Isn't that what everyone hopes for when travelling to India? To "find themselves"? The difference is, I didn't want to come to India. I never even gave it a thought. Ever. I'm not a religious person and I know exactly who I am, I don't need validation. But, the past month has made me question who I am to become.
Now that we are part of the State Department, we don't really get to choose where we'd like to live. So India was chosen for us. I don't really mind, that's the nature of the job - a lifestyle that we freely chose. So when we were given India, we just went with it. Adrian had lived in India before as an adolescent, so he knew what it was like. Though he lived in a totally different part of India under very different circumstances, he knew what to expect. I, on the other hand, was told what to expect and told accurately. However, when you are told something, you always wonder how much is exaggerated and how much is truth.
The truth so far about my India in New Delhi, is that it is heartbreaking. Granted, I arrived during Monsoon season so there is mud everywhere and since the antiquated drainage system cannot really handle the deluge, garbage tends to float in the streets. The smell is overwhelming. Nobody uses the public garbage receptacles here. I've witnessed rich and poor alike throwing garbage our their car windows, off the back of motorcycles, etc. It's accepted here. Most people just pretend it isn't there. That seems to be the underlying theme here. If we just pretend it isn't here or isn't happening then our conscience can be clear. After all, we didn't do it.
I'm not going to tell you about the weather and that there is corruption and the mosquitoes carry more diseases than I knew possible (ones we cannot be vaccinated against). You can find out all of this on Wikepedia. Instead I'm going to tell you about some of the people, and there are lots and lots of people. New Delhi is grossly overpopulated and there is not enough housing or employment for everyone. Some of the more industrious have fashioned homes out of scrap wood and metal along the river banks and alongside strip malls, virtually anywhere they think they can. These slums house hundreds of people. Some have electricity and even cable TV pirated from a nearby utility pole. None have running water. The toilets, as far as I can tell, are anywhere you can get away with. It is not uncommon to see people pissing off the sidewalks. Though I've not yet seen anyone defecating in the streets, I've heard it happens often. The homeless wash their clothing in the public fountains and dry them on median barriers alongside the cows and stray dogs.
Some of the slum dwellers have jobs and some hawk whatever they can in the streets; peacock feathers, balloons, dishtowels, water guns, flowers. Some simply make an eating motion with their hands and bang on your car windows. Most are children. I don't blame them. I'd do whatever I could to feed my family too. I'd bet that most of these beggars would take an underpaying job in a heartbeat if one was available. They simply are not available.
In the Muslim neighborhood of Nizamuddin, they seem to have a system of welfare. Rudimentary as it is, it seems to work for them. The poor and infirm line up together along the alleyways and almost every adult male Muslim that I saw dropped a coin in each one's hand. At one corner there seemed to be a meal station for the poor. I was urged to buy a packet of 20 or so tickets for 20 rupees each that I assume are distributed to the hungry homeless huddled around the ovens waiting for the evening meal to be ready. I didn't buy any because at the time I had no idea what they wanted from me and why I would spend money for tickets when I had no idea what they were used for. Next time I will buy some. Sure, some of the beggars will take their ticket I give them and resell it to another beggar for maybe 5 rupees then go buy himself some liquor but it's no different from our own welfare system really except that theirs isn't subsidized by the government.
This is where I have trouble. Every instinct in my body tells me to help, to give. I want to feed and clothe these children when I see them. I know I cannot help them all, but I want to help the ones I can. I feel like a hypocrite sitting in my chauffeur-driven car, heading to a restaurant to drink a $30 glass of champagne then come back to my safe, clean and air conditioned home that someone cleans for me for minimum wage.
Last night I dreamt that I was being attacked by beggars and I was stuffing 10 rupee notes into their mouths. According to the local government, you are not below the poverty line if you earn more than 33 rupees a day. That's 53 American cents. I guess in my dream I thought I was feeding them.
Now that we are part of the State Department, we don't really get to choose where we'd like to live. So India was chosen for us. I don't really mind, that's the nature of the job - a lifestyle that we freely chose. So when we were given India, we just went with it. Adrian had lived in India before as an adolescent, so he knew what it was like. Though he lived in a totally different part of India under very different circumstances, he knew what to expect. I, on the other hand, was told what to expect and told accurately. However, when you are told something, you always wonder how much is exaggerated and how much is truth.
The truth so far about my India in New Delhi, is that it is heartbreaking. Granted, I arrived during Monsoon season so there is mud everywhere and since the antiquated drainage system cannot really handle the deluge, garbage tends to float in the streets. The smell is overwhelming. Nobody uses the public garbage receptacles here. I've witnessed rich and poor alike throwing garbage our their car windows, off the back of motorcycles, etc. It's accepted here. Most people just pretend it isn't there. That seems to be the underlying theme here. If we just pretend it isn't here or isn't happening then our conscience can be clear. After all, we didn't do it.
I'm not going to tell you about the weather and that there is corruption and the mosquitoes carry more diseases than I knew possible (ones we cannot be vaccinated against). You can find out all of this on Wikepedia. Instead I'm going to tell you about some of the people, and there are lots and lots of people. New Delhi is grossly overpopulated and there is not enough housing or employment for everyone. Some of the more industrious have fashioned homes out of scrap wood and metal along the river banks and alongside strip malls, virtually anywhere they think they can. These slums house hundreds of people. Some have electricity and even cable TV pirated from a nearby utility pole. None have running water. The toilets, as far as I can tell, are anywhere you can get away with. It is not uncommon to see people pissing off the sidewalks. Though I've not yet seen anyone defecating in the streets, I've heard it happens often. The homeless wash their clothing in the public fountains and dry them on median barriers alongside the cows and stray dogs.
Some of the slum dwellers have jobs and some hawk whatever they can in the streets; peacock feathers, balloons, dishtowels, water guns, flowers. Some simply make an eating motion with their hands and bang on your car windows. Most are children. I don't blame them. I'd do whatever I could to feed my family too. I'd bet that most of these beggars would take an underpaying job in a heartbeat if one was available. They simply are not available.
In the Muslim neighborhood of Nizamuddin, they seem to have a system of welfare. Rudimentary as it is, it seems to work for them. The poor and infirm line up together along the alleyways and almost every adult male Muslim that I saw dropped a coin in each one's hand. At one corner there seemed to be a meal station for the poor. I was urged to buy a packet of 20 or so tickets for 20 rupees each that I assume are distributed to the hungry homeless huddled around the ovens waiting for the evening meal to be ready. I didn't buy any because at the time I had no idea what they wanted from me and why I would spend money for tickets when I had no idea what they were used for. Next time I will buy some. Sure, some of the beggars will take their ticket I give them and resell it to another beggar for maybe 5 rupees then go buy himself some liquor but it's no different from our own welfare system really except that theirs isn't subsidized by the government.
We are asked to not engage the beggars. It can only lead to trouble, either for them or us. If one beggar sees another beggar receiving money from us, we would be swarmed and it is not safe. If we are in a car and we hand money out our window, more little children will come to us in the street and run the risk of being run over. So, we are delegated to volunteering for an NGO or other charitable entities like churches, and orphanages, etc. But, you just know that if you give money, someone pockets 95% of it along the way. Very little of it gets to those for whom it's intended. Like the street children who are forced to beg then hand over their earnings to the boss who drops them off in the morning in his Mercedes SUV, leaving the kids with no food and no water all day to beg. I assume he feeds them eventually since none of them look emaciated. Thin to be sure, but somewhat healthy. I guess a sick and starving kid is of no use. This is where I have trouble. Every instinct in my body tells me to help, to give. I want to feed and clothe these children when I see them. I know I cannot help them all, but I want to help the ones I can. I feel like a hypocrite sitting in my chauffeur-driven car, heading to a restaurant to drink a $30 glass of champagne then come back to my safe, clean and air conditioned home that someone cleans for me for minimum wage.
Last night I dreamt that I was being attacked by beggars and I was stuffing 10 rupee notes into their mouths. According to the local government, you are not below the poverty line if you earn more than 33 rupees a day. That's 53 American cents. I guess in my dream I thought I was feeding them.
(photo from the Times of India)
I know that there will likely be very little I can do to change India or its people. I won't "fix" anything. I am not a savior. I will spend the next two years pretending, like everyone else, that it is ok to have naked children on the sidewalks and old, sores-covered men sitting on blankets in the alleyways. I will continue to buy my $2 sunglasses off the hustler downtown and feel magnanimous because I just got him above the poverty line single handedly. I will ignore the little girl banging on my car at the stop light and step over the sleeping mangy dog covered in fleas with its ribs poking out. I will take day trips to the Imperial Hotel to feel civilized and spend all of our hardship pay visiting places that gives me glimpses into my former life.
Can I maintain my dignity here? Can I somehow rationalize my aloofness? Will I observe this country like a journalist, just gathering information and not getting involved? Like those National Geographic documentarians that film the cheetah with the broken jaw and document its suffering as if they are incapable, not just unwilling to do anything to help? Will I be able to look at myself in the mirror every day? Will I continue to have nightmares? I suspect that every time I think of India I will think of that little girl and wonder what has become of her. But tomorrow, if I see her again, I will feed her.
