Bringing It All Back Home

This past May I had the opportunity to visit Anandwan and Somnath, two project sites of the Maharogi Sewa Samiti, popularly known through the work, efforts, and dynamic personality of Baba Amte. Built and run by cured leprosy patients and others, the two places provided interesting examples of some of the uplifting work that has been going on by dedicated people under the radar of the mainstream. As my fellowship year comes to an end, and next week brings about the final Indicorps workshop, I hope all that I feel can be laid out there – the successes, the frustrations, and all these thoughts on the brain.

As I look forward to continuing my own pursuits of creative expression and social justice there are things that I have seen, and done, and been a part of over this year that I would like to firstly understand, and then begin to apply in my own life. For sure this work, this year has straight up been one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. From living and working alongside rural communities here in Kumaon, to the entire Indicorps experience and philosophy, this year has also undoubtedly been one of most enriching of my life.

Being a part of rural communities and understanding in a holistic way, what life is like in pahari villages has provoked a lot of critical thought on the lifestyles I have known. Being in an area where the overwhelming majority of people depend on agriculture for their own sustenance and livelihood has allowed me to witness a different type of society. Engaging with villagers, from grandmothers to Gram Pradhans has allowed me to build relationships with people from such radically different backgrounds, and still be able to make deep connections. Seeing how hard women have to work here, even those younger than me, without a moment of rest day after day. Struggling to understand this country from a different perspective, and building my own relationship with India outside of family visits and family privilege has changed how I see a lot of what I do.

This year I have tried to live simply, and learned what is actually necessary, and what really isn’t. I found myself capable of things I previously would never have even believed I could undertake. I fully understand now that process is as important as product and progress and development is a slow, and not always so pretty process, but it happens. I have seen the value of pushing yourself and stepping far away from any sort of comfort zone. I’ve learned that while there is much to be done, there is no better way of going about it, other than doing it. And all of this has re-sparked my own interest and commitment to creative, community organizing.

I think like my fellow Fellows finishing this year it’s still not entirely clear what exactly I have done or if I have had any significant impact at all in the long-term picture. But I am excited about the future and all there is to be gained from this past year. And as I sit back and reflect on a year past, and look to the future ahead, I am reminded of Dr. Vikas Amte’s words back in May in the unforgiving heat of Maharasthra.

“Our work begins now. Yesterday we were alone, but today we have some fellow travelers.”

Here is a man who has been a significant part of an incredible organization that has unarguably done incredible work for the past 60 years. Many would say what has been accomplished in that corner of Maharasthra is impossible, if they hadn’t seen it themselves. An organization that carries the name of one India’s great social visionaries, and at the same time stresses not the Amte name, but rightfully so the collective effort. With six decades of experience and projects all over the country the message was loud and clear: “Our work begins now.”

And so I’d like to extend this message to my fellow Fellows finishing up this Indicorps fellowship year of service, to the incoming fellowship class, and all those who organize alongside marginalized communities. It’s a message I’d like to pass along to my comrades from high school and college years that marched in the streets shoulder to shoulder with me, and stirred other classmates to question the status quo. I’d like to echo this for my friends wherever they may be in the world, for my friends’ parents who have watched me grow up, watched me make mistakes, and for my parents’ friends who left India a generation ago to settle on the shores and in the suburbs of the United States. To those who get the Bob Dylan title reference, and to those who don’t, “Our work begins now.”

From Bob Dylan to Baba Amte, I say, wherever the inspiration comes from, follow it. A long time ago I acknowledged that just as this year was not the beginning of my interest in working for social change and social justice, this year in rural India would not be the end either. Wherever we may find ourselves there are always ways to break out of whatever is simply prescribed, and more fully engage with our surroundings. Because the intangibles certainly are important, and while reflection too is important, so is staying on-point, and being ready to take those next steps.

Negotiating Departure

I leave Kumaon in less than ten days and I find myself with all of sorts of mixed feelings. No doubt, the future is exciting. The end of this month will bring about our last Indicorps workshop, and the opportunity to make sense of this year from the lenses of my comrades who have similarly been working with grassroots organizations across India. The chance to travel to other corners of this country that I have never seen before, now with a more rooted understanding of India. And to apply new learnings, every step of the way, including at the shock that will be returning back to the US in the not so far off future. But in these last days in Kumaon, I am torn in more than one way. It’s partly about leaving a place, this place, which has been the setting of an experience that has been absolutely unique in my life. An experience that has been tough, demanding, and invaluable.

It’s sort of strange, this last month – going to meetings in villages for the last time. Meeting people I have been working with for the better part of the last year and not knowing when we will meet next. Hearing their words of thanks, their questions about my return, and their half-joking demands that I stay. The amount I have walked, all of the cuts I have traversed, and how these villages have become familiar. The families I have lived with in Janjer and Simayal, feeling like I have a home there. And certain people I have worked with both in communities and the NGO, whom I have shared so much with. I have learned from, been enriched by, all of these people and different experiences. And whether they know it or not, they have watched me grow as well. Leaving is not something I feel sad about; I just don’t know what it actually means and how it should feel.

I’m also torn about the work. After one year, I realize that in some ways a year is not very much at all, yet I still feel some sense of achievement about what has been done in building the capacity of Gram Panchayats, and communities, to effectively organize on public and preventive health issues. I have learned many lessons about rural development and grown in the process. At the same time, even at this point, there is still bullshit to deal with and egos to manage. Wasted time and energies to battle that push me towards the infuriating brink of serious frustration. I am leaving in less than ten days, and while I feel that there is much potential in the work I have been doing and the project I have been working on, I feel torn on how to leave it. The uncertainty of not knowing what have I actually done, what has the impact been, at times brings an intense, burning sensation up from my gut into my chest. Not knowing what affect at all my efforts will have, not knowing what the hell I have just done, are hard thoughts to negotiate. And then just simply moving on from it all, it doesn’t all add up right. But maybe it’s sort of like one of those things you can’t really see cause you’re in the middle of it, and maybe that’s something perspective will bring.

And so it’s all a bit kind of strange. Up until now I’ve never had such a hard time saying goodbye, but maybe it’s because it doesn’t all make sense just yet. While I am ready for the next steps in my life, this past one is a huge one to digest. But in a way it’s just yet another new circumstance this year has unapologetically thrown me into. Just as arriving here was such a new experience, leaving has become one as well. The terms I leave Kumaon on, are only one part of what this has year has actually meant, and the rest may just depend on my own mindset.

Notes from a Gram Sabha

Last week I was asked to attend the Aam Sabha betek, that is, bi-yearly meeting of the Gram Panchayat, in the village of Suralgaon. I had never been to Suralgaon. In terms of preventive health organizing, it is not one of the villages where CHIRAG is active. Kundun da, the Gram Pradhan had asked me to come to help organize the health committee that the panchayat had formed on its own. I thought it was a pretty cool opportunity, even if it meant me going on my own, and subjecting the villagers of Suralgaon to my still rough Hindi.

After ten months however, of organizing with communities on public health issues, trying to build a culture of action and prevention, and struggling to try and make some impact, I felt that just maybe, whatever I could bring from my experiences could be of some possible benefit.

When I arrived, the meeting had already started and I sat and listened as several different issues were discussed. The room was full, with around 40 people sitting tightly on the floor of a village community center. The majority of discussion revolved around water, or rather the dangerously low amount of water available these days (see New World Water). The lack of water actually has been a huge problem here, with the monsoons already delayed by more than two weeks. The talk was of hand pumps, and setting pipelines, and trying to manage with what little water was available in the village.

The discussion moved to encompass certain government yoganas (schemes), including the National Rural Employment Guarantee Act (NREGA), a legal guarantee of 100 days of employment doing public work. The act is aimed to benefit the rural poor through providing work at the fixed minimum wage. Government programs to assist local farmers were also introduced by the Gram Vikas Adhikari, a government representative from the block level. Different sorts of issues were raised, as well. One man brought up the fact that there was no footpath that goes to his house, and whether the panchayat would be able to help facilitate the construction of one.

After half an hour of listening Kundun da asked me to introduce myself and talk about the work I have been doing. Once more, in my imperfect Hindi, I jumped into the role of community organizer, rural India style. I explained who I was, the work that has been ongoing with health committees in neighboring villages, and the potential of communities coming to together to improve public health. It was a sort of all-in-one workshop, information, and planning session.

Afterwards, I facilitated the creation of a yearlong action plan to tackle health issues ranging from waterborne illnesses, to leucorrhea, to anemia, as community members discussed what should be done when. I’ve reached the point in my fellowship year, where I can at least do this much.

On the walk back from Suralgaon, it felt like one of those days that seemed to make some sense. And the days certainly alternate, often bringing sharp thoughts of what have I actually done here? But all of that is for another time (coming soon I reckon). For now, what is more interesting is thinking about the concept of democratic grassroots institutions, actively working for the improvement of their own community. To witness this process here, however imperfect – with problems of male dominance and money-driven plans, is still stimulating in a way that goes beyond politics and panchayats in rural India. It is the possibility of individuals, where ever they may be, working together towards civic engagement and social change.

It is from the results of such collective action and community ownership, through the vibrancy and creativity our lives inherently deserve, that we can shape our own realities and futures. And that can be translated across borders and languages, throughout communities, from rural India to wasteland suburbia.

Reflection Eternal (Perspective)

The starfilled sky blankets my thoughts tonight. And the images return. The silhouettes of trees are striking in the dark. The edges of pine blur the lines of these moments. At times like this it’s all just so peaceful. The empty roads during late night walks, it almost seems that I have these hills all to myself, at least in these moments.

There is nothing more but here, there is nothing else necessary right now. The rest is for tomorrow. The music in my head, accompanies the silence, the soundtrack to the reflection. I brush my teeth, head titled upward, inhaling starlight .With that canopy above how many times have I stared up at the sky from different hills, from different villages, across Kumaon? Having established the setting, once more we engage in the reflection, while the lights of Almora remain directly ahead in the distance.

This place has become my world. Nowadays, I find myself so familiar with my environment that often I am unaware of the world outside of this everyday reality. It makes sense I suppose. I have spent the majority of the last year in these villages, amongst these hills and forests. I have spent much more than time however. It’s been the energy, the effort, the frustrations and excitement, and certainly, most certainly the incredible people. The amount of love I have gotten here from people, in the villages I have been working with for the past ten months is something that brings an immediate smile to my face, and warmth to my being. This affection from neighbors, villagers, strangers – one does not easily find anywhere, encompasses me in the spirit of these hills.

When I embarked on the journey that brought me here I left behind relationships, a certain lifestyle, and the domineering culture that, to be honest, had been part of my life for the past many years. To go from that to this, to such a radically different place and state of mind, to struggle, and accept, and eventually embrace. In all of this, there is perspective worth searching for.

From all the things I’ve seen and done and learned here, about this work, about this place, about myself. At some point to go from here to there, to the other side of the globe is a jump that at times I wonder, what will it yield? In trying to understand what this year has truly been, I reckon that that perspective I am seeking will hit me on the other side. When I am back in the world of suburbia, of strip malls, and parkball, and late night freestyle sessions, it may be like, “Holy shit. I just did that.”

And it’s not that I am not conscious of all that has happened here, though incapable of putting it all into words. The efforts I have put in to understand and work alongside rural communities have already been much more than meaningful. As have the challenges I have dealt with and the ways I have had to get to know myself, ways that have not always been the most pleasant.

It’s just a whole lot to try and interpret all at once, especially when you feel unconsciously so connected to your surroundings. The question of perspective is what awaits in that world that had been default, up until recently. Then maybe the people, the struggle, and the grassroots will take on meanings that I cannot even see from my current Himalayan vantage point.

But right now it all remains in my head. Each step is comfortably placed on this ground. We shall save the inevitably continuous speculation, the late night reflection for other nights. Tomorrow will come with new stories and new challenges. And with time further attempts will be made to ponder the meanings of perspective. Tonight these hills are mine.

Loose Pants, Loose Government

“Jaise maire patloon dheeli hai, vaise sarkar dheeli hai (Just like my pants are loose, like that the government is loose)” – Me, irritated.

The days are getting slightly warmer here. I had just made the walk (road by road) to the panchayat ghar in the village of Baret. A leucorrhoea health camp had been organized in conjunction with the local government hospital, the Primary Health Centre in Malla Ramgarh. At the last minute when the folks at the PHC flaked out, I gotta say I was pretty damn annoyed, and I had no choice but to speak on it.

As soon as I reached Baret the words that were slamming against the inside of my head went through the lacking translation factory of my tongue and exited as my utter frustration manifest. “What is the deal?! We’ve been trying to do one camp here with the PHC for like six months. Pradhanji has gone multiple times to the PHC, I’ve gone multiple times to the PHC, and received a confirmation from the doctor and his supervisor that the camp would happen today, and a written proposal has been sent there. And it’s not even about today. The PHC can’t give one day in six months when a Gram Panchayat, the local village government, is asking them to come provide some health services? The government is saying do this, do that. The health committees have been formed, they’ve written out yearlong action plans, they’ve written out formal proposals, now what?” (Yeah… it’s sounds so much better in Hindi).

Throughout my rant as I stumbled over my Hindi grammar, the Gram Pradhan and CHIRAG field workers nodded a long, some serious, others with the amusement beaming from their faces. But I was heated. It’s not just the fact that one camp didn’t happen. It’s a larger issue that has become quite clear, that there is an unwillingness or lack of interest from the local health infrastructure to work directly with Gram Panchayats on preventive health. Last month a proposal was submitted to the Chief Medical Officer of the entire Nainital District, directly, in his hand, on behalf of eight Gram Panchayat health committeees, and CHIRAG, about the need to hold leucorrhoea camps in the vicinity of their villages. Leucorrhoea has been identified as major health problem, cited as affecting anywhere between 50-80% of women in these given villages. While simply treatment won’t solve the problem completely, it will provide much needed relief in the short term. The CMO said he would take this up with the PHC and help ensure these camps happen. Despite attempts at following this up, no word or confirmation has come from the PHC.

“And I don’t buy the argument that this is India. This is how things work here. What is that even supposed to mean? I am not sure I know. What I do know is that the people at the hospital are competent, the facilities exist, and that over the span of five months there is a time to conduct a camp, when the Gram Pradhan, the Gram Panchayat, and the neighboring NGO have all expressed an active desire to organize such activities. Why can’t they come?”

A few days before I was in Bageshwar, another district that CHIRAG works in on a number of issues, including recently with Panchayats on preventive health. After a two-day workshop with health committee members, we had gone to meet the Chief Medical Officer regarding the supply of chlorine tablets, the absence of ASHAs (Accredited Social Health Activist) in many villages, and to discuss further coordination. The CMO in Bageshwar was quite straightforward. He didn’t know of any other Gram Panchayats organizing on health, though he knew that under the NRHM they are given a central role. He asked who the members of the health committee were supposed to be, how ASHAs were to be selected, and was all in all fairly clueless about a lot of the process. He called me a Gandhi-wallah, which, given the entire situation I guess was slightly amusing.

“What is the deal?! Sometimes I just don’t get how this is a nationally-devised scheme from the central government, that Uttarakhand is supposedly a high-focus state, and that the program is supposed to be on-going for the last four years now.” And it’s not even to say that nothing is happening, because things are, but sometimes it can be slightly unnerving to see such gaping holes in the system.

But just as my pants tend to dangle a bit, so it goes. And yeah, a letter to the District Magistrate, and the CMO, has been drafted, and hopefully further attempts at coordination will prove to be more fruitful. But, if this is supposed to be something that exists not simply on paper, there needs to be some accountability. The Panchayats are doing their part, as is the NGO, but where is local government?

At Gandhiji's Ashram - 2009

At Gandhiji’s Ashram in the middle of eastern Maharasthra I filter through it all to try and reach brief moments of clarity, understanding, and salience. I find myself so wrapped up in my own immediate desires, feelings and ego. I am cornered in by my own mind and find it hard to go beyond “I”, “me”. Maybe I am not at peace with everything unresolved inside (Maybe? More like definitely). But there are too many uncontrolled thoughts of myself…

What does it mean to be here? Decades removed from Gandhi one must go beyond the surface of philosophy and the legend of a man who is still worshiped. In the peace, the quiet, and the beauty of dawn glimpses come of what it was all about. Simplicity. Mindfulness. An unbelievable sense of purpose and self. These were the grounds where his experiments with truth were tested. Here is where people gathered to plan and organize, to officially declare that the colonial oppressors of the past few hundred years had to leave, a declaration on the behalf of several hundred million people. It was at Sevagram in July 1942 that the “Quit India” movement was drawn up. Standing in this place invokes a wave of sharp emotion and solidarity. It’s pretty incredible to think about.

There is often the continuous question posed of what is the relevance of Gandhi today. There is plenty we can extract from this man’s message, but at times I struggle with trying to understand this relevance practically, in trying to go beyond the aesthetics of it. At Sevagram one sees the “simple living” philosophy of Gandhiji, embodied in certain action. There is an intentionality of each day focused towards reflection and self-sustainability. Each day includes a few hours of shramdaan, which literally translates to “gift of labor.” As Vinodji one of the acharyas at the ashram explains, Sevagram is meant to be a diya to light the flame within others. It is a good example of a significant part of Gandhiji’s message. And one would like to imagine that maybe one day it could play some role in introducing a modern day application of the idea of swaraj.

Swaraj was Gandhiji’s idea of decentralized, non-hierarchical governance by communities. It is an idea of direct democracy, which encompasses the individual and community levels that emphasizes self-reliance and self-governance. I don’t know what the contemporary adaptation of swaraj is to build self-sustainable, balanced communities, but there is value in thinking about these things in a way that goes beyond simply spinning khadi.

While being here there have been certain questions raised about the role of the ashram. If whether the ashram is really more of a museum? Is it looking backwards too much, without having a clear and active vision for the present? One thought I cannot shake however is that a significant part of Gandhi’s message feels like it is missing in regards to today’s India. What happened we know, but what about now? Gandhiji’s beliefs were certainly of simple living, sustainability, and inner meditation and mindfulness, but it also asked us to go beyond ourselves. Gandhiji believed that your life is your message, and that message includes engaging in our communities, and the larger communities of village, country, and world. When he was killed his vision for India was not realized. The country had just been partitioned, with mass violence ensuing, up to a million killed and over 12 million displaced.

Gandhiji’s vision was of a country that had collectively gone past caste discrimination and oppression, a society that had overcome communalism, and a nation that was clearly addressing issues of poverty, health, and education. Today we can still see the divisive nature of caste through the country, we see ugly displays of religious nationalism and fundamentalism while the state stands impotent, and while we consume magazine articles and 24-hour news channel specials on the development of India, many within the country still struggle with access to the basics.

And at Sevagram the words of Gandhi are posted, “I strive for such a country wherein the poorest of the poor feel that this is his country in building which his voice has its due importance. I strive for such an India wherein there are no differences of high and low and people of all castes live in harmony with one another. In such a country, there will be no place for the evils of untouchability and of alcoholic and intoxicating drinks. Women will have equal rights with men. We shall have peaceful and brotherly relations with the whole world. This is the India of my dreams.”

It seems that if we strive to understand the holistic approach Gandhi took it requires, at the very least, to in some way be prepared to address not only our personal weaknesses, but our societal ones, as well. It’s not about always being “activists”, but actively acknowledging the very same challenges that continue to face this country, just as they did back in Gandhi’s time. And it doesn’t mean simply following Gandhiji’s ideas, or mine, or anyone else’s for that matter, but genuinely engaging in a process that seeks out our own questions and journeys. I suppose I just feel that it’s not simply about looking at Gandhi from the lens of the 1930s and 1940s, but from 2009, and beyond.

I certainly do not doubt the inspiration that places like Sevagram can provide, even while it may not always be easy to translate that inspiration into today’s many proverbial languages. Sevagram is only one diya to draw light from. Spending some time at Anandwan and Somnath, two projects of the Maharogi Sewa Samiti displayed the incredible potential of people working together, reminiscent of many of Gandhiji’s ideas, under the motto of “Work Builds, Charity Destroys.” People who are shunned by society proudly living, with dignity, alternatives to the status quo. Visiting Vinoba Bhave’s ashram (a contemporary of Gandhi and active in the swaraj movement) also shed some light on collectives living alternatives to the status quo.

Amongst other things Vinoba Bhave is known for his leadership in the ­bhudaan movement, a campaign of voluntary land reform that aimed to redistribute land from zamindar (landlords) to landless farmers. And there are so many others I have encountered over this year in communities and organizations all over this country that are working for change, against what many would say unfavorable odds. Where the passion doesn’t overtly strike claim to your heart, it’s quite clear it’s right there beneath the surface being kindled. And that list of those who are also sparking the flames of social change includes my fellow fellows at Indicorps.

When intimately engaging with India it’s possible to easily get discouraged and depressed with being faced with the massive contradictions, stratifications, and inequalities in Indian society. But at the same time it’s exciting and uplifting to see what so many dedicated people are doing. From providing livelihoods to women’s groups, to working with youth towards empowerment, to struggling towards a more peaceful, secular and democratic society there are many fascinating activities being undertaken by amazing people committed to a better tomorrow. And I feel like in a lot of ways, wherever we are, it’s a question of how we choose to engage with what is around us.

The idea of Gandhiji’s teachings, this idea of “living with purpose,” it’s about not only what we do, but how we go about doing it. Which are the paths we will have courage to take? How strong are our own limitations, the ones we place upon ourselves within our minds? How will we react in the face of distraction? The sunlit sky creeping golden, overhead blue. The peepul trees are huge, magnificent. The huts remain, and retain peace. If there are images to try and capture these are them. Green and stillness. A disturbed mind colliding with what it cannot fully grasp and digest at Gandhiji’s Ashram.

Journey(s)

Journeys. Much is made of the word and its’ associated meanings by the Indicorps brigade. At this point, any further attempt by me is certainly certified clichéd. And as I sit on this train and journey on, this time towards Nagpur, it all seems fittingly framed through the horizontal metal blue bars across the window.

Some of the paint is chipped, some of the dust is still settling, but it all keeps moving. I see the traffic of the city flowing by, kinda insane, but at the same time normal. The city lights pass, as do the slums. The heaps of garbage, the congregations of rag pickers next to the pristine walled-in green, green lawns. Soon the urban landscape fades and it is back to the khet – and rural India. This time in the plains, far away from the villages I know in that corner of Himalaya.

And so the recurrent conversation of this year (or is it this lifetime?) returns – of journeys, and understanding, or rather struggling to make sense of it all. Of wealth and privilege, and urban and rural, and where I’m coming from, and truly where I’m going. Not simply Anandwan or Sewagram, but where will it all lead? When do the answers come? And where do we go to find them when questions only become a little sharper? Cut a little deeper?

The moon is full. It shines light down on the setting below bearing witness to the journey. The singular and the plural – weaving in and out of one another, like the strands of a double helix. Connecting and disengaging. And I told you so. Totally, certified clichéd.

National Rural Health Missing?

National Rural Health Missing?

“This is activism."
“This is what I know how to do.”

Since my arrival last September in Kumaon, at the foothills of Himalaya, the focus of my efforts has been working to address issues of public health with local communities. This has mainly involved organizing alongside Gram Panchayats. Gram Panchayats are elected local village councils that deal with social, economic, and developmental issues of the community. The Panchayati Raj system is backed by the Indian Constitution, which gives certain responsibilities and authority to panchayats to address issues of social justice and development. Since September I have seen my work slowly moving along, progress and small victories here and there, but it certainly hasn’t been easy. It’s involved a lot of patience, waiting for people to get on board, both in the communities and NGO, for meetings to start and action to be taken. It’s involved a lot of walking, up and down hills, across streams and through villages, at times for eight, ten, twelve kilometers a day. And it has included an immense amount of learning – about rural India, development, public health, village governance, and myself. It’s the type of work where the results don’t necessarily show in any sort of immediate timeframe and the questions only increase as time goes on. And honestly, every so often I have found myself questioning what impact I am having. In the long run, are these efforts I am undertaking enough to make a difference? Sometimes I wonder. But enough about me, what about rural health?

In brief, over the past eight months the process I have been helping with has involved forming health committees through village panchayats, providing trainings and workshops to these committees on their roles, responsibilities and rights, identifying main health issues and problems, writing out yearlong action plans to address the major health issues identified, and beginning the implementation of these plans. The issues range from anemia to waterborne illnesses (diarrhea, jaundice, typhoid, worms) to women’s health problems such as leucorrhoea. Importance is placed on antenatal care and on child health, specifically, ensuring that children are receiving the proper vaccinations. Health committees also address basic hygiene, cleanliness, and sanitation. This type of organizing has also included ASHAs (Accredited Social Health Activist) and ANMs (Auxiliary Nursing Midwife), in short government health workers that in different capacities work to address various health-related issues in villages. And in recent months implementation of the action plans drafted by health committees has begun. De-worming tablets have been requested by health committees and distributed, hemoglobin tests to check for anemia have been done, and springs and water tanks have been cleaned to help combat waterborne illnesses. Health camps on leucorrhoea have been planned and letters to the block and district levels have been sent.

Here’s one really quick anecdotal example of something that’s been achieved. For up to two years in many villages Iron Folic Acid (IFA) tablets have not been available through local government health supplies. It is strongly recommended that pregnant women take 100 tablets while they are pregnant (200 if they are anemic as well). In an attempt to get IFA tablets restored I spearheaded a campaign where Gram Pradhans and health committees sent multiple letters to both block and district health departments inquiring over the lack of IFA supply. Gram Pradhans even took up the issue at Block Development Committee meetings, a place where issues of health are never raised. Four months after the initial letter was sent word came from the Chief Medical Officer of the entire district that IFA supply would be restored for the entire Ramgarh block, and has now reached the majority of villages. A similar campaign was initiated to restore the supply of Vitamin A dose for children, which has been absent for almost three years. A couple days ago a letter from the CMO arrived informing CHIRAG (the NGO) and Gram Panchayats that Vitamin A is also being fully restored to the entire block. Chalk two up in our column.

All of these efforts have been within the larger context and framework of the National Rural Health Mission (get it? Mission, Missing. I thought it was kinda clever…), an Indian central government program initiated in 2005 to better attend to health in rural parts of the country through a number of different programs. While the NRHM covers the entire country, there is special concentration on 18 high-focus states (including Uttarakhand) “where the challenge is the greatest.” The NRHM specifically focuses on a decentralized approach that gives much decision-making and planning power to the grassroots level through village panchayats. In theory, action plans made at the village level are supposed to help determine the block’s, and in turn, the district’s health agenda. The idea is to empower communities to take ownership over public health in their villages. Another portion of the NRHM is the realization of Indian Public Health Standards, which aim to improve the level of government health service delivery. While on paper the NRHM may seem quite solid in its approach, the reality on the ground is much different and in remote areas there are still many challenges to be faced.

As the opening steps of implementation of these action plans unfold and village communities and health committees slowly become more familiar with health issues and use to the idea of taking action on these issues, there’s another idea I have had. The reality is that when illnesses or health problems strike, the majority of people make the several hour trips to the nearest towns of Haldwani, Bhowali, Almora, or Nainital. While more local facilities exist they are often underused and under-stocked. For smaller illnesses and injuries these local sub-centres can play an important role. As I see it, along with implementation of action plans, health committees could visit sub-centres to see what supplies and facilities are and are not available. Equipped with a list of what should be present, according to Indian Public Health Standards, such a visit would firstly familiarize committees and villages with what is available at their local centers, and secondly provide a platform for these committees to place pressure in order to ensure that the facilities and supplies that they are due will arrive. At this point I’d like to note that this is not to put all the blame on local government facilities or on the staff that work there. Nor is this is to say that the state is doing nothing. While health issues have not received the urgency they deserve, and there has been a slow response, some efforts have been made to address health. One example is 108, an emergency ambulance (and fire/police) service that has been introduced as part of the NRHM, is functioning fully in this area, and is used frequently (especially for deliveries). Even the name of this piece is posing a question. And the response is clear that things are gradually happening to address health and clear that there is plenty more to be done.

In my very-much-so imperfect Hindi what I have been pushing for with my colleagues and with committee members alike is for a more pro-active stance in seeing that health facilities provide what is needed. “­Dekho, apne aap kuch nahin hota. Thora sa dabana, thora sa hilana, phir kuch ho jayega. Agar log awaaz nahin uthayenge toh sarkar sochegi ki subkuch thik hai. Koi dikkhet nahin hai. Aur ye jhagara ke baath nahin hai. Ye apka adhikar hai. Aur ye main nahin bol raha hun, CHIRAG nahin bol raha hai, sarkar bol rahi hai ye sare subidha hona. Humen sirif dekhna kya hai or kya nahin hai. Phir is jankari ke saath hum kuch kar sakhate hai” (“Look, nothing happens on it’s own. You have to put a little pressure then things will happen. If people don’t raise their voice the government will think everything is fine. There’s no problem. And this isn’t about fighting. These are your rights. And I am not saying these facilities should be there, CHIRAG isn’t saying it, the government is saying all these facilities should be there. We’re just seeing what’s there and what’s not. Then with this information we can do something”). And so these visits have been planned. At this point it’s not entirely clear if it all will go as planned (but rarely is it ever). What happens from here and how successful this campaign will be are still to be determined – both in the short term and in the long run. Stay tuned though, and I’ll try and keep you posted.

So when my friend and colleague Manish points out that this approach I am encouraging is “activism”, I don’t know what to think. Maybe he’s right. But what are we talking about here? We’re talking about people following up on what is guaranteed to them. We’re talking about be able to have your blood pressure or hemoglobin count checked. We’re talking about pregnant women having access to Iron Folic Acid tablets, and communities being able to purify water with chlorine tablets. The ability to perform a safe delivery outside of a hospital, in an area where the majority of deliveries still happen at home. We’re talking about access to the basics. What I do know is that the background I am coming from is one of student organizing and social justice activism (in Washington DC and more so the surrounding suburbs, a context that is completely different from where I find myself now). And Manish is right when he goes on to say that it’s not necessarily the approach people are use to, but lets not forget that this is also the land of the Chipko movement and of Mahila Mangal Dal.

In any case, it’s been one way I have found myself engaging in my project and trying to build something here. Aside from being slow, and frustrating at times, there are moments where these ideas can also be exciting. Amongst communities and committees interest has been sparked and that spark has led to a little excitement from time to time of my own. It’s exciting to feel the potential of panchayats organizing around issues they haven’t normally done so in the past. Traditionally in this region panchayats have focused on physical development –building roads, sidewalks, and water tanks. Soft-development areas like health or education are relatively new, uncharted territory. This is the first time in this region that panchayats and communities are coming together in this way to address health. It’s been reassuring to see the priority women’s health has taken in this process, as issues of leucorrhoea, anemia, and maternal health, have been recognized as issues that must be addressed. What is more encouraging is that men have been active in identifying women’s health issues and pushing for them to be tackled in what remains a rather patriarchical society. And the moments I am able to see my work and time here through this lens, it’s pretty cool. To be a part of this course, though still in the opening steps, in a process that will take years and years. And it’s meaningful to me to be doing it here, however small my contribution in the larger picture, in rural India. In this corner of the world, in this place, which over the past so many months has become familiar. And if I may remind you, it is health we’re addressing, a fundamental human right, and a fundamental human need.

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”