spend the rest of her life in Varanasi as an Indian wife. From her I have learned love has no boundaries and can cause people to adopt in ways I would have never imagined. There’s Ron a forty year old ex-psychiatric nurse who has relocated to India because he finds the chaos ‘peaceful’ after his previous life which includes leaving home at 15 and joining a Vancouver gang. Only later after having a life wakeup call when his now teenage son was born caused him to ‘go straight’ and venture back to school and study nursing. However now he has chosen to spend his time in India because it reminds him of the craziness of his earlier days. From Ron I have learned that place and life experience have an uncanny relationship. Adrenaline is a drug and luckily there are safe ways to re-live dangerous memories. Then there’s Seth, a Harvard bound research student who speaks perfect Hindi, and spends his time joking and playing music with the locals. The jolly, incredibly intelligent twenty something year old discovered Hinduism at thirteen and has been fascinated ever since. He loves discovering, embracing, and living the connection between art, religion, and music and thus is writing a small research project on this passion. In a few days he will be leaving for a solo motorcycle adventure across India. From Seth I have shared many wonderful thought provoking conversations and learned how important it is to follow your passion as well being reminded of how important it is to have sense of adventure.

Thus although all of these people are not ‘Indian’ I still have gained strong cultural ‘insights’ and learned important lessons about people, life, and myself. I have of corse also met ‘Erika’ a girl who enjoys meeting knew people, writing and reflecting on her experiences, and most of all trying to figure out what it means to be human 

Money, ethics, poverty.

So the other day on one of our photo excursions a very strange thing started to occur. As the teenagers and I wondered through the narrow dusty stone walkways and around the crooked brick buildings of Nagwa (the slums where the teens are from), the usually smiling people started to retreat into their homes as soon as they saw us coming. The saggy skin on the beautiful brown faces of ancient women and men did not tighten into their usual smiles. Instead they stared fiercely back at our little wondering group and stepped into the darkness of their doorways. Women out in the walk ways cutting onions whose juices brought tears to a passerby's eyes suddenly scooped up their vegetables and turned away from us. When the people heard us coming only the faint smell of curry and sounds of scattering footsteps clued us in to the fact that there was presence of life in the same spot only a moment earlier. I could not understand this sudden change. We were walking through Nagwa, these people were the teenagers neighbors, their community, their 'family'.

After the outing we sat in the brightly lit office and reviewed the excursion. I turned to the translator Ashkay and asked him to question the kids about how they thought it went, was taking photos in Nagwa easier or harder than usual? The kids were silent and their faces expressionless. I repeated the question again, nodding my head in encouragement. "So was it easier, harder, the same?" One of the braver teens, Dhiraj slowly tilted his head and looked directly into our faces. His dark skin made his eyes especially bright and they glittered and danced angrily while he started his explanation.

"The people of the village are angry. They have found out that for every picture chosen we earn 5,000 rupees. They think we are using them. Using their faces for profits. They also think we are making a mockery of their poverty. We are showing the world how India is poor and suffering. They say to us, 'who do you think you are! Now that you have a camera you think you are better than us. You are one of us! You are betraying your community and stealing from us by making us look like fools.'"

The rest of the teenagers avoided eye contact but all nodded their heads in agreement. Then Anil piped up adding,

"They think we are doing nothing and are jealous. They say, 'anyone can take a picture' you have no skills. Why should you be getting 5,000 rupees for doing nothing!'"

These answers were quite confronting. I was immediately taken aback. A knot started to grow in my stomach. Yet, I knew I had to act quickly to keep the morale of the group going. I did not want these stabbing accusations to sever the artistic and personal growth of the group. As these thoughts rapidly ran through my head and sunk to the depths of my thoughts the tight knot in my stomach was suddenly ignited. I felt my face grow red and hot, not from the heat but from passion and anger. Immediately I emphatically explained that they were not "doing nothing". I asked them to remember how shy they had been in the beginning, how they were afraid to press that little silver button at the tops of their cameras. I reminded them how much they had learned, how their skills confidence had improved. I told them that they had come to class for hours every week. They had sacrificed their time to learn the art of photography, camera maintenance and care. Now they knew how to beautifully capture their world through the magic of pictures. This was amazing. THEY were amazing. As visual proof I hit the start button on the large office computer and a few moments after the characteristic chime signalling the computer was up and running the silver screen was filled with the bright colors of their photographs. Each spectacular reference to a moment of time that they had preserved flashed on the screen. I showed them how beautiful their photos were and reminded them how hard they had worked to capture these moments so perfectly.

After my outburst the lurking half smiles on their faces showed that my mini rant had for the time being succeeded. However I knew that this battle wasn't over. Here we were trying fight poverty and give the kids opportunities they would never have and yet the war was much more complicated than I had ever imagined. How would it feel to have the people you have spent your lives with, grew up beside, and had shared all your secrets suddenly turn against you because of jealousy? What would happen as the teenagers became more and more successful when more of their photographs became postcards? At the moment they were only being verbally abused but would it turn physical? How far would the people take their misgivings? Of course the whole situation is complicated by the fact that they are indeed teenagers. These kids are at the awkward stage in their life where people's opinions of them are all the more potent as they have the added burden of trying to come to terms with who and what they are. Now they had to deal with two important competing forces--community acceptance or working with an organisation with the potential to change their lives in many ways.

These thoughts floated through my head as I tried to get a decent grip on some sort of solution. However the more i tried the more I became lost in the fog. Suddenly I remembered a story I had come across in one of my anthropology classes. It was about this women who was conducting research in a small South African village. During her stay she witnessed and been part of a very morally disturbing event. The story goes that a group of three deviant teenage boys had created some trouble. I cant recall exactly what they did but it was a relatively minor offense like throwing stones at a window or stealing candy from a general store. However there was a tradition of very strict social punishment and as a result of their mischief the boys were to be 'necklaced' in front of the town. Being 'necklaced' meant having a tire filled with gasoline placed around your neck and set on fire. As a result of this punishment the boys of course were badly burned and their wounds had put them close to death. The anthropologist who was present was shocked and horrified by the chain of events. She took it upon herself to take the boys to a hospital and essentially saved their lives. However upon returning to the village she received a very unexpected reaction. The town was extremely angry with her. They felt that she had betrayed their traditions. The boys were meant to have suffered and the suffering would have taught them a lesson. Now she had made them weak and they would not have learned their lesson. Worse, the boys own mothers were the most upset. They thought that the anthropologist had taken their boys as 'weak' and insulted them. The mothers refused to take their children back because they would never be men. How was the anthropologist to deal with this complicated situation? By saving the boys lives she had basically made them into social outcasts. Had she really 'saved' their lives or would they had been better off struggling to recover and at least being accepted by their community.

The situation here in Varanasi with my teenage photographers isn't quite extreme but has been quite morally troubling. The occurrence has especially been on my mind lately because I am very close to completing a photo book using the teenagers pictures. I am currently attempting to decide how to distribute any profit that the book incurs. My first reaction was that the photos were the teenagers photos so 100% of the profit should go to the artists. Sure I have put in a lot of work, but my thoughts were that I am lucky enough to have a United States citizenship. I can work in a country that has a strong currency, working conditions and minimum wage. A mere two months of a basic U.S.A salary can fund a year of living in India. I thought I don't need the profit from the book, they do. They cannot earn the wages I can. However now i realize the impact wealth and profit can have. What effect will it have if all of a sudden the kids became quite wealthy? How would they know how to spend it, to manage it? Also there is the issue self-reliance. If we gave everything to the kids perhaps they would just think 'oh well i don't have to do anything some kind NGO will do everything for me'. It is a bit important to understand that others work has contributed to the end result--to teach them not to be reliant on hand outs.

In the end Jenneke and I have decided that if indeed the book does get published and make a profit 40% will go to the kids, 30% to fairmail and I will earn the other 30%. I am still unsure of how I feel about this, but for now this is where it sits. There are still many questions to be answered of course. What about the people whose pictures are in the book? Should they also get money? Should some of the profit go to the overall community? Should we tell the kids that they have to spend it on education and cannot use it to fund, for example bride wealth, or a new tv? The entire experience has been a powerful example of money's potential influence. Change can be as good as it can be bad. Ideals are wonderful but the realities of poverty, attitude and Importance of community can never be forgotten or disregarded.

wittnessing Indian Eunichs/Hijras

Yesterday upon return from a morning under the cool fans of the Internet cafe I opened the bright pink gate to my building to find a very strange performance. At first I was very unsure of whether the 15 minute walk in the back wetting heat had made my head go a bit strange or the scene I was starring at was in fact not a mirage at all. There, in the small courtyard next to the land lord's red plastic chair and lazy fly infested cow was a group of four men dressed as women. They were dressed in garnished Sari's and heavily made up. Their strongly emphasized colorful lips, lashes, and eye lids were a strange contrast to their broad shoulders and dominant square jaws. Yet in the bright white afternoon light these men definitely had a subtle trace of beauty in their darkly outlined eyes. Surprisingly the men even moved their strong built bodies in a feminine manner. They appeared to have had mastered the art of slow gentle female movements and batted their while cocking their pretty heads to the side. There was definitely something mystical about the group. This mysticism was enhanced by the soft flowery scent that was being emitted from their bodies even though transparent drops of perspiration were leaving trails down their temples.

The group of four had staged themselves in a semi-circle and were currently putting on a mini musical performance. The smallest of the four had a dark muddy complexion. His wirery arms were moving in rapid succession, palms rythmically flicking the surface of a small drum. With each beat the sun highlighted and shone off his sweaty strong unfeminine biceps draped under a soft silk purple sari. A tuft of long dark hair framed his decorated face. Below his pieced nose was a set of teeth that looked especially white against his black skin and were being exposed in a beautiful wide smile.

My eyes then moved to the other three 'people'. These three were larger and had their long dark hair parted down the middle and then had carefully woven the rest into a long smooth braid. The three stood erect in their glittery bright red, orange and green silks. They stood with their shoulders back and addmitted low masculine melodies from deep within their bellies perfectly in tangent with the drum beat. The sounds emerged in perfect harmony from their puffy painted red lips and I found myself becoming quite hypnotized by their erie chanting.

Next to the scene was the Land lord's wife. She is a small greying women who has a very expressive face. When she speaks her eyebrows jump up and down emphasizing whatever point she is making. Although I cannot understand a word she said says her facial expressions always clearly convey the message. She constantly wonders around the building gossiping to all of the neighbors in high pitched rapid Hindi. She often dresses in a bright green or blue sari and thus I cannot help but notice how much the chattering women reminds me of a parakeet (budgie). On this particular day the small greying women seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the scene. She had a large tooth grin on her face and kept tilting her head, raising her eyebrows, and motioning for me to observe the group (like I really could have missed such a spectacle!). The already constantly cheery women seemed impossibly to be even more pleased than usual. She glowed with pride as the group's music bounced off the walls filling the stair case and subsequent three stories.

After observing this scene for ten minutes or so I placed my palms together in the praying mantas like position nodded my head and muttered a goodbye 'nameste'. Walking up the stairs and running the strange scene over in my head I suddenly remembered a lesson from my introductory anthropology class. Of Course! The people downstairs were Hijra's or Eunichs. I only vaguely remembered that they spontaneously appeared at weddings and births and were supposed to bring good luck...of course only if compensated appropriately.

Later when Ashkay the manager/Fairmail translator arrived for our evening lesson I brought up the subject of Hijras with him. I briefly recounted the scene I had witnessed this afternoon and asked him what he knew about these people. Ashkay turned his chair to face me and his usually tired looking eyes lit up. However the light was not one of joy but of something that touched on anger. This anger was reflected immediately in his quick verbal reaction. "These people are criminals! All they want is money! And you must pay them or you will have bad luck. You see they show up at weddings and births. They put on a performance and then abuse you for money. When my wife had her first child they appeared at our door. I first offered them 600 rupees. However they became angry. They push, shove, flash you and verbally abuse for more money. They demanded I pay 2,000 rupees and made my wife give them her best Sari! Finially I had to pay and give them the Sari to get them to leave!"

This explanation of course greatly intrigued me. Pressing for more information, "So you mean they're not invited? Then how do they know about these events?

Ashkay explained, "It's india. Everyone knows about everything. The Hijras just wander the streets in groups and listen to the people talk. By hearing the people talk they know about weddings or births and then are sure to be there. The old women think their good luck but like everyone in India they just want money."

Quite fascinated my mind began to wonder. What would it be like to be one of these men/women? How do they get started into these careers? And why was the land lord's wife so happy about their presence if they are really just criminals?

The answer to the third question became very apparent about ten o'clock as I lay down for my nightly battle for sleep against the heat. However tonight the heat had an ally, there was loud gathering/party in the building next door. Becoming more and more frustrated as the rented speakers from the party amplified the festive music, during my tossing and turning I had a revolation and was able understand the land lord's wife's pleasure during the hijras performance. As I lay i thought 'AH ha!' The hijras must have come for THIS party. The land lord's wife wasnt hosting the event and thus was enjoying the Hijras entertainment free from financial obligation. Perhaps she was even taking joy and laughing to herself that her poor neighbors would later be targets of the group.

Then, this morning I moved on to answer my second question: How do they get started into these careers? This was easily accomplished a quick key word search on google. According to wikipedia (always a good place to start for basic explanations) "Becoming a hijra is a process of socialisation into a "hijra family" through a relationship characterised as chela "student" to guru "teacher", leading to a gradual assumption of femininity. Typically each guru lives with at least five chelas; her chelas assume her surname and are considered part of her lineage. Chelas are expected to give their income to their guru, who manages the household. Hijra families are close-knit communities and often have their own houses." I cannot imagine as a small child being given/stolen and having to study the art of basically being a social menace.

My first question: What would it be like to be one of these men/women? Well, that answer will forever be restricted to my imagination. Perhaps documentaries and research can enhance the mental creation of life as a Hijra but the strange reality of this career will forever be a mystery.

The Photographers 

On Sunday I spent the day interviewing the teenagers for a project i'm working on. I 'm currently trying to put together a picture book called "Varanasi through their eyes". Varanasi is one of the most photographed city but the majority of the photographs are from visitors rather than the people themselves-in this case the fairmail teenagers. Here is a link to the photos I have chosen to be included in the book:

Their pictures

And now here is a little about each of the teenagers. Of course this information all came through a translator so it might be a little skewed, but i have tried my best to preserve the teenagers own words, thoughts, and feelings.

The Teenagers:

Sonu

Sonu likes being in fairmail because his parents do  not have a lot of work and are sick. Fairmail gives him  an opportunity to help them. He really likes taking  photos so he can reach beyond Varanasi and show others what he sees. 

Sonu dreams of becoming a good photographer and by learning photography skills he thinks he can be successful. After he is successful he would like to help  other people doing social work. For instance he would like to work with those who cannot walk. 

With the money he earns from fairmail Sonu would like to build a house because his whole family, four brothers, two sisters, mother, and father, all live in one room. 

In his spare time Sonu likes to do house work and to cook.

Anil 

Anil loves being part of fairmail and learning about photography. He really likes taking pictures because he can see other parts of his own city in a different way. Taking photographs also gives him an excuse to go to other parts of Varanasi like the old city and Assi ghat. 

Anil’s dreams for the future are to see his family happy and to keep them happy. He would also like to travel to Mumbai and the mountains. 

Anil wants to spend the money he earns from his photography on his house, specifically on painting, as well as putting up doors and windows. He also wants to use the money to support his family because his two brothers and sister are blind. Anil feels a great burden because he is the only son that can see. Anil says he wants to be successful because of his family. “I worry for them and I’m dreaming for them a lot”. 

In his free time Anil likes to dream and play music on the drum. 

 

Dhiraj (note: i spelled it phonetically in previous posts as Deeretch)

Dhiraj is very happy to be part of fairmail. He likes learning about photography because his photos can be used to express his feelings. When people see his pictures they might feel the same emotion in the photograph and then really enjoy his pictures. He also likes taking photos to remember things that have passed. 

Dhiraj dreams of becoming an IS officer which is a high ranking government official that makes important decisions and heads individual districts. He wants to do this job to make sure that his city is being taken care of. 

With the money Dhiraj earns he would like to pay for his studies and build a house as well as help his eight brothers and sisters with their studies and their homes. 

In his free time he likes to study and play. He likes to play street games like marbles and especially cricket. 

Kaushel 

Kaushel loves being in fairmail for many reasons. He likes taking photos because before he used to go to weddings and see every one taking photos. “I wanted to also take photos, but wasn’t able to and didn’t know how!” Being in fairmail has taught him how to use cameras and take better photos. He really likes taking photos because there are so many things that many people haven’t seen before. So when he takes a picture he can show these people different things. Seeing different things makes people happy because the pictures are new and exciting. 

Later in life Kaushel would like to be an Bollywood actor or a psychologist. In addition to those goals he would also like to be a Kung Fu Master. 

He plans to spend the money he earns from photography on a house, school, and all of the other things he wants to do. He says he really hopes he is successful because he otherwise will not have the money for these things. 

In his free time he likes to read, do his studies, paint, and of course watch films! He also likes studying Spanish and especially likes singing and listening to Spanish music. 

Akaash 

Akaash likes being part of fairmail because everyone does the same work and that is boring for him. Being a photographer allows him to do something different. He can now go places and meet people. In the future Akaash dreams of being a good mechanic as well as a photographer. He likes doing both photography and working as a mechanic because if one doesn’t work out he will always have the other to fall back on. The reason for this is because his father is a mechancic and Akaash has watched him struggling his whole life when business is bad. 

There are so many things Akaash would like to do with the money he earns. Both of his two sisters and brother still have to be married and this is very expensive. However his first priority is helping his father pay for an eye operation. After this he would like to build a proper mechanic shop that is stronger than the plastic tarp and wooden frame that he and his father currently work in. 

In his spare time Akaash likes helping his father at the shop, but does not have time for anything else. In fact he has to work very fast at the mechanic shop so that he has time to go to photography lessons. He hopes that someday there will be enough time for his whole family to sit around and talk over meals instead of always having to work. 

Anuj, 

Anuj really likes being in fairmail because he learns so many things about taking photos and cameras. Before he knew nothing. He had never used a camera. He likes photography because when he takes a photo he gets to decide what is a good photo and what is not. He feels that he can make a difference by taking good photos because people then enjoy looking at them. 

Anuj dreams of becoming an engineer and also becoming a great man. 

The money he earns from fairmail he would like to use for a house, to help his parents, and to buy things for school. 

In his free time he likes to read comics, ride his bicycle and play with the other kids in the streets. 

Sandhya 

Sandhya likes being in fairmail because she would never have had the chance to learn photography. She really likes photography because she can look at her photo’s later and remember the past things that she’s done. She really likes how pictures can help her recall good times. 

Sandhya has dreams of someday becoming a doctor and learning medicine. 

With the money she earns from fair mail she wants to build a house and pay for studies. 

In her free time she really likes just playing with other kids!

Ankita 

Ankita likes being part of fairmail because she gets to do something she would have never had the chance to do- learn about photography! She likes taking photos so she can take all the natural things and save them. Then she can look at them afterwards and see these things better. Taking photos allows her to have, “a better look at everyday life”. 

In the future Ankita would like to become a social worker and help others. 

She plans to spend the money she earns from fairmail on school supplies as well as save it for higher education. 

In her free time she likes to watch TV when she can and play with the other kids. 

Anshu 

Anshu likes being in fairmail because she learns how to take photos as well as how to take care of cameras. She really likes taking photos of India because then her photos go to different places abroad. According to Anshu, “I get to share India with the world”. 

Anshu some day dreams of being a doctor and going to university. 

She would like to use the money she earns to pay for her school fees and to keep some for improving her house. 

In her free time Anshu likes to study and listen to music. She likes, “all kinds of songs!”

The party

The other night the owners of the building I live in threw a very large and important party. When I mean large, I mean huge, crowded, noisy, and somehow fitting over a thousand guests into a three story building that has on average five or six rooms per level. There were people sleeping on the roof, people on the balconies, the stairs and the landlord even asked us if he could use one of our rooms. We of course said no, but were not sure what effects this had on our relationship with the man. 

I find the landlord a very funny man. He looks as if he has popped out of a typical Indian religious painting. He has very large almond eyes which sit quite close together. The inner corners of these large cat-like eyes tilt in toward his nose so that the outer corners are slightly higher. Taken together his two eyes sit at 'V' like angles. Underneath the 'V' his nose is like a big fat cigar resting above two plump dark pink lips. A  large red smudge between his caterpillar eyebrows as well the numerous strands of either round red or maroon beads around his thick neck signify his devotion to hinduism. He can usually be found sitting beside the building's personal cow, with a long piece of cloth tied as a skirt and white sleeveless undershirt hiked up exposing his large pot belly. When ever I pass by on my way up the stairs he was always sure to open his eyes, sit up in his red plastic chair and place his hands together wobbling his head while delivering a kind "nameste" (Nah-mehs-day).

The occasion for the large party was for this man's son, a tall skinny curly haired boy with an innocent face, but crooked deviant smile. The boy had reached an age where he was no longer a 'boy' and was now ready to be inducted into the Hindu version of 'manhood'. This occurrence meant that three days would be spent with many guests performing various ceremonies and rituals with the grand finally being an all out, all night extravaganza. 

The preparations for this party started weeks before. First the entire building was repainted. For five days we had to endure an army of men in white pants and undershirts slopping bright pink paint on every surface of the building as well as the delightful fumes associated with the wet color. The fumes weren't as bad as the fact that these men did not use newspapers on the ground or seem to care about splatter. Every morning they would appear, paint brush in one hand and bucket in the other. Starting on the top floor they would carelessly splash bright pink paint on any vertical surface. As a result of their tactics, whether we liked it or not many of our things as well as floors have adopted a new decor of pink polka dots. The shoes outside our doors, the drying cloths on our lines, as well as the floors behind our open windows (which we had not closed while away in order to avoid turning our rooms into saunas) now sport rose colored speckles. Also during the mid afternoon heat, while Jenneke and I sat in our rooms reading we heard the tap from the kitchen running. We emerged to find the men had marched in, had filled OUR cups with water from OUR sink and were taking a break in OUR kitchen... Looking back I have to laugh because of course the let themselves in. It's India-the concept of privacy does not exist. 

Finally after the entire building had been transformed into what looked like an Easter egg the lights went up. For three days men came and like monkeys and climbed the walls of the building stringing blankets of colorful Christmas lights from every surface. At least now I know what it feels like to sleep inside a Christmas tree. 

Then the guests started arriving and the ceremonies began. For three days the building was filled with the scents of curry and incense. There were constant sounds of bells, chanting, singing, and laughter. The floors were littered with colorful flowers, candles, powders, silver plates crusted with leftovers, and of course people. The building was so busy that we had to meet the teenagers at a nearby park because often it would take 20 minutes push through the crowd and climb the stairs to the second floor where our office was located. By the last night I had really had enough. This was the night of the big finale party. Next to our building a large white tent had been set up and was filled with long tables. Atop these tables were beautiful gold platters detailed with flowers and other intricate designs filled with mountains of food. Jenneke and I had specifically been invited to eat with the other guests and attend this last extravaganza. However I was so tired of the  people, noise, and commotion as well as was leery of eating food that I did not know who and how it had been prepared. So instead I decided to head out to town and meet a friend for dinner. I must say that I had a lovely dinner with this 18 year old dutch girl that I met. We really hit it off and i greatly enjoyed hearing about her experiences volunteering in an orphanage in Nepal and the stories from the bits of solo travel around India in which she was currently engaged.

So i returned that night and snuck up to my room in an attempt to fall asleep through the loud chatter from below and bright festive lights. The next morning (after yet another night of sleeplessness) I grumpily stumbled down stairs over sleeping bodies on my way out to the Internet cafe. However when i passed the landlord he looked at me and instead of his regular 'nameste" he demanded "why you not come yesterday!?". I was shocked that he had noticed my missing face amongst the literally thousands of people. In reply i said "Oh I was there--there was just a lot of people you didnt see me!" He said, "this is not in my memory. I do not have you in my memory". I said, "well I was only there a little while -very tired"... He gazed back skeptically and said... "ok well I do not have you in my memory. This event is not in my memory".

Thus ever since i skipped out on this party I no longer receive friendly 'nameste's' when I go up the stairs. Instead he just gives me a strange skeptical look and nods to acknowledge my presence. It's funny how certain things offend people in different cultures. I guess not coming and not being just what in my opinion would have just been another face in a sea of people- was actually greatly offensive. The landlord could never understand how tiring it would have been for me after the chaotic preparations, two sleepless nights, and just general exhaustion from heat and working with teenagers to try and interact with a thousand people who do not speak english. Of course I did not understand why my presence was so important because of the sheer size of the party and my very informal relationship with this man his son who I hardly know. Yet I do realize that it is very hard to understand other's positions and takes a great amount of imagination and often explanation. However Cultural misunderstandings are part of the experience. Also sometimes too much is too much and we do have to have personal boundaries. I guess I no longer will receive friendly 'namestes' from the landlord but such is life. I have learned something about indian culture and can understand that perhaps not fulfilling an invite could be very offensive in some cultures. 

One last interesting point is how if doing research on a culture or wanting to do social work/research  it is very important to learn as well as follow cultural etiquette. I was talking to an American professor of 'cultural studies' at the local university here and he was saying how that if you really want to do social work/research in India you have to drink the water, eat the food, have chai with the locals and go to the parties. He said when offered things it is rude to refuse and you must eat and drink to be accepted. If you are never accepted they will never listen to you or trust you. For example it is useless to attempt to teach a population about sexual health or women's empowerment with out first being accepted. Unless you are accepted they will not listen to you, especially in the most rural and traditional areas. However I pressed, "but what about your own health?" He said, "well, if you're afraid its best to choose another culture". I was a bit shocked by this thought but really believe it is true. I know when I wear more 'traditional clothing' people are much nicer, helpful and kind. I guess it would be like if someone came to the west completely covered in a black bur-qua-sure we understand but I know I would personally find it easier to interact and not be as self-conscious if the women was in western clothing even though i know it is cultural. So should people sacrifice themselves to diarrhea and other aliments (or go to parties when exhausted!) to help others or for the sake of research? Apparently so. I guess this will always be the challenge when attempting to help others, how much of yourself should you give away--Something to think about if I ever choose to do a PhD in anthropology!

Yesterday for our photo outing we decided to take the teenagers out to a park so they could take some 'nature' pictures and capture a little bit of green versus the white dusty streets that usually serves as the setting for their photographs. After dodging a few rickshaws and being followed by a stray dog or two we entered the gates of Ravidas Park-Varanasi's own small green oasis. Just by stepping inside the gates you could feel the atmosphere change. Instead of loud honking there was children's laughter filling the air, instead of the stench of dung a soft perfume of flowers was drifting about, and instead of wanting to cough after every inhale the air was crisper and lacked the usual thick fog of small floating dust particles.

On this particular day it seemed many other people also had a similar idea. The park was packed with men, women and children. However not only was it packed, but these people were decked out in their finest clothing. The women's arms were lined with bangles and the men had nice white pressed shirts on and white cotton trousers. Even the children's clothes looked clean and lacked the usual and inevitable dirt, stains and tears.

As the teenagers started taking pictures the people at the park started to become a bit curious. The little kids started following the teenagers and loved posing for their pictures. They kids were amazed and kept trying to point out things that the teenagers might want to use in a photograph.

I find power a camera has amazing. Pictures are so special. They have the ability to capture a memory, a moment, and prove that you were somewhere, at sometime, doing something. When I type this i feel that this concept is rather silly; of course you were somewhere, at sometime, doing something. However when you take a scene and make it a photograph you isolate that moment. Looking back at your own face staring back at you allows for reflection on what otherwise would have been just another passing moment in time. You look at that moment and can think of the smells, realize the way the light fell and notice how your nose crinkles when you smile. I wonder if that is also why the kids in the park like to have their picture taken. Or perhaps they like it for completely different reasons. Perhaps they associate their still reflection with other people who they regularly see in the same medium, such as movie stars and politicians. Having their picture taken might make them feel important and then viewing their picture allows them to think, 'wow i am just like a bollywood star'. Maybe, during that moment, when the camera snaps, or afterwords when they see their great big smiles frozen in time they feel special. It is interesting to think why we hate or like having our picture taken and how age, gender, culture, and aspects of society which might influence this.

So after it became quite apparent that there was a group of five strange teenagers with cameras running around taking photos the older men in the park began to become a little perturbed. One, the leader of the group, marched up to our manager Ashkay, and demanded to know what was going on. After a brief explanation (these kids are learning photography to make postcards) the group demanded money. They said that this was a private event and they said the teenagers could take photos only if we coughed up 300 rupees. Of course Ashkay, a wise old Indian man knew better. He said 'Ok let's make this official, I'll go get a policeman'. Immediately the group backed down and promptly decided the money was no longer necessary. These people were just attempting to scam us and make a quick hundred rupees.

In fact the reason all of these people were gathered at the park this sunny hot afternoon was because the son of one family was going to meet the daughter of another. Yet this was not just any old meeting. The meeting between the two families and individuals had been arranged to see if the boy and girl would be suitable for marriage. Basically if the male decided he liked this particular female then the deal was done. The boy and girl would part, not see another for six months or so when they would then have their next meeting bride and groom. It is so strange for me to think that after this one single meeting the two would then be destined to spend the rest of their lives together. I can barely make sense of this within my own ideas about 'love'.

However maybe if I was in this situation I could indeed fall in love. Putting myself in their position I imagine i would be so nervous for this first meeting. What does he look like!? Is he kind, tall, dark,handsome ? I would be so excited that even when I met the person if I was at all even a little interested I think my emotions, built up anticipation, and that inkling of interest would provide relief and seal the deal. For the next six months my imagination would run wild. By the time I met the person I would have so many expectations and be so excited that at least the first couple of weeks would be magical. I would guess this mental state is probably akin to when I make travel plans. For instance when I know i'm about to take a trip somewhere I look up all the tourist landmarks, I read about the culture, the food, the history and more. I create a fantasy. Once I board the plane I am already completely in love with the place. On arrival it is impossible for me to be disappointed. I am usually so excited to experience this figurative space/place i've created in my head and validate it with the actual physical reality. I love exploring and experiencing the differences. Yet, i find this feeling to be temporary. After a few weeks I grow accustom to the place. I begin to know it well. It becomes routine looses its challenge, appeal, and splendor. Instead it just returns to the status of another banal landscape framing everyday life.

I cannot say what arranged marriage would be like however perhaps because unlike a place a person interacts with you it would last. They could continue to amuse and surprise you with their personality. There is more than just the visual sites and sounds like in a place. Or perhaps like a place the person also becomes usual, like a chore to be done, or a responsibility. The person would be your 'husband to socialize with and provide for' like 'floor to vacuum'. Once you knew their favourite discussion topics, life history, and sleeping position perhaps the 'love' wouldn't last.

However I do not know and probably will never know about arranged marriages. They are complicated subjects and like everything have both good and bad aspects. Yet you never know, maybe by chance I will return home to find my parents have chosen a Hungarian man for me to marry!