Dear all,

I realized after I sent my previous email that I have neglected to share with you all the good in India. There is indeed much good here too among the "sad stories" and "broken" realities I've experienced. This email seeks to share some of that good. Forthcoming emails include comments on culture and various cultural idiosyncrasies and a follow-up email about the public display of domestic violence I witnessed a month ago; I have talked to several Indians about their thoughts. It should be noted that most of my emails are of delayed thoughts/observations that I experience several weeks before I send an email.

Updates:

I've been conducting rudimentary anthropological survey technique called a "free list" in ARTH's outreach area about men's health needs. It is a rather simple procedure of asking standardized questions ( e.g. What are the health concerns of men?) to village men and having them mention anything comes to mind. This provides information on the "salient" issues in the minds of interviewees and provides a swift qualitative means of measure. It may be simple exercise, but it is complicated for a researcher to analyze the data correctly. I had a staff doctor translate the responses from Mewari to English to the questions we pre-tested in the villages. Dr. Sharad noted that there was much loss of meaning since the doctor had "medicalized" the responses. The village level perception of disease/health conditions must be maintained to truly understand what is being described – and in the future, to address the issue adequately. There are several local colloquialisms that may require key informants, another research technique, to get the full meaning. So I am learning.

To say I am conducting the free list is an overstatement. I go with a man who speaks Hindi and Mewari and has rapport with local men; I am a bystander, but I try to pick-up the common terms that are mentioned, perceive the interviewee's openness or reluctance, and ensure only the interviewee provides answers when other curious men feel compelled to add their insight. This ongoing experience corroborates the view I see of myself as a catalyst in my organization's outreach. I have no anthropological, public health, medical, or proficient foreign language skills at this point, but the mere fact of me being here has initiated this investigation.

The Good in India

Song and Dance

Every Indian loves to sing and dance or at least watch those who do sing and dance. TV and radio are saturated with the latest Bollywood hits. Bollywood is India's version of Hollywood, cranking out hundreds more movies that last at least 3 hours with 3-5 main elaborate, fanciful, choreographed dance songs in which the actors spontaneously break out into song (I could write much more on Bollywood movies). But not only professional actors sing and dance. Television channels are also clogged with a multitude of variety shows ranging from young kids competing in song and dance to the latest equivalent of "Indian Idol" (a take on American Idol). The cameras span their families and friends in the audience anxiously cheering them on. The judges often pause for suspense, and then render their verdict. But the singing and dancing does not end on television. During the festival of "Gunpati," a ten day celebration of Lord Ganesh (elephant god), I walked through old town around 9pm to find several stages erected near make-shift temples overtaking the street. Complete with colorful floor and street lights and booming speakers, different groups of adolescents and children danced to Hindi pop songs as throngs of people watched. Furthermore, at weddings, which last for days, a stage or room is normally reserved for similar events as the bride and groom watch. When I was in Delwara one day, where I did my village stays, I came across pilgrims walking to Jaisalmer, a desert city 500km away, who were taking chai and rest alongside the national highway in a run-down building. They played string instruments, drums, and sang as a few men stood up and rhythmically grooved. And I never fully relayed my experience of being sucked into an Indian dance program, where I actually danced with my fellow interns donned in Rajasthani clothes in front of a 150 people after practicing for several weeks. People cheered and host families loved the fact their guests were performing on stage (I do have a DVD!). At all these events, there is an emcee who normally exaggerates how the performance was "truly spectacular," "stunning," or "rocked our world." But Indians don't call these things "events" or dance parties. They are rather called "functions." People ask, "What's your program?" when inquiring about your day's schedule and inevitable will tell you they are going to someone's "function." With the advent of technology, the latest pop hits are downloaded into ring tones for the exponentially growing number of cell phones. My host brother is normally humming some new Hindi song and loves the likes of Enrique Inglasias, Celine Deon, Eminem and other music which accumulates on his computer. My host-cousin also persistently asks me to sing her a song. I reply she must dance for me first.

Festivals

There is probably a festival going on for almost any reason somewhere India at any given time. I am confident this is not an exaggeration. The religious diversity and cultural depth of India makes this possible. It also influences the rationale for a six day work week – there are so many it is a must!

As I am writing these very words at 10:30pm on a Sunday, I can hear the drums and music from several events in my neighborhood, one as far as a mile away, for the festival of Dandiya. This nine day Hindu festival originated in the state of Gujarat and celebrates the coming of the mother goddess Durga and her many triumphs over evil. In fact her incarnations destroyed several demons in Hindu mythology –some in thousand-year battles. During celebrations, people gather under an open drape of dangling ornamental lights which illumine the area. Forming parallel lines, people dance with sticks, "garbas," by rhythmically tapping another person's stick who is diagonally across from you in line to the beat of blaring music. When a few other Americans and I joined in, some families attempted to help us out, but then gave-up on us and went to another line! But we then got the rhythm and dance right and proceeded to celebrate Dandiya while partially going deaf to the blaring music and the seemingly offbeat counts of, "one, two, three, four, five!" My host parents, although Jain, will not be home until midnight from today's Dandiya.

In August I attended a large festival , or "mela," in Udaipur that probably attracted 30-40,000 people, particularly those from villages. People travel many miles from surrounding villages to attend such festivals. Police directed, or rather poked, people in formation at certain sardine-packed bottlenecks. Myriads of people crammed together in a splash of color on a lake-side road that offered various fried foods, sweets, games, toys, tattoos (more on that later), carnival rides, and entertainment. The color in the moving pulse of humanity comes from the fact that female villagers in Rajasthan wear bright colored saris. For a size comparison, I plan to attend the Pushkar Camel Festival in November that draws 200,000 people in a camel-fair bonanza.

But not all festivals are like this. Some are more like national/regional holidays or possess a specific religious nature. Raksha Bandan, primarily a north Indian holiday, commemorates the bond and loyalty a brother has to his sister. On this day, the sister ties a "rakhi," an ornate pedant or bracelet around her brother's wrist. The brother then reciprocates by giving her a gift, which is most likely rupees (Indian currency). I watched my colleague at work open a parcel containing his 'rakhi' with a special note since his sister lives in Kolkata. Since my host mother has only sisters, her mother gives each child some money – 7000 rs ($175), a significant amount. I had a ceremony with my host family's "maid-servant" named Noji (more on her later) acting as my sister and then a few days later with a little girl named Shalini, my neighbor in Delwara. As I ate lunch on the festival day at Dr. Sharad's house, I heard him speculate the origin of this tradition as being a way to protect a sister, who often is married off and lives with her husband's family, during times of economic hardship.

I also experienced the celebration of Lord Krishna's (an incarnation of the Godhead Vishnu) birthday, known as Janmashthmai. On this day I went to the 400-year old Jagdish temple in the old city of Udaipur to watch another pulse of humanity reach for the sky – or at least the pot containing 7000rs dangling 30 feet above the street. Traditionally the pot also has butter, milk, and honey too. This tradition, called Dahi-Handi, emulates how Lord Krishna as a youth would raid neighbors' houses to fulfill his love for butter and milk by standing on someone's shoulders to reach the dangling pot of sweets. So how are we mere mortals to emulate Lord Krishna on this auspicious day? By building human pyramids 25-30 feet into the air of course! The evening began with a prelude of song and dance center stage in the square outside the temple. As the sun set, thousands crowded the square and streets. I decided to sit on a hotel balcony, overlooking the whole scene, so I could eat and not stand packed with others for five hours. And of course an emcee and band boomed music and commentary. After the dance prelude, teams of strapping men began to assemble – and the pyramid building began! The first rounds were made more difficult by throwing water onto the men as they built to make it slippery. The teams would get 15 feet up or so and the whole pyramid would tumble down. Once they landed on other people or the thin mats provided, all immediately sprang up, or were pulled up, and started dancing and cheering. This continued for hours – and the drama and suspense never ceased. I kept waited for someone to get hurt; those who eventually did were rushed out of the crowd. The celebration never stopped. One team came within inches of grabbing the pot, but it was not enough. They tumbled down too. The pot was lowered a bit and around 10:30pm, five hours after the song/dance prelude, a team triumphed with the man on the top grabbing the pot and jumping down to the ground from the great height. The crowd roared, danced, and began to immediately disperse.

I have described Hindu festivals so far. Two days ago marked the end of Ramadan, the Islamic holy month, here pronounced "Ramjaan." At night within the city, the streets would be filled with Muslim men donning sparkling white kurtas (long, knee length shirt) and women in their finest pastel-colored clothing (in contrast to bright, more revealing saris of Hindus). Everyone was out breaking the day of fast, shopping, and/or going or coming from the mosque.

Cricket

My host brother proclaims, "Indians are cricket-crazy people," and my Hindi teacher says, "Cricket is a religion in India." This sums up Indians' love for cricket quite fittingly. Not long ago was the World Cup championship match between India and Pakistan – the finalists from the twenty nations in the tournament. Any cricket match gains attention in India, but the combination of an India-Pakistan match as the World Championship took this match to new levels. After I left the office that day, I found the traffic to be much less hectic than what I was familiar to. Everyone was at home for the cricket match! Men gathered around TVs in the street and shops were closed. After a three hour match, India triumphed in a nail-biting finish. I could hear the firecrackers start in my neighborhood. My host brother then got his out; my host father encouraged me to, "Go enjoy the 'crackers.'"

The magazine "India Today" had its theme on "what unites India" on India's 60th birthday. An article opened with this paragraph:

"There are people in India who never vote, who don't watch Hindi films and who make a habit of loudly declaring that they can't fathom what people see in cricket. Such men are dangerous. To be apolitical is a short step from being disaffected, to shun mainstream cinema is a symptom of alienation, but it is the ostentatious indifference to cricket that marks out the rudderless malcontent lost to all civic or national virtue. Seriously, though, does a passion for cricket help national communities overcome social divisions?"

The author concluded that in at least some ways it does. Whether in a village or the city, I always managed to see young boys playing cricket. One of the first pictures my other host brother showed me was of Sacchin Tendulkar, "the best batsman in the world," who, of course, plays for India.

Hospitality

Whether at work, at home, or in the village I always receive the upmost hospitality. It is also inevitable and a necessity to "take tea" as the entry-point of this hospitality. Tea in India consists of chai which contains milk, "dood," and a tinge of spice as the liquid base. Normally blazing hot, and served regardless of 80 degree heat, I sometimes received chai six times a day in the village. When I asked my host brother, "Does your family drink juice?" his response was, "We like tea." All roadside stands have a gas tank and burner to quickly make chai. Although chai used to be served in disposable earthen, seemingly biodegradable clay cups, most are now served along the road in small plastic cups which litter the ground everywhere.

In the villages, I am greeted by welcomes of "Namaste," "Namaskar," and the more traditional "Ram, Ram" while the greeter puts his palms together and nods slightly. A chair or burlap sack is hastily gathered for me when I sit on the ground. I graciously turn down the offer of cool water, even though it is most likely safe to drink (chai is inevitably offered anyway). Water comes from ubiquitous metal pumps constructed by the government that reach deep into clean ground water. Yet regardless of living in the village or city, people store their water in a "mutka," an earthen pot that keeps the water surprisingly crisp and cool.

One of the most important things for my host mother is that I am satisfied with the food she makes. I have to assure her repeatedly whether I do or do not like the food; she also enjoys watching me eat. I am always thwarted from cleaning my own plate or even getting my own water from the kitchen. Someone must do it for me. I've noticed a pattern of eating in both the village and at traditional dinners with extended family in the city (not in my home). I, the guest, am served and encouraged to eat first; the men are then served followed by the children. Women eat last. The food prepared during my stays in Delwara village was quite tasty and unmistakably fresh. My village hostess would make all meals from scratch as she squatted in a corner, in a way that probably only Indians can sustain for long periods of time, utilizing a small gas stove that spewed eye-irritating fumes spread by the sole fan in the room. Neighbors and their cute children would come over and offer me nuts and fresh coconut. When I ended my field visits in Delwara, the man I stayed with stated, "You come back anytime." When he saw me a month later in the office, he asked me why I had not called to come visit.

People at work are equally concerned about what I eat, especially when it is obvious I do not like a particular day's lunch. Despite being surrounded by chairs and the opportunity for a table, the office staff prefers to sit traditional-style on the marble floor in a circle with their shoes off. This presents an image of traditional and modern India – educated, English/Hindi speaking Indians sitting on the floor surrounded by computers. Everyone shares food. I resisted this at first as an American raised to abhor germs and other people's food, but I have begun to partake. My friend Mohit always makes sure I get something I like – rice, dal or beans, my protein source! At home and at work it has also become known that I like "sweets." The office staff reserves extra gulab jaman, the equivalent of a fried donut hole dipped in very sweet syrup, whenever we have it.