Update

The past few days have been quiet. The office has been pretty empty, and I have been sick. I’m getting better, though, and hopefully will be back to normal in the next few days. I had a relaxing weekend, with some yoga (I bought a mat at the supermarket last week and Helene and I have been using a yoga program she downloaded), lots of reading (just finished Zorro and Green Hills of Africa, and am moving on to Sinning with Annie, the Illustrated Man, Tess of the D’urbervilles, and Harry Potter und der Stein der Weisen), and movies – Helene and I transitioned from Harry Potter to Miyazaki films.

On Saturday I thought I was up to going out, and so went with Helene, Sahima and Shraddha to a big mall in Banjara Hills (the ritzy part of Hyderabad). I took a few pictures of the food court, where I was able to get a Subway sandwich and fruit salad (with apples!!). Unfortunately, these might’ve made me sick later, but they tasted so good it was almost worth it. Before we left I was able to visit the bookstore to restock on new books, as well as a Harry Potter with a different cover.

Since I don’t have much else exciting to report, I thought I would share a few little things that I haven’t really mentioned before about India and the campus…

• The head shake: The motion to indicate “yes” isn’t up and down like in the U.S.; it’s more of a bobble side to side. This can still be confusing.
• Light switches: On/off are the opposite directions than I am used to. Helene tells me it is also like this in Europe.
• Driving/walking: You drive, and tend to walk, on the left side of a road. Usually. Sometimes you drive into oncoming traffic to make a U-Turn, or if you happen to be a carrier truck in a race.
• Skin Tone: I’ve heard a couple of Indian women fret about getting darker while working in the sun. I usually tell them that a lot of Americans try to get darker in the sun by tanning.
• Canteen music: In the canteen, they usually have music playing from famous Bollywood movies. But every now and then, you hear things like Barbie Girl, the Macarena, Spice Girls, or a remix of My Heart Will Go On.
• Punctuality: Timeliness seems to be pretty flexible here. For example, while I understand the work day to start at 8:00, people arrive in the mornings between then and 8:30. This probably isn’t good for me.
• Bandhs: Since I’ve been here, there have been a couple of bandhs, or strikes. These vary in severity from the closing of some schools or bus-lines to city-wide closures. Lately they have been increasing in frequency as supporters of Telangana (the desired separate state from Andrha Pradesh) grow more fervent. From what I understand, there was a small bandh on Friday because a Telangana supporter tried (or succeeded, I’m not sure) to kill himself in Delhi.

And some impressions of India… I know I only get a very limited view of one city in India. The ICRISAT campus is very much a bubble – there is open, green space, breathable air, enforced traffic laws, and so on. As such, it’s still pretty jolting for me each time I go outside. I can’t say I particularly love it, either. Aside from it being so physically taxing, it’s hard to face the reality of the subcontinent. There is something like four times as many people in India, but in a country a third of the size. By my American standards, everything seems filthy. The sky is gray and hazy, vehicles emit visible fumes, dirt cakes the roads, buildings, stalls, and cars. Garbage is heaped on the sidewalks, in the gutters, in water bodies, in fields. Men candidly relieve themselves on the sides of the road. Driving with the windows down invites constant, putrid smells – decomposition, stagnant water, defecation. There hardly any trashcans, let alone recycling bins.

And the poverty is everywhere. Slums are commonplace; drive a few minutes, and you are bound to pass a collective of ramshackle tents made of blue tarps or pieces of corrugated metal. I’ve encountered a fair number of beggars, and rather than getting used to it, I feel more and more inclined to give each time it happens. I hate ignoring them. When we were in an auto-rickshaw coming home from the Charminar, while stalled in traffic, a stooped old man thrust his arm – only a swollen stump cut off at the elbow – into the taxi. Helene reminded me that we couldn’t do anything; he must’ve been mutilated as a child to become a more pitiable beggar, and wouldn’t benefit from a donation anyway, as it would just go back to the boss. Another time, while waiting at a bus station, a woman spent long minutes alternately tapping each of us on the arm, showing us her hand upturned, and pointing at her big, watery-eyed baby’s mouth. I felt particularly monstrous in this case, as we were on our way to go shopping.

Part of my feeling of detachment comes from the knowledge that soon, I will be leaving. And I am relieved by this, but ashamed of this relief. I’m not sure how much responsibility I will feel the need to bring back with me. At the least, I can say I am motivated in terms of not only fighting hunger, as is the point of these internships, but also for women’s rights and environmentalism.

It's hard to capture in pictures, as I feel pretty uncomfortable snapping shots of people directly...