Truth and Reconciliation

I have consistently failed to be able to reconcile the different realities that have been the setting to my recent experiences. Returning to India I spent the first few days in Delhi, with my family. At first it kept me restless. I didn’t know how to reconcile this reality, my background, with the other I was living for most of my time here in India last year. Working in rural Himalaya, the villages I lived in became almost as familiar to me as any other home. In comparison, these villagers have less, their lives harder, their opportunities fewer. Yet engaging in these communities, working together, there was meaningful action towards a common goal.

When I returned to the US last September I found myself in a similar predicament. I struggled to make sense of the different realities I had so intensely given myself to, and what it meant to be back home. So far I have found myself resigned to the idea of not being able to reconcile such different worlds. While they both exist, both very real and indeed connected, I have accepted that my interactions in these places are different, and can be at times contradictory. I understand that I must carry on in each however, having a foot in each world, struggling to understand my role as I pursue my own passions and search for my own meaning. And this too is a privilege, but one I reckon I should embrace.

These recurring discussions come as I barrel through the countryside, packed ever-so tightly on a train towards Ahmedabad. Michael Jackson in the headphones, I smile whenever a glimpse is afforded of the blue seats filled with my countrymen and women. We joke, in a way that makes me feel we all are actually in this together. India and its people, always vibrant and full of commentary. It’s already sweaty and sticky, and only February. The heat hasn’t kicked in yet. Just give it another week. And as I sit here squashed between more bodies than I can see or count, maybe the key is embracing the best of all worlds, wherever we may come from, and wherever we may go. There is value and wisdom wherever one is open to finding it.

And while certainly not nearly as serious as genocide in Rwanda, civil war in El Salvador or apartheid in South Africa, truth and reconciliation remains an ongoing process in this journey. The truth remains I am privileged, I believe in working for justice, and I love to revel in the comfort that at times seems like many of us are born addicted to. They all partly define this journey and are never new thoughts. For me personally, it’s about striking a balance in a world of extremes. And hopefully finding new insights.

The Return of Masala Justice

In a matter of days I will be returning to the motherland to once more dive into the masala. And while it won’t exactly be the India that most of us see from abroad, the India crystallized through Bollywood scenes, the magic that permeates the air (real and on the screen) originates in the country’s heart.

Flowing through the veins and arteries in the fields and villages, through the urban centers amongst the throngs, that’s where you can find the magic. The stuff both dreams, and reality are made of. Over the next five months I hope to once more be taken hold by that heart.

Partnered with Indicorps, I will be embarking on a project that will take me across the subcontinent. I will be visiting ten NGOs Indicorps has partnered with over ten fellowship classes. Conducting an assessment of sorts, I will be penning narratives from each. By capturing stories from each organization, reflecting on the Indicorps philosophy and experience, and interacting with communities across the country I hope the culmination of this project will help to engage the development community and Diaspora in a discussion regarding the importance of youth service and leadership in India’s development. I hope to further explore the transformative nature of intense service, and the value of collective struggle.

It’s another journey into the true heart of India and into the hearts of those who believe in something more than your average Bollywood/Hollywood film. So this is the preview. Picture it as well as you can, choreographed dance scenes included. Of countless hours on trains, and more villages than I can name. The changing landscapes and unexpected plot twists. But really it’s the people that make the film worth watching. All of those who aren’t our average Bollywood heroes and heroines. There is much to be learned from these places and people, about humility, and struggle, and laughter. What keeps us going is the inspiration in the air, the belief that there is something more out there beyond material comforts and packaged re-affirmations. Oh yeah, and it’s going to be hot.

This past September, after spending 14 months in India I returned home to the United States. Five months in suburbia have certainly highlighted the disparities in mindsets from one place to another. It is these changes in mentality that are much more interesting than any sort of difference in standards of comfort. The next five months on the move will certainly present another reality. These two extremes have come to define my life over the past couple years, but the opportunity to once more embrace the struggle excites me. It’s not just breaking out of my own comfort, or navigating living with contradiction. It is also the larger, more pressing idea of struggle; the struggle for dignity, for justice, for sustainable, inclusive communities.

In a matter of days I will be returning. What guides me from still so far is the film’s tagline. It’s the tagline for the struggle, the personal, the public, the belief that another world is possible. It reads below the glossy cover image (you choose, the dark, mystical rural landscape that holds all your deepest fears and hopes, the blurry train in motion on its epic journey , or the rain drenched hero with his dismantled ego beside him). “The heart is a muscle the size of your fist. Keep fighting. Keep loving.”

It’s just a matter of hours now. It’s time. Keep reading.

So What’ll You Do Now?

After 14 months in India, an intense year of service and discovery, and living and working in the most rural area I have ever been to, I have returned back to the United States of America (YOU-ES-AY). This has included returning to the beacon of light that is suburbia and to the constant questions of: “What are you going to do now? How does this all fit into your career?” Inevitably, the advice comes that enough is enough already, and it’s time to settle down…

It hasn’t always been easy having the same conversations, being asked the same questions, telling the same stories. It’s hard trying to express depths of emotion, by request. It’s not something that can be switched on and off. And there are times when I can’t really go there.

The challenge is getting it across in a way that isn’t regurgitating a myth I have created in my head, but more so being aware that I actually did this, and it has had a profound impact on me. It’s hard to be able to switch on something so enormous, and dynamic, especially when it’s something you are still processing. My answer has been to live in the present so completely. But what has grounded me these past two weeks is knowing what I have just done, where I am coming from, and where I want to go from here.

So what next? Beyond the clichéd answers of jobs, and GREs, and grad school applications. Beyond the compost pile out back and trying to live all the thoughts that perspective brings, the real answer is one that goes to the heart of the question. That is if you really wanna go there. So in the words of Bob:

I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin',
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden,
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color, where none is the number,
And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin',
But I'll know my song well before I start singin',
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

From Kumaon to Kerala: Adventures from The Cut

There are some things that don’t change. Wandering through random villages in Kerala, it feels as if I know a part of this. Greeting villagers along the way, having the same conversations that I have had all year – about who I am, and what I do, and why I came to India. And while this place is completely new, there is something that anchors me in the lives of the people I am passing through. Whether it be for a few hours, or only a few minutes. The reality, however, is that I have never been here. To this place where Christianity, communism, and social conservatism all mix. Being invited to share a cup and join stories for some time. And sure, some things do change, the milky chai of the North is many miles and states away from this clear, unadultered Kerala tea.

A whole lot of the travel that has facilitated the adventures of the past couple weeks has been on buses. I never ever thought about seeing so many bus stations in this country. But being on buses and surrounded by people at all hours of day and night who are also into examining reality from masala-justice-seeking lenses there is a lot that comes up, inside and out. From the people you meet to the observations you make. On a bus going through Goa, I witnessed a side of India I had never imagined. From the clothes to the churches to the relative wealth. And as we passed mandirs along the road I noticed the different handsignals in prayer that fellow passengers would offer up. Combinations of touching one's head and ears and chest. A variation from the Himalayan region I have spent the last year in. An observation that would have not been as interesting a year ago. There are countless thoughts and conversations as the frames roll by on the other side of each window. On wealth and privilege, urban and rural, travel and tourism, gender and class, language and bonds.

There is a connection I feel with rural India. After a year of living and working in Himalayan villages there is an understanding that exists of what that world is like, a rural one. An understanding better than any I have ever had in the past. And while there is no way I can say I know what people’s lives are actually like, there is something I feel. About people, and those that work the land, and what life is about. And maybe it’s just my own ignorance breaking in front of me. But passing through villages and meeting people from all sorts of different backgrounds, there are bridges that I have learned how to cross, from Kumaon to Kerala.

It is a strange thing being so mobile. The freedom and fluidity of movement that is allowed to me and my comrades as we traverse this country is for sure, new and exciting. After being in India for over a year and spending the overwhelming majority of that time in one place, to be able to travel (a whole lot) and see a whole lot is beautiful. But it is also a reminder of other things. Of social status, and opportunity, and where we are coming from, things that I was certainly aware of before, but comfortable with in my role as community organizer. To be able to walk into bars and clubs in the wealthier parts of Bombay, and still be able to relate to folks in rural settings. To be able to sit down in any village and have that cup of tea and know this time around that this is what it is really about. From run-ins with the police to trying to hitchhike a ride, to know when to say I am from Delhi, we are from India, and to know when to say I am from the US, we are NRIs. The fact that we can go back and forth. from villages, to bars, and clubs, and restauraunts, and back. And what's the deal with such intense airconditioning? I won't even go there. But how to reconcile all of the above worlds, all of what has been opened up this past year? And how to seriously navigate living with contradiction?

On of the most touristy beaches I’ve been to in my life, in southern Kerala, the constant question came up, “Are we still in India?” Allusions were made to apartheid South Africa, maybe not in full seriousness, but the juxtaposition of white women in bikinis and Indian women in saris posed more than enough fodder for discussion. For gender norms in a place like India, after a year in the village, on a beach catering towards Europeans, well... need I say more? And the discussions never seemed to stop. They would be picked up and left off impromptu, whenever the thoughts sprang to mind. And to discuss with other Indians and NRIs alike, who feel passionately about the choices they have made in their lives. About engaging on a different level, about the opportunies and access allotted to us, yet denied to so many more. From the recognition of the untapped potential of Indian youth, to the criticisms and passionate discourse on elite Indian society and the value placed on the abundant Westernization of Indian cities, towns and villages. To hear it from those these folks who are coming from a space of greater understanding has been just as enriching as the sites, smells, and sounds of the subcontinent.

The venues of adventure have certainly been striking, and diverse. There were the beaches of Karnataka, empty and peaceful, anything but the hullabaloo of Varkala.The fishermen and fisherwomen on the beach. Their bodies worked with work. Uncasting nets. Tourism doesn’t seem to fit into this, that is claiming spaces without interaction or understanding. In the forests of Kerala, pondering the sickle and hammers flying from every other corner or store from the city of Cochin to backwater villages. And this state that has successfully been able to provide quality education to its youth, to successfully battle illiteracy, and provide better healthcare than most states in India. Comparing the cities of the South to the North, and feeling the connecting threads of India weaving it all together. It has been amazing. And I feel pretty good to have done it the way we did. Rocking the public transportation system. Breaking out seven different languages when we needed to make our way out of a jam, or just onto the next destination. A group of eight, ten, twelve Indian youth, who look not from around these parts, yet simaltanueously break into Kannada, Konkani, Hindi, Gujarati, Marathi, Malyalam, and everyone’s favorite English. I was constantly amused by the bewildered look of those on the receiving end of the verbal assault. Going from north to south trying to break down all of these changes in culture and attitude and language and food, and being able to see it freshly from each others eyes.

And still, there are still many more trains to catch and people to catch up with. It just keeps going on, as if coming down from the Himalayas to the coasts of Kerala is only one part in everything that has already constituted adventure this year. And so do the thoughts and visions of what it all means. But the next steps for now, are for family, and friends, and all those we meet along the way.

A Letter to India

When I came to you last year one of the things I asked of you was to grow me up. I’d always known you, a part of you at least, but never like this. You see, my parents left your shores, but never left you. And when I was born you were not there.

I had gotten to know you from afar, seen you through only a handful of lenses, never staying in your borders for more than a month or so. I knew so many stories about you. Stories about your past, stories about gods and heroes, stories about love and hate. They were sad stories, scary stories, stories I didn't always understand. But I was always proud to know you. And those stories never left me.

This year I got to know you in your home, in your neighborhoods, in your villages. I tasted your salt, wept underneath your sky, and played in your dirt. This year you kicked my ass. And I am so much better for it. It is the relationship people have with the soil. The love and affection people are so willing to give. It is life lived daily that has schooled me. These lives they are hard, no doubt, and I marvel at all the lives you have birthed. How are your children by the way? Do you know all their names? It’s amazing how sharp they are.

I wonder about all your wonders, the ones you hide away from passing cameras, cable TV networks and quick-fix development experts. There are so many different sides to you, you confuse me. I am still not able to reconcile all your different faces. Sometimes, you know, you make me sick. You make me angry in ways that make my blood boil. And we all worry about where you will take us.

There is too much to say, so I’ll guess I say, “Thanks,” though they tell me there is no thank-yous between family. Thank you for opening up to me, though really you were always there. It was just me who needed to come find you. Thanks for the cup of chai that was always surely waiting behind every open door and after every awkward moment. It has been real in the truest nature of the word. And it’s true, I don’t know you like that. But maybe one day I will. Maybe one day I can say I do really know you as if I had known you all along.

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?