Gehoon (Wheat)

The bael are being forcibly guided into tight circles. Beneath their hooves the gehoon spread out across the stone floor is being trampled each time around. Across the ­baakhli the scene is the same, bael going round and round grinding what has been harvested up to this point. And in charge of this merry-go-round of sorts is often a woman, or girl. She holds an umbrella with one hand to protect her over the next several hours from the sun’s unrelenting gaze. The other hand firmly grips the reins tied to the animals. And she trots (or stumbles, depending on her level of experience) alongside. She’s young, and pretty, her clothes new, her hair just washed. The jet-black strands radiant in the morning light. She’s older her face worn with a lifetime of physical labor, seasons and seasons of years and years of cutting and carrying, sowing and collecting. She looks much older than she actually is, teeth missing, her sari faded. A seasoned veteran in her own right. She greets me with a smile. Namaskar.

The bael are muzzled with rope tied across their mouths. They will not be eating the trampled harvest below, not anytime soon. They nonchalantly allow themselves to be led around, clearly used to the routine. There are four of them moving slightly quicker than the snail’s pace, tied to one another, harmlessly colliding. More gehoon is tossed onto the ground as the hours of work pile up. But the young one, he has had enough. Multiple attempts at escape from the day’s assigned task bring bouts of laughter from all around, but the best is yet to come. The girl in charge, her cries combine her sense of hilarity and a call for some assistance. Her sister stands in the doorway of the ancient house watching and laughs the loudest. Her mother is seated on the other side directly facing the home. She supervises from her spot, giving encouragement and scolding. She joins in the laughter as the young one once more tries to quit.

­­The bundles of gehoon are brought from countless yellow fields that diagonally line the massive hills. They are cut and tied together, transported upon heads up and down the steep terrain. After being trodden the grain will be put to the wind, as either the natural breeze or fans will be used to separate the grain from its sheath. After that it will be placed in a chakki and ground into dough, which in turn will be prepared and cooked into rotis. But that’s all for later, right now the demands of the work are simple, the bael must keep moving in circles. In a nearby yard a man is leading a single bael in the process. They move much quicker, together in continuous motion. He is wearing only a pair of kacchas, his brown skin prevailing, and janeyu – the singular sacred thread of a believer diagonally across his chest.

Smiles seem to be the motif of the sun-filled day. A woman, maybe the girls’ sister-in-law bathes a child. The child squats, completely still, as he has is lathered up, scrubbed, and washed. The calf does not have his mouth muzzled, his incentive to circumambulate and munch along the way. The conditioning so he will become like the older ones, resigned in their movements. But it is not enough for him and he suddenly drops to the ground in his final protest. His brown hide traps the gehoon beneath and he places his head squarely on the ground in defiance to any more. The laugher reaches its peak from all sides at the young one’s proclamation of, “I shall not be moved.” Another part of the morning passes in a day that still holds much more work. Another day with the hills as a backdrop – giant, permanent, and unmoving scattered with thousands upon thousands of trees.

New World Water

From rural Himalayan villages to urban city slums one lasting notion that has stayed with me throughout my Indicorps fellowship year thus far has been the importance of water for a healthy and prosperous existence on this planet. Now maybe this sounds all too obvious and it doesn’t take a year of service in India to figure out water is important. But seeing just how important water is, and what issues arise when there is a lack of clean water has been striking. Maybe it's been being in a rural area working alongside communities with an NGO that has its hand in everything from health to forestry to education. A part of it certainly has been living in villages and seeing what lengths are taken everyday to simply collect water to use for cooking, and cleaning, and drinking. It’s been seeing the importance of proper sanitation; or rather the immense accumulation of waste from a lack of proper sanitation, in settings like the slums of Kanpur and the city of Ahmedabad. And it’s been the work I have been doing – a village governance and public health project, and hearing about the high instances of water-borne illnesses like jaundice, diarrhea and typhoid. Or maybe it's just been after all of this, taking into account what many of us take for granted. Whatever combination of these experiences it may be; seeing the effect of a lack of clean water on communities brings up certain questions. Questions like, given the stark realities related to a lack of clean drinking water and proper sanitation shouldn’t access be ensured as a fundamental human need? If water is so precious then do those of us who enjoy easy access to it have a responsibility to conserve it? And do we presuppose our inherent right to water, a limited natural resource, while so many others struggle without such availability?

Apart from being an NRI who has grown up in the DC suburbs, and an Indicorps fellow who has been riding the highs, lows, successes and frustrations of a year of service in rural India, amongst other things I would have to identify myself as a hip-hop head of sorts (I even was an emcee in a couple bands in high school, surely that’s got to count for something?). Now obviously what immediately comes to mind in this rumination on water is track nine from 1999’s Black on Both Sides by Mos Def (an incredible album, first track to last), New World Water. Putting aside the politics of hip-hop, the song is on-point as Mos narrates, well, new world water (I know right, I was thinking the same, how fitting for this piece). Now to some it may seem like a little bit of a stretch to relate the experiences and realities of working for change in rural India with Brooklyn-born-and-bred lyrics, but I feel the connection is quite simple, and if you bear with me, in a way sort of insightful. The origins of hip-hop music come from a place of providing a voice to those who are not always heard, a place that challenges and critiques the social problems of our society, and a venue to mix poetry and politics. A place to provoke thought and discussion; a space to engage in and initiate social change. And you know what, fine, if it doesn’t work for you then merely accept this as an extension of my own multi-hyphenated identity. But really, aside from blazing break-beats and raw, speak-truth-to-power-in-yo-face lyrics it’s this unabashed, unapologetic rejection of accepting the status quo that I fell in love with as a kid. And the kids these days you know, this hip-hop stuff, they really love it.

“Man, you gotta cook with it, bathe and clean with it/When it's hot, summertime you fiend for it” While living with a family in the village of Simayal, most mornings I would descend down from the house I was staying in to fill a carton of water from a water tank in the village. This was the easy part. The steep trek back up with gallons of water situated on my shoulders would unfailingly leave me sweating, despite it being the middle of December. I figured it was the least I could do to help out as I too used the water to wash my clothes, to bathe with, and in the food that was prepared. While I made that trip usually once a morning, it was repeated seven or eight times everyday. Just knowing that made me conscious of the water I used whether it was to brush my teeth or wash my dishes (which I mean, honestly isn’t the case now with the tap I use in my current living arrangement). I began to depart on these morning pilgrimages for water once the rainwater tank had run out. Outside the house there was an underground tank that held water collected during the monsoons. This rainwater harvesting allows for a large amount of water to be stored, and conserved. Yeah, it’s pretty cool stuff. By the end of my stay with the family I had gotten use to my daily routine, but in the last days the outdoor water faucet by the house started to provide a couple hours of water every morning. Now I would reckon that most of the people who end up reading this may struggle to fully imagine and recognize the fact that in many places in India water is only available for a couple hours a day. To use water often involves first carrying it from a long distance, and especially in a hilly region, to collect water requires a physically strenuous task, a task that often is assigned to women.

“You can laugh and take it as a joke if you wanna/But it don't rain for four weeks some summers” In rural Kumaon, and most agricultural communities, water from the sky above is an integral part for sustenance. In particular, precipitation is counted on for the livelihoods of the majority of the population – farmers. Both too little rain, and too much rain can negatively impact crop yield, and many, many lives in turn. But merely precipitation alone is not required. The reality here in this part of Kumaon, like many places in the world, is that there is a significant shortage of water. This can be attributed to several main reasons, one being deforestation. While the state of Uttarakhand boasts one of the best forest covers in all of India, forests have steadily been declining, which has led to a drop in the water table. It’s sort of like this you see, due to deforestation there is less infiltration in the ground that leads to soil erosion, which means less soil depth. This leads to lower recharge of water in the ground, which means lower discharge (my shit isn’t that hot, I had to have this explained to me more than once). Climate change also plays a part in less precipitation. For example, this winter I mean it was cold, but given the Himalayan setting it was quite mild. It rained maybe once or twice, and only snowed once, an actuality that was constantly deplored by the local population. And this is not the first year such a phenomenon has occurred in an area that is use to receiving much more severe winters. Lastly, this being such a stunning area an influx of hotels and hi-fi summer homes has cropped up throughout the region. The luxuries such places have include the ability to switch on and off water from a tap or shower at will. The increased level of consumption that these hotels and homes bring has placed strain on springs that are the source for water in the area.

Now don’t get me wrong. It wouldn’t be fair depict those coming from abroad or urban India as totally insensitive to water, and try and give off the idea of everyone here as water-conscious sadhus. There are many a day when I see water faucets in villages that are left running or that simply cannot be shut off. But real quick, back to this idea of consumption, now that’s a familiar one. What you got for me Mos? “Americans be wastin’ it on some leisure shit, while other nations be desperately seekin’ it.” The population of the United States accounts for less than 5% of the world’s population yet consumes approximately 25% of the world’s fossil fuels. In regards to water, inefficiency and a lack of infrastructure in developing nations can lead to high per-capita withdrawals, just as high or higher than in developed countries. Still, according to the UN Development Report (2006) the average North American uses 400 liters a day, the average European 200 liters. This is in comparison to the “average person in the developing world uses 10 liters of water every day for their drinking, washing and cooking” (Water Supply and Sanitation Collaborative Council). The reality remains that around one billion people today lack access to decent access to safe drinking water. I can remember the days of twenty-minute hot showers, sprinklers running non-stop in every other suburban yard, and the tap running as I shaved or brushed my teeth. The question is, should be doing more to consume less?

And when was the last time that we had serious reason to worry about getting sick from the water we consume everyday? Through my efforts here it has become quite clear that waterborne illnesses are a very real problem that affect every single village I have organized alongside. Related to water, these efforts have included conducting water tests, trying to secure supplies of chlorine tablets and bleaching powder from local government health facilities, and organizing health committees to clean village water tanks and provide de-worming tablets. Specifically, the instances of water-borne illnesses increase dramatically during the summer and monsoons, and as the season is approaching I am currently in the process of trying to launch an awareness campaign about purifying water through chlorination and boiling. According to UNICEF, “a lack of safe water and sanitation is the world’s single largest cause of illness.” The same report goes on to state that everyday approximately “4,500 children die from unsafe water and lack of basic sanitation facilities.” And that’s not to discount the lead in DC pipes, but even then boiling water does not include burning the precious wood and other forms of fuel that has been back-breakingly collected.

One of the United Nations Millennium Development Goals includes “halving, by 2015, the proportion of the population without sustainable access to safe drinking water and basic sanitation.” In recent years there have been a number of campaigns pushing to have clean water explicitly recognized as a fundamental human right and ensure that people everywhere can cheaply access it. And if this wasn’t enough to try and process at once, there are other looming questions to be addressed regarding water as a fundamental right, and the effects of its privatization. “Used to be free now it cost you a fee/Cause it's all about gettin’ that cash money” In many places in the world, India included, privatization of water has been met with fierce opposition by civil society groups, NGOs, and activists. Critics cite that privatization may lead to profits being placed over people’s needs, gives too much control and preference to multinational corporations over an essential human need, and further disadvantages poor and marginalized populations (those that don’t have a hook-up with municipal water facilities). Another criticism that is levied against the privatization of water is that privatization is often imposed by international economic institutions (like the World Bank and IMF) through neo-liberal policies, at the expense of the developing world.

There is a fear that if water is commodified then only those who can afford it will have proper access to it. And maybe that is already beginning to happen. Like access to decent education and health, water is a basic necessity for a thriving human existence, one that every human being would like to have, and one that rights-based conventions and declarations seek to ensure. A report by The Office of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights concludes by stating, “It is now time to consider access to safe drinking water and sanitation as a human right, defined as the right to equal and non-discriminatory access to a sufficient amount of safe drinking water for personal and domestic uses - drinking, personal sanitation, washing of clothes, food preparation and personal and household hygiene - to sustain life and health.” Proper access to clean drinking and sanitation is required for a healthy life, a life with dignity. It seems maybe a bit odd then to profit off of water when there is such a dire need for it in many places of the world. Especially, when we do not respect the limited resource water is, as we pollute and waste, not heeding calls to conserve. But at the same time there are those individuals and entities that profit off of this type of commodification. “The type of cats who pollute the whole shore line/Have it purified, sell it for a dollar twenty-five” But maybe I digress.

And so after all of this hullabaloo I’d say the magnitude of water should not be downplayed, whether we recognize it from the subcontinent or clever rap lyrics. Obviously there are many more questions than what I have simplistically tried to put out there in this brief discourse. And while there may not be easy answers to all of the questions regarding the larger issues of water consumption, there are easy steps we can take to consume less, possibly the first being, simply being aware of how important water is the world over. So I humbly request that you accept these written bars as some food for thought. But to tell it best I defer to Mighty Mos, “Tell your crew to use the H2 in wise amounts/Since it’s the new world water, and every drop counts”

From Kanpur to Delhi: An Evening with Indian Railway

I arrived at Kanpur Central Station a little before 10 pm. My train was scheduled to leave at 10:45 and I was ready to be on my way. I approached the board with all the trains and departure times and such to see that my train was delayed, until 3:35 am. I stood in front of that constantly flickering board for half an hour in the hopes that my train’s departure time would miraculously change to some time before 3. But this was no time for miracles, at least not yet.

As I paced around the station and kept checking the board all that happened was I became more familiar with my new home for the next several hours, and my train got delayed even further, 4:35 am. So I paced around some more. Eventually I walked to the platform that this alleged train was supposed to leave from and, well, I sort of walked around for a bit longer… Almost every semi-clean spot was taken, by someone’s luggage, someone’s child or someone’s body. Underneath the stairs leading up to the walkway the situation was much the same with hundreds of people resigned to their wait – smiling and chatting, furiously eating, or simply taking the moment as it was just then and there, staring off, their thoughts taking them to other realities far from the platforms of Kanpur Central.

Train stations in this country are a unique place, unlike no other. I guess that’s what unique means. More people than you could imagine fitting into one space comfortably, from all sorts of backgrounds – religious and economic, social and cultural, speaking different languages, carrying all sorts of things, going about their own business. Polite, congenial, passing one another by, with a host of exceptions included. It’s a sort of glimpse at the cross-sections that make up this masala called India. Migrant laborers, traveling college students, wide-eyed foreigners, farmers, and businessmen and women. Saris, dhotis, jeans, t-shirts, kurtas and pyjamas. The young, the old, the rich, the poor, the people who look happy to be on their way, and those resigned to whatever fate awaits them. In-credible India.

I finally found a spot for myself on the walkway above the platforms. I spread out my chaadar on the least paan-stained part of the walkway, took off my chappals, and lay down. So this was my fate for the evening. To be honest I was pretty annoyed, and tired. I had been counting down the hours until my train was to leave and it would only make sense that my train was delayed in this “lets-push-Gaurav-to-the-brink-of-his-limits” type way. It could be worse, I tried to reason, as I stuck out my head in an attempt to swallow as much of the breeze from my vantage point above the rail tracks. And honestly what else could I do? Below I saw the trains come and go, people hop on and off, shove themselves and their luggage through the crowds, and carry everything and anything imaginable along with them. Above was the non-stop racket of the announcement system, alternating in Hindi and English, informing all of us, every two seconds, which trains were arriving when, on which tracks, and which trains were further delayed – mine included, until 5 am now.

It was almost funny that I was stuck in this station, until who knew when. Almost. It was sort of like just what I deserved for spending so much energy anticipating my departure. In any case I figured if I was planning on waiting till 4:35, another half hour wasn’t so bad. The reality was that I really had no choice. So there I was, one of the huddled masses (the huddled molasses, my new band name) taking it all in, with no rush to be anywhere, because right there and then, I really had no realistic place to go. The whole walkway was lined with sleepers and dozers and watchers and listeners like myself. I quietly absorbed the scene around me. People were covered from head to toe, like mummies, underneath their shawls. Some were passed out on top of their luggage with no regard for whatever may be on the hard and dirty floor beneath them.

When I got tired of watching my comrades at my side, I would examine those with purpose rushing by. Here once again was the intersection of badly dyed blonde heads and vibrant traditional outfits. From time to time I would read my book, then stop to once again gaze at the travelers throughout the station. Somewhere between all of these musings and activities (we like to call it time-pass) I dozed off for a bit only to be awoken by the incessant chatter of the announcement system, which kindly informed me that my train was now only to arrive at 6 am.

By this point I figured there was no rational reason to believe this train was going to arrive any time soon, if at all. Maybe it didn’t really exist. Maybe all of the other passengers smartly hopped on other trains much earlier instead of lounging like myself on the prosperous comfort of the floor of Kanpur Central. It was 3:15 in the morning, it was time. I hopped to my feet, collected my things, and strode with a sense of purpose to the ticket counter. I was going to create a hulla, I told myself (more realistically, I also told myself, I was going to try and buy another ticket). As I walked down to platform 1 I saw a train was slowly pulling away. I saw it was going to Delhi. I needed to go to Delhi; this train was going to Delhi. I ran up to it and asked the guy standing in the doorway of the moving train, Ye gaadi Dilli jaarahi hai? He said yes. I jumped on. I found myself in a sleeper compartment, with an open berth. I quickly locked up my samaan below the seats, and went to sleep.

I was woken up at quarter to nine by the prodding fingers of the TT. He asked me quite routinely whether I switched seats from another compartment. I fumbled sleepily for my glasses and stared at him, thinking about what I should do. He asked for my ticket. I handed him the one I had, braced for the impending cataclysm. He told me my ticket was for compartment S11. I had no clue what compartment I was in, but he did not seem to notice my ticket was for a completely different train. I quickly snatched it back, and apologized. Naam kya hai? Khan? Aap M. Khan hai? I didn’t want to lie to him. I wasn’t M. Khan. The TT was shuffling through all his papers checking the names on the list. I told him I’ll go back to my compartment and started grabbing the bag I was using as a pillow. Thik hai, bat jao. The TT stared at me for what seemed like a little too long, but was probably no more than several seconds. I was waiting for it, for something, something that was going to drag this out to the eventual realization that maybe I didn’t belong there. He told me to sit down below and continued on his rounds of the compartment. I smiled.

If you must know, it was a comfortable ride back to Delhi. I made a point to spend time hanging out the doorway as the train whipped through the countryside (one of the best ways to spend a train journey), simply breathing. I took in the villages of Uttar Pradesh as my mind engaged in trying to catch up to speed in processing the last eight months. From my work in the rural hills of Kumaon with Gram Panchayats and the public health system, to my experience as an Indicorps fellow, to the thoughts of my home, my family, my friends and the indulgent lifestyle I was living.

This processing included the past few days, which encompassed visits to the villages surrounding Kanpur and the slums within the city. It was all flying through my head. The story of the weavers, who enthusiastically told me about the cooperative they had started a year back, as I accompanied them to open the group’s bank account. The group of women in the slums who were running their own SHG and proudly explained their history. The family who insisted I first tell them who I was, and about the public health work I’ve doing in the mountains, and insisted I tell them as I munched on fresh tomatoes from their fields. The laughter between strangers who know they will never meet again, yet engage each other fully with no formality or hesitation. And the site of the Ganga, black, full of sludge and pollution from the countless tanneries that inhabit her banks.

There is still so much more to mentally document from these past eight months that I am sure there is a lot I have already forgotten. A number of people, both young and old, kept getting on and off the train, many still bearing the purples, blues, and greens on their hands, faces, and clothes, displays of a well-celebrated Holi a few days before. A family around me took turns reading religious poetry and discussing their interpretations. My Hindi was certainly not up to pace, but it was entertaining nonetheless. I chatted with those around me as I inched closer to my destination.

It was just another part of my journey, the larger journey – through India and Indicorps, one I have resigned myself to not fully comprehending just yet. Another story I may or may not recall, another piece that adds to this imperfect puzzle, and imperfect understanding of what this country, and this year, means to me.

I arrived in Delhi around noon. I was happy to be headed home for a day or two as I continued on my journey of seva. As I carried my bags up the stairs towards the exit, I heard from my good friends over the announcement system the train I was supposed to come on was further delayed, and was now to arrive at 5:30 pm.