Here are some of my thoughts from our second and third months in India. We are safe, happy, and healthy, and we are loving this gift. (We decided to stay). We will be back in the US on December 22.
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September 16, 2011
Perhaps it's just plain selfishness.
I've always had a desire to want to live and be abroad (the pangs are especially loud during the long and arduous stretch of teaching leading up to Thanksgiving break). You see, I am a wanderlust at heart, always seeking to go and be away from…wherever I am. I think some it is attachment issues; I'm not attached to much. Some of it is a love for learning. Some of it is a need for novelty. Most of it, I am seeing, is just selfishness.
The wanderlust made me discontent and conflicted for much of my 20's. Every year I wondered When can I go? Where can I go? Why not now? It starts out as the urge to go and save the world, blindly, boldly. With some work experience and maturity it turns into how can I use my skills for the betterment of those less fortunate, a somewhat nobler crusade. As time starts to tick faster and priorities get resifted, it becomes a matter of where and when I might find someone to go with me. The needs of the world, it seems, are busting at the seams and time is running out.
I found someone, as you know, and we came. But as I'm here now, not doing much and not adding much good to the world, I wonder, is it all just for me?
i was chatting with a Long Beach friend who is now living and working in Beijing. We're both enjoying this expat life that seems to make our friends' envious -- cheap street food, cross-cultural blunders to laugh and blog about, new sights and sounds to decipher each day -- but if they came and saw, or stayed for more than a few days on a visit, they'd see it's quite shallow most of the time. We mostly are wading around at the safe end. It's selfish, not sacrificial; inward, not idealistic.
The selfishness dresses itself in several forms. I don't have to deal with America too much, and hardly at all if I chose to. I don't have to deal with the Daily Grind; my days are spent deciding what adventure I want to have. I get to disentangle myself from my life back home and disentangle myself from the messiness of other people's lives. I don't have to think about Saving Schools or Safe Streets or Stop The Deportations or anything I would otherwise feel compelled to work for.
This life is selfish because it's an escape.
I've chosen to live with a community of people in Oakland who have mostly intentionally chosen to live in East Oakland, in an area that feels in many ways just as foreign and just as full of novelty. I wonder, is my motivation there this same selfish experience-seeking? What do I have to show that it isn't?
* * *
Once a week, sometimes two (or three), Diana and I get our weekly dose of luxury. We are, after all, just two more spoiled middle-class Americans who need our injections of comfort.
Today that comfort was found at Fusion 9, a fancy western-style restaurant near City Center in Hyderabad. Like other upscale places we've been to, everybody inside was beautiful. And rich. It's like a whole different India from the one we usually see. On our walks through S R Nagar junction to and from church, or to and from the tiffin stand, we see a bustling, struggling, smelly India, and usually 4-5 men urinating on the sidewalk too. But inside these air-conditioned havens, it's a totally different India that we experience -- the kind that is obviously there, but almost hidden.
It reminds me of a similar insight I had a few years ago in Phnom Penh -- "My feet are not dirty." I am glad that Diana and I have chosen to live in the non-expat area. There is a mix of young families and throngs of rural migrants living here in hostels attending Hyderabad's cadre of tech schools. Our feet are definitely a little dirtier.
Still, there's something in our consumption that is telling. It was a pretty expensive lunch, $35 for the two of us; why do we not feel so bad about it?
September 18, 2011
Diana's favorite awkward question to ask while in India is "Will you have an arranged marriage or a love marriage?" Don't worry, people seem to understand the intent of the question and are generally willing to answer whatever awkward or probing questions she asks (though this could be the result of p90x and our imposing statures). They also ask us all kinds of intrusive questions - How much do you weigh? Why is your hair falling out? Is it true that Western girls are easy? How much was your wedding? Japan?
I suppose Diana is just reciprocating the terms of endearment.
Despite what we romantics would like to think, arranged marriages still seem to be the norm. It's a bit idiosyncratic, given the gargantuan film industry that champions true love and the quest to find 'the one" ("the one" being the one whom your parents approve of). Most of Diana's informal survey respondents are opting for an arranged marriage and they seem contented about it. But most of them also watch movies.
Diana grilled a young woman named (er, we can't pronounce her name) at church about this, and she gave some interesting insight into the matter:
"If we pick," she said, "then we might make a mistake. If we let God pick, then all will be well."
That's some faith.
I asked her why she wanted to get married then, if not for love. She responded, "For partnership, to take care of each other."
Perspective.
In many ways this is so different from our approach, which in comparison seems rather self-focused. We grow up wondering "Who is the person that will complete me?" and "Who is The One for me?"
Our friends Reni and Jaya said they easily found each other on an Indian Christian matrimony website. They felt it was time to get married so they logged on and after one face-to-face meeting, they were married. Reni says that they did talk on the phone for a bit before making wedding arrangements, during which he asked her if she knew how to make a good dal. She left out one key ingredient, the dal, but it was no matter to him. It was the right time to begin a partnership and so they embarked on one.
Getting married seems so much easier here in India (minus the whole our-family-is-going-into-debt-to-pay-the dowry thing); the search so much less dramatic. I think it's the dating that is the stressor in the US. Most of that time we are dating because we don't know what we want. There are non-negotiables and negotiables, measures of compatibility, hopes and desires, awkwardness to overcome..so much to consider and navigate through. Reni and Jaya hardly dated, and they didn't have to -- they clearly knew each others' intentions and future aspirations without even having to try hard. They knew what they wanted, and now they seem happy because they found it.
On the surface, American Love seems harder, because stupid Hollywood and stupid advertising (damn you, Don Draper!) make marriage about so much more than just partnership and companionship (Don: "Our job is to make people want things"). Now it's wrapped up in romance, destiny, and perfection - our own personal fairy tales (damn you too, Taylor Swift!). (Sorry Taylor, I don't mean it like that). They tell us what we ought to want and cannot live without, and so we want it and look for it.
Of course love and love stories have been written and lived throughout the ages all around the world -- I'm not saying love isn't real. I'm in love. But seeing it the Indian way just makes me wonder who has the fuller picture.
* * *
I got my first Indian acting gig! … in a church skit. I am playing a kung fu hero. They expressedly asked for 'hi-yahs" and "waaaahhhhhs" in addition to high kicks and fast punches. FML.
September 21, 2011
The power went out last night for 3 hours. We made dinner in the dark and then prayed for you. You're welcome.
At first I was highly irritated by the power going out. It happens once or twice a day when you least expect it. I grumble, frustrated with the interruption, but much like all the other chaos we experience it makes me stop and think about my heart. The power cuts off and I am forced to just wait, be content and find other things to ponder. It's freeing in a way, to sever the tether we have to the online world. We can just tend to the things we need and not worry about the things that we think need us.
* * *
Sometimes when Diana and I walk around outside, we like to shout out inappropriate things in English really really loudly, a la (500) Days of Summer. Is is bad if no one can understand?
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Babu just returned from Chennai, having been on-location for a film shoot. Apparently, the movie's heroine, a beautiful woman from Mumbai, has taken an interest in Babu. She even invited him to hang out with her at the beach (outrage! scandal!), the meet-up culminating in a 3-hour walk along the beach in Pondicherry (there was some kind of third wheel, but this part of the story was not clear).
Diana just had to ask: "Will you have a love marriage with Priya?!"
"No, no, no!" said Babu. "She wouldn't marry someone like me."
That's sad, but true, because there's still a quasi-caste system that is alive and well in India. Despite love and attraction and the virulent hip-shaking of Bollywood heroes and heroines, name, sign, and skin tone remain the trumps. I can tell Babu is a bit lovestruck, and it seems Priya is curious. Perhaps it's the thrill of impossible love that is the exciting part, the grand dream of what never really could be.
I wonder if there's just as strong a "caste-system" in the U.S., just unobserved, underlying, invisible. I mean, it seems like we generally end up with people who are very similar to us in background and education, and you hardly see real Cinderella stories. Then again, how did a nerd like me end up with someone like…well, never mind.
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I generally will give to beggars that we come across on the street if they are elderly or physically disabled. But gosh, there are a lot. A LOT. What to do?
September 24, 2011
Indian church has been a blessing: "You are crowned King of India, you are crowned Lord of all; who can deny you are crowned Lord of all?"
I haven't been able to put my finger on what I'm finding so freeing about being in India. The church we go to is so refreshing in it's joviality and exuberance, it's childlike faith.
Diana, a master cutter-of-the-heart, said, "It's because you have nothing to complain about." Ouch.
But it's true. My life in the US is full or responsibility and expectation, the kind I put on myself and the kind others put on me. And what better way to shirk off some of that pressure than to complain? I complain about work. I complain about church. I complain about the government. I complain about complaining.
She's right. I'm finding such peace here because I've stopped complaining. For the most part.
October 2, 2011
Happy Birthday Ghandi-ji!
It's unfortunate that on this national day of commemorating Ghandi, there is still incessant strife and conflict here in Hyderabad. For the past several weeks, a group of activists from the Telangana region of Andhra Pradesh have been organizing a massive strike and protest against the state government. They want to for a separate state of Telangana, which would include the city of Hyderabad, because they feel a lack of political representation and they feel like the resources from their region are being co-opted for use in other areas of Andhra Pradesh. A separate state was also promised to them during the whole we-Brits-are-leaving-India-now-so-let's-carve-out-some-arbitrary-regions period.
The activists have called for a Bandh, or strike, which has some hundreds of thousands of government employees not going to work, including teachers, bus drivers and power plant workers. This has affected the productivity of the entire city and has left millions of people frustrated.
For our neighborhood, the power cuts out each day from 11am-12pm and then again from 3pm-4pm. At first it was inconvenient, because we didn't know when we would be inconvenienced, but now that we know what will happen at least we can plan around it. Can't say the same for businesses, government programs, and schools. There has to be a better way.
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Where is the love?
My hip hop dance class is challa awesome. I try my best to keep up with the gangly teen boys as our teacher Raju dances his heart out to the latest Tollywood film hits. It's Rs.1000 ($20) for the whole month, SIX classes a week. We sweat a lot and the callouses are huge. We dance barefoot, of course.
It's interesting to be in this Indian style hip-hop class. Replete with flailing arms, hip thrusting, fist-pumping, chest-beating -- the movements evoke passion and romance more than anything else. I love it. It's so different from the American style, which, grimace-faced, is meant more to impress, intimidate, and sell milkshakes. There, it's identity-induced swagger; here, it's passion-infused undulations (fully dressed undulations, of course).
There's such freedom and confidence in their movements, and my teacher constantly tells me to "More enjoy!" (He also called me heavy a few times. I think it means something else to him). I guess I've still got my stone-cold mad dogg and sharp, precise movements. At least I haven't started dancing with my seductive lower lip bite yet. The children would surely be scared.
October 5, 2011
Telugu blunder of the day: There were plenty of lady-giggles when Diana introduced me to an Indian woman at Bible study, saying to her "This is your husband." I swear I saw a flash of panic in her eyes before I heard the laughter.
October 8, 2011
Living Local
Everywhere we need to go to get everything we need is pretty much walkable. The grocery store and a farmer's market are just a few small blocks away (don't think Lake Merritt Farmer's market, think, the parking lot between Lupita's Pupuseria on Foothill and the market next door. Add wooden carts. And cows). My dance class in one block over from our apartment. Church and a nice cafe are 15 minutes down the S R Nagar junction, and in every nook and cranny are tiffins, mess halls, chaiwallahs, beauty parlors, bakeries, fruit juice stands, and meat shops -- everything we need is within a short walk and a hand's reach. Will try to do this more when we are back stateside.
Diana has often said she feels 'limited' here, mostly because as a woman she has to dress a certain way, but also because without a car or a motorbike, we're left to walk, ride the bus, or haggle for auto rickshaws to take us where we would like to go.
I happen to like the limitation. It helps me see how easy it is to be more simple, but also how hard it is to say no to comfort and convenience. It helps me see that life can be lived on so much less.
Everyone brings their own canvas bags or reused plastic bags to the grocery store. Even the produce gets dumped in without extra plastic produce bags needing to be used. Most things come in plastic pouches, not boxes or containers, and a whole neighborhood's trash fits in but a few dumpsters, every reusable scrap and recyclable sifted out each day by recyclers. There is no need for paper products, including paper towels and toilet paper. And of course, what's the point of silverware when you have dextrous fingers? Or take-out boxes when there's plenty of newspaper? Green to the extreme.
Indians and other people in developing countries are innovative in way we Americans are not. Their limitation fosters frugality and a creative approach to meet the needs of dally life. It's something we desperately need to mimic, because where we see limitation, they see opportunity, even in a plastic bag.
October 12, 2011
Life is hard. I'm beginning to see that now.
I have never really known what it is to have a hard life. My parents worked hard ever since they left Cambodia for the US, making it possible for my sister and I to grow up in a stable, comfortable place. I excelled in school and went for almost nothing to one of the best universities in the world. There, I had the luxury of time and resources to be curious, be risk-taking, be creative, and invest in my future, both relationally and academically (a little less so on the academic side of things). I went through an amazing teacher training program, the loans of which have been mostly paid off by my commitment to urban education and teaching math. I easily got a job in the city and school I wanted to work in, and even though the work was intensely insane, I would not have traded those years of goodness for anything.
My life has not been hard.
I have gotten to travel the world, and to see the beauty of people and places in all the corners of the globe. Each trip and adventure has broadened my worldview and my understanding of what it means to be a human here on this planet. As an American, I have the privilege of being able to go to most of the places in this world, no questions asked. With just a passport and a credit card, I can do anything and go anywhere. And I can bring back a trove of memories and souvenirs to remind me how awesome my life is.
My life has not been hard.
I have hardly been unemployed in the last 6 and half years since graduating, and even now, living a half a world away, I have 3 part-time jobs that pay for my life of leisure and soul-searching in India. I have a wonderful wife, we had the wedding and honeymoon of our dreams, and I live each day thinking "surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life…"
My life has not been hard.
But I'm starting to see that life really is hard. For many. For billions. Even for those closest to us.
I'm seeing that life gets harder as we get older -- more expectations, more responsibility, more mess -- it's the force of entropy nudging everything towards disarray. Maybe now in my 30th year the Idealism of my 20s is finally meeting Reality, its best frenemy. We have work to do, good to do, mouths to feed, relationships to reconcile, people to care for, and is it ever going to end? No.
Look at me, complaining already when it's only just begun. Lord, have mercy.
October 13, 2011
"If you don't mind…Your stomach is very big." Thanks, Sundar. Though I am certain he was describing me using the common Indian euphemism for an ambitious, wealthy and extremely handsome man. Yes, that's what he was trying to communicate.
* * *
We have started volunteering at an organization called Kriti, which works to provide healthcare, education and vocational training to people from the slums near Film Nagar in Hyderabad. I'm also helping to write a business plan for an organization called Amaidi. It's a fiesta!
It blows my mind that there are so many things we don't know about this world, like how many people are on it and where they are. Even in India alone, hordes of people go on living undocumented, unnoticed. If they died, it could be as if they never existed at all.
There is a new program called Aadhar, which is trying to give an identity to every person in India, using fingerprinting and a unique retinal scan. This way, people can get the services and basic supplies they need through government support programs, without worries of corruption, fraud, or embezzlement. It's going to take something like a decade to get everyone scanned. What to do in the meantime?
October 17, 2011
Busy again! As we're over the hump of of our time in India, things seem to be picking up in preparation for our return. I need to find a job. We need a place to live. We have families to deal with.
It's so interesting that life quickly returns to it's normal pace, or at least, I do. There's more reflection here for me, I'm sure.
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Feeling nostalgic for the Bay, we brought our own mug to get chai and then walked to the farmer's market. It was just a pile of rotting produce. Fail.
October 28, 2011
Busier than I thought! I guess I am who I am :(
* * *
Diwali is the most dangerous holiday ever. Celebrating light and life and family, Hindus light oil lamps, candles, lanterns, and best of all, firecrackers to brighten up the night. It does however make walking down the street feel like walking through a crossfire (made me a bit homesick for Oakland). During Diwali, everyone, young and old, is lighting up (not like Oakland). Crackers are tossed into the street and rockets shot into the sky. It is festive and smoky and loud. The lights are beautiful though, and the people especially radiant. Incredible India indeed.
* * *
I've had an epiphany about my work. To take on a metaphor:
We treat the wounds. We are not the healers.
We can stop the bleeding. We can't prevent all the wounds.
We are critical in the healing process, applying the salves we know, but full healing is beyond our capabilities.
In my profession, the wounds are big and many. I've tried for years to treat them as best as I can, trying to be a good math teacher, trying to help build an amazing and effective urban school, and trying my best to be a kind, gentle, loving presence. Some wounds have healed, and some haven't. It's frustrating, of course, to see hurt that seems to have no end, and more frustrating to see what you've tried not work.
As I ponder my future plans, I'm realizing that I can't solve all the problems of urban education, because the problems stem from the human heart. It's there in all of us -- the propensity to devalue others and withhold dignity, the ease with which we choose not to love. These start in the heart and take root in our thoughts. They live in us so they live in the things we create - school systems are but one of our failed designs.
I says this not be hopeless, but to be realistic. I cannot approach my line of work with a savior mentality. I can just treat the wounds as best as I can, communicating value, restoring dignity, and choosing to love. I can be a teacher, a school leader, a reformer, and anything else I want, but I can't be the solution, just a part of it. Ultimately, knowing I am not that is comforting. I can get to the work of treatment and not worry so much about the work of full healing. That will take a lot more than a bandage.
* * *
"Why do you stand here looking into the sky?" (Acts 1:11)
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I wonder if having this open time in India has killed my need to do work. It is kind of what I was hoping for during this sabbatical of sorts -- I was doing way too much and addicted to it. Maybe it hasn't fully killed it, but it sure has given me some valuable perspective. Work doesn't define us. Work is hard. We will have to work for the rest of our lives in order to support ourselves and our families. It is ok if this is terrifying. Ecclesiastes provides the most comfort in this: To enjoy work is a gift of God.
Now that I've seen what a simpler life looks and feels like, I don't really want to go back to all that.
Stupid curse.
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Some photos!
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Some photos!
