When I got to Varanasi, it was a bit overwhelming.    I had been used to having a home base in Bhopal which was comforting in its familiarity (the clinic), and now I was a nomad of sorts, on my own.  I found a hotel right on the ghats, which is directly on the riverfront of the Ganges.   To understand the ghats of Varanasi, picture the boardwalk area in Atlantic City, except the board walk is actually a series of steps leading directly into the river ( and there are no casinos).  The main attraction is walking up and down these series of ghats that stretch for a couple miles or so along the Ganges River.

Pilgrims on the way to the Ganges for ritual bathing

So the ghat I stayed on is called the Harischandra Ghat, which is actually a cremation site, where people come from all over India to get cremated on the banks of the Ganges.  It is part of the belief system, that everyone comes to Varanasi as a pilgrimage, a final pilgrimage to say goodbye.  This was the primary reason I came here to view the eclipse — it is the spiritual capital of India.   The fact that a total solar eclipse was happening in such a sacred city was most fascinating — I wanted to see what the reaction would be here.

And what a reaction it was — the whole world seemed to stop.  I got up at 4am, to see the whole thing, before and after.  I went on the hotel rooftop, which offered an amazing view of the river.  I debated about going down to the ghats, as I was worried about the craziness of the crowd and what might happen.  (As it turned out, I was right — 1 woman died and many others were injured in a stampede on the main ghat that occurred right after the eclipse).  So I set up my tripod and camera on the hotel rooftop, where 20 or so other tourists gathered for the show. 

A scene from one of the main ghats on the River Ganges

I had secured my solar eclipse glasses the previous night from another tourist who had a spare.   I didn’t come with any, because I thought I would only look during totality, which is when the light is sufficiently covered by the moon that it won’t damage your eyes. 

As more and more people trickled upstairs to the hotel rooftop, the mood was growing more festive and everyone was in eager anticipation.  The weather was cloudy at first, so we were all praying that the clouds would move in time.  And sure enough, they parted!  The sun rose above the Ganges, in all its glory.  And then the eclipse began….at first a tiny sliver appeared over the sun, just a hint of moon.   The sky was still bright. 

Putting on the solar eclipse glasses

The eclipse in totality, enshrouding the earth in a blanket of darkness

People on the ghats bathed in the river, and prayed, as they stared at the sun — this was considered auspicious.  Some were doing yoga in the morning.  And if you were wondering if people were ok without eclipsewear, they seemed to be fine.  I asked people later on if they had worn any protection, and the mass majority of people didn’t have any form of eyewear.  I thought there would be a city of blind people after the eclipse, but this wasn’t the case.  I am not advocating staring at the sun without any gear on, mind you, I was just pointing out an anecdotal observation.

Father blessing son with cowtail

Man making dung patties for fuel consumption

Coaxing the cobra with tabla drum

Time, like the train, Stops.  Stands still.  Steals the silence, has its fill.

Boys bathing by the riverside

Kids waving with wide eyes

Ladies watching, with saris like parachutes flying in the breeze

Ancient lands, anchored by ancient trees

With roots  plunging down from the branches, amidst all the snarling leaves

A shepherd with no herd in the dying river wades

A lad sits by the tracks, as thought into oblivion fades

Coins clinking in an empty tin, as the street urchins wander in

Sun is blazing inside, fans try to keep the might heat at bay

‘Tis a never-ending battle, for the sun is fierce, relentless — and always has its day

To survive is to surrender, for the elements will always win

Once peace is made, the learning can begin

There is much to learn, so much to be taught

In this land of Shiva, Vishnu, Ganesh, to name a few

There is also Jain, Buddha, and Muhammad too

Temples, mosques, side by side, the devout come and pray

For their next life, for nirvana, whatever is The Way

The train breathes again.  Rusty wheels turning, fire in the engine burning — it is also on The Way.

Delicious golden breeze wafts inside, stays for a little ride

New passengers sprinkle in

And the merchants return, with their toys, betelnut, and chai-filled kettles of tin

Seven hour delay here is no big matter

Pull up a chair — time for more chatter!

Time has its own plans here, a watch cannot tame it

You may ask Time what it is, but you cannot claim it

So all you can do — sit back, relax, and enjoy the view

You will get to your destination at last.

In your journey lies the real treasure

So tell me, why do you always have to go so fast?

The Union Carbide factory, left as a time capsule

I wanted to dedicate a post to writing about the Bhopal Gas Tragedy and its aftermath. Because this is the 25th anniversary, there is renewed interest in what has happened to this city of 1.5 million people so long ago. So while I have been here for the past month, 2 filmmaking crews have been here, while another journalist was writing a story. There was another filmmaker here in the beginning of the year that I know about, and I’m sure there have been more.

I just learned a couple days ago, that there is a movie from Hollywood coming out that was “inspired” by the gas tragedy (starring Martin Sheen and Mischa Barton). From what I understand from the clinic however, it is not exactly an accurate portrayal. In any case, I wanted to give the facts and my own thoughts about the present situation.

On the night of December 3, 1984, deadly gases leaked from the pesticide-producing Union Carbide factory and killed 8,000-10,000 people in the first 3 days, while injuring 500,000+. The fault was attributed, among other things, to poor maintenance of the equipment and training of the staff, which blocked a number of key safety checks. This led to water leaking into certain areas and mixing with the gases, producing a powerful chain reaction that exploded into the air, and scattered with the wind to the surrounding areas. I talked to someone that worked at the factory during this period, and he told me that he saw this coming. There were many problems leading up to this disaster, and even a visiting commission had written a report pointing to the inadequacies of the safety systems. A number of cost-cutting measures had been put into place which further reduced the safety factor within the factory. It was quite ironic that when I went to visit the Union Carbide factory, there was a sign in the control room which was still hanging that read “Safety is everyone’s priority.”

The more reading I did about the disaster, the more it was starting to look like the Chernobyl disaster that would occur 2 years later in 1986 – another tragedy that could have been prevented, that was caused by the lack of adequate training and effective management. ( A good link about the Chernobyl causes: http://www.ecolo.org/documents/documents_in…/Causes.ChernobyJF.doc )

Inside the Union Carbide factory today

 Another thing happened as I read more about the disaster:  I began to feel anger.  How could this have happened, when there were so many ways to prevent it?  More importantly, how could this mess still exist, 25 YEARS LATER?? For 25 years now, Union Carbide has fought with the Indian courts, Dow Chemical who bought the company in 2001, and the Indian government who now technically owns the land. Nobody has been held accountable. There was a paltry settlement of $470 million which amounted to $830 (25,000 rupees) for each survivor with injuries, which barely covered any medical bills.   For death claims, the average sum paid out was twice as much (62,000 rupees).   These were ONLY paid out if the survivors and their families could prove “beyond a reasonable doubt” that injuries and/or death was caused by the gas disaster.   Due to the difficulty of proving this years later as well as general corruption of the system, much of the money has not been paid out.

The gas may have dissipated 25 years ago, but the specter of this disaster is still very real, and looms over this city in the most insidious way: through the contaminated ground water. This is the final abuse suffered at the hands of this corporation — people who are too poor to move anywhere else, who have no choice but to keep drinking this water. I have seen girls pumping water just meters from the factory, from pumps that had been marked as toxic. I am incredulous that something like this which is clearly wrong has not been rectified and fixed.

I remember flying to New Orleans on a short trip to help out the reconstruction efforts there 8 months after Hurricane Katrina hit, and thinking how unbelievable it was that nothing had been cleaned up yet — everything was the same, except that the water had receded. On my next 2 trips there, actual progress had been made and the debris had been mostly removed.

Graffiti on the wall of the Union Carbide factory, depicting the disaster

And now I think back, and realize that doesn’t even begin to compare the havoc that has been created by this gas tragedy, and this happened over 25 YEARS AGO! It is too much to comprehend, too much for the mind to grasp at once. It is so wrong, yet why does it still exist? How could we let this exist?  All I could think as I was visiting the factory  is that this mess HAS to be cleaned up, there is just no other way.  When I interviewed Dr. Sathyu Sarangi, who is the  head trustee of the clinic, he was optimistically pointing to a timeline of 3 years until cleanup.  The matter is currently in the Indian supreme court, and it has found its way into the US justice system.  This past week, the International Campaign for Justice was protesting in Delhi, and it will not rest until justice is served.   To read more about the campaign efforts and the history of the movement, check out their site:  http://www.bhopal.net

As I leave Bhopal, I hope that in some small way, my film can draw more attention to this situation, and do its part to help rectify the wrongs that have been committed.

[Note: this post was written a week ago, but lack of internet availability prevented me from posting]

1) The Tattoo

So my very first day at the clinic, when I did not know a soul outside of a few email exchanges, a staff member named Jamila befriends me.  She knows about as much English as I know Hindi (which is to say, not much), but somehow we come to understand each other. She invites me to her house, and I, wanting to know the neighborhood a bit, tell her sure, why not? Except that it was a 20+ minute walk, through bad traffic, some streams here and there, and a number of unmarked roads (actually, I have yet to see a street name here; though if there was one, it would probably be in Hindi so I wouldn’t be able to read it anyway.)  So I make a mental note to be more aware of people’s ability to exaggerate distances here.

We get to Jamila’s house, and I quickly realize this visit will be a neighborhood affair.   After getting a tour of Jamila’s house and family, they give me a chair and sit me in the middle of the narrow street between two houses.  All of the “extended family” comes out to greet me - a steady procession of uncles, aunts, cousins, in-laws, and especially kids.  Even friends, friends of friends, and the neighborhood dogs come out for good measure.  Why not?  Bring the whole family!  We then proceed to stare at each other as only strangers speaking two different tongues could. 

Roxanna the (Henna) tattoo artist and her subject

I am amused, as one set of people wearing some shade of blue is staring from one house, and another set of people wearing some shade of red is staring from the other house.  Eventually, we all focus our attention on the activity at hand:  namely, it is decided that I should be inaugurated to the Indian and Bhopal way of life by getting a henna tattoo.   And so for the next hour or so, a lady named Roxanna proceeds to paint her masterpiece all the way up and down both of my arms.   They were quite beautiful designs, it definitely is an art form and I thanked her for it.  However, when they motioned to my ear, as if to ask me if I wanted to get my ears pierced as well, I politely but quickly said no thank you!    The henna was quite enough thank you very much!   It was dinnertime so I had to go, but I had to make a couple more rounds saying hello to neighbors.  One was a grandmotherly type who didn’t seem to accept any semblance of no to her invitation, so I came in and sat for 1 minute, and then left.   And finally, two little girls accompanied me home.  

2) The Zoo 

From the museum: early foosball table?

The following weekend, I wanted to do some sight-seeing around town, and get to know Bhopal a little better.   I was the only volunteer around,  and everyone else seemed to be resting or with their families, so I decided to take  a trip by myself.  I took a rickshaw to the Museum of Man, which is Bhopal’s natural history museum, complete with a life-and-times of Charles Darwin exhibit, along with pictures and artifacts from indigenous life with the various Adivasi (or aboriginal) tribes of India. 

There was an exhibit outside, which showcased the traditional technologies used in crushing sugard cane, making oil, lifting water, making salt, etc.  They were giant tools that were still being used today.  Inside the museum, there was a room full of masks, as well as actual re-created homes in the decor of the various tribes.  

So I completed the inside tour, and was about to go to the other outdoor showcase of Adivasi habitats, when I spotted something I had not yet seen in India:  a yellow schoolbus.   Most of the buses I have seen are quite old and various shades of dingy white, and look like they are breathing their last breath.  This one, however, seemed to stand out.   I was drawn to it somehow – it was a field trip to the museum, much like what we have back home.   I was curious, so I waved to the students, and took a picture.  This is where my adventure began.

The students waved back, and as I was turning my attention elsewhere, one man from the bus approached me and made a motion for me to come inside.    I wasn’t sure what he was saying, but I figured perhaps the students wanted another picture?   I am not one to turn down a picture, so I climbed on board the bus.   I found about 30 ladies smiling warmly back at me.   It turns out that they were teachers of Sanskrit, not students.  They had gathered from all over India for one week, to share best practices and discover Bhopal.  Every year they do this, in a different city.

The schoolbus full of schoolteachers

So I started talking to the women — some of them knew English pretty well so we got into a conversation.   I had my film camera with me, so they were quite taken with it.   I was quite surprised to be thrust right at the center of attention.   But I find with age, you really can’t worry about these things, you have to just kind of go with it.

And so I literally went with it…..because as I continued talking, I realized that the bus started moving!   I was still on the bus!  I started laughing, as I realized that I was joining their little field trip for the day.  I just got my ride back to town, and I was having a grand old time – I figured, why not? 

So I learned that the teachers were going to the zoo — this was on my list of places to visit anyway, so it was quite serendipitous that I was at the right time and place.   The mood was quite jolly, the whole bus started singing, and I have it all on film!   (I haven’t quite mastered the webification of HDV film, so I will post that another time).  It was just such a good time, I couldn’t believe my good luck.

We get to the zoo (that is, Van Vihar National Park) and the first thing we see are big brown bears.  They are mostly sleeping, as it is very hot, and in the middle of the day.   There was an albino sloth bear, that had thicker than average fur, that seemed to be suffering in this heat.   The delayed monsoon was taking a toll on these animals unfortunately, and I learned from the local paper that 11 animals had died in the past year (whether it was old age or other factors was up for debate).    After the bears and a leopard, we saw the prize of the zoo:  the white Bengal tigers.   There were also crocodiles and birds, but the animals seemed to be a little scarce.   Whenever we saw any wildlife, someone would shout something like “Stop the bus!” and everyone would get out hoping to catch a glimpse of the animal.  And then it was quickly back on the bus.   It was always quite lively on the bus, with everyone chatting and singing and getting on and off.

The student goes on a field trip with the teachers...

After the zoo, the teachers went to the chowk, or market.   They dropped me off at the center of town, and told me which bus to take to get back to the clinic.   I ended up filming some street scenes in central Bhopal — the traffic is notorious here, as it is in most of India — and then I went home on the bus.  This is the last part of the story, which wasn’t as pleasant but I thought I would include it to be complete.  I got on the bus and sat at a window seat.   At one of the stops, some people came onboard and a man sat next to me.   After a bit, I wanted to ask him if we were at the right stop for me to get off.  He seemed to be a bit sleepy when he spoke, but I soon realized that he was drunk and starting to make overtures of some kind in Hindi.   He was with a friend or relative who sat in front of him, and was apologizing for him.   I figured his friend would keep him in check, and I started ignoring the drunk man and looking away.  But then, I felt a touch on my leg and had enough.  I quickly showed my disgust and told him to stop.   I got up and moved to another seat.   The drunk man’s friend apologized profusely again, but I just wanted to leave.  At this point, people were staring at us.   The bus stopped, and most people got off, including the drunk man.  Then, I see that the bus driver, who was clued into what was happening, also got off the bus.   He was walking quite quickly, and I realized that he was going after the drunk man…a few seconds later, the bus driver punched him right in the face, and the drunk man toppled over!   I was on the bus staring speechless — I didn’t know what to say.   I thought I saw a policeman, and wondered if this would turn into a bigger commotion.   But the bus driver just got back on the bus and started driving.   He and his assistant (the guy who collects money on the bus) were quite helpful in getting me to the next bus where I needed to go, and I finally made it home. 

It took a while to sink in what had happened at the end of the day, but I came away with positive feelings overall.  I wasn’t going to let one bad apple spoil this amazing day I was having.  And it seems the people on the bus (especially the bus driver) were very keen on making sure I was protected from this;  they didn’t want it to spoil my view of India by my interaction with this one man.  They did not tolerate this behavior as well, which I was very happy about.   Overall, the spirit of this day was kind and carefree.  The teachers were all so kind, and fun!   Despite the incident at the end of the day, I was in a jovial mood coming back from the museum and the zoo, and amazed at my adventure. 

3) The Dancing Debut

Salman (left), Masirath (middle), and Nassir (right) at a community meeting

For my final story, I want to talk about one of the times that I went to film the healthworkers.   These healthworkers — Masirath, Salman, and Nassir — go out into the community everyday, and do amazing things.   They are one part doctor, lab technician, organizer, advocate, teacher, recruiter, cheerleader…and all parts miracle workers!  I wanted to film all of these activities, so I joined them one day as they made their rounds in a small community talking about malaria prevention.

The day consisted of going to a couple of community gathering places.  Masirath and the healthworkers went door to door to gather the community volunteers together.  She then launched into the lesson.  The idea is that the community volunteers carry on the work of the healthworkers by delivering the message to the rest of the community.  Masirath and Nassir also brought a blood sample kit to test for malaria, where the community members put  a tiny drop of blood onto a slide, for further analysis in the lab.

This was like a traveling roadshow, so the same lessons were taught at each gathering.  I had gotten enough footage of this, so my attention was starting to turn elsewhere…..that is, my ears perked up as I heard the sounds of drums nearby.  There was something going on, but I was busy filming the healthworkers and thought I shouldn’t distract myself.  The drums got louder however, and I saw people walking towards another gathering place about 50 meters away.    There was something going on, and I wanted to find out what it was.    I couldn’t resist!  I told Masirath that I would be back in 5 minutes, and I made my way to where this spirited music was coming from.   She sent a couple of volunteers with me, just in case I needed backup.   I saw that this was a celebration of some kind, and I was told by the volunteers that this was a hair-cutting ceremony for a young child.  As I approached, I was thrust once again into the spotlight.  I didn’t mean to interrupt in any way, I just wanted to observe quietly, and maybe get some footage.   But there is no such thing as quiet observation when you’re a foreigner, as you are the object of observation.  So I just pointed to the drums and said I liked the music (it was more of a universal thumbs up sign as you know my Hindi skills, but you understand the idea), so the drumming man continued on with his quick beats.  It was amazing —  I got my camera out, as well as my sound recorder which I gave to a volunteer to hold.   A circle was formed, and a woman came out and started dancing to the music.  It was a kind of dancing that I haven’t seen here before – very fast, rhythmic, almost like a trance.   Then another man came out and started dancing.   

I soon couldn’t resist - the music was too tantalizing and inviting!  I gave my camera to another volunteer, and started dancing as well.  Another girl came out, and then a man, and then even the little baby whose hair was getting cut for the ceremony.   I picked the baby up and swung it round and round.  People were laughing and chanting all around — it seemed they liked it but for all I know they could have been making fun of my strange foreigner moves.  I was loving it for sure — a little cultural exchange through dance — it was unexpected but so very cool!   I think my 5 minutes were up, so I made a motion that I had to go.  But they wanted to keep dancing, so I said one more song.  And then it turned into 2 more songs.  The kids were pushing each other to get into the circle to dance with me, but some of them were really shy.  They liked to watch more than dance.  But everyone seemed to be having a good time.  And then it really was time to go, but what an unexpected treat I had. 

Entrance to the clinic

Today is July 4th, the day the USA became an official nation many years ago…though perhaps it took some more years for the rest of the world (like the British) to acknowledge it. In India, the day of independence was also tied to the British, but it would be over 170 years later that the British would finally cede control to India (August 15, 1947 in case you were wondering).

Here in Bhopal, as in all of India, July 4th is just another day, much like August 15th is for most of the US. It is Saturday today, and the Sambhavna Trust Medical Clinic is open as usual. The hours for the clinic may be short — 8:30-3pm — but it is open on Saturdays as well so the hours seem to be about the same as the typical 9-5 job in the US.

The allopathic Dr. Qaiser and a patient

The clinic is a very bustling place. On any given day, there are about 100-150 patients, waiting to see the various doctors. And this is the reason why I am here: under one roof, there are 2-4 different types of medicine practiced, depending on your point of view. While they all have the ultimate goal of health, they approach this state rather differently.

1. Allopathy - This is what the Western world is probably most familiar with. It’s the “regular” or “modern” medicine that most people are familiar with. It is the doctor who went to a 4-year medical school to obtain an MD (or equivalent abroad) followed by residency, who focuses on eradicating disease through remedies which range from prescribing pills to doing more invasive, surgical procedures. The clinic also offers gynecological and mental health services.

2. Ayurveda - A school of thought native to India which includes herbal treatments, massage, and yoga. It is said to treat the patient rather than the disease; each treatment is tailored for each patient. Ayurveda is based on maintaining the balance of the 3 divine forces or doshas which regulate life: vata (wind/spirit/air), pitta (bile) and kapha (phlegm).

3. Panchakarma - A school of thought, under the umbrella of ayurveda, that embodies the idea of purification or cleansing the body of disease-causing toxins through the orifices of the body. This type of treatment is suited for chronic ailments like joint, muscle, and back pains. There are 3 stages to panchakarma: pre-treatments, primary treatments, and post treatments.

4. Yoga - Under the umbrella of ayurveda, it can also exist on its own, as it only uses breathing and posture exercises to improve health. There are no drugs involved. Yoga has been found to be particularly beneficial for people suffering from chronic diseases involving the respiratory, musculo-skeletal, neurological and endocrine systems. Yoga therapy at Sambhavna consists of instruction in different combinations of Asana [physical postures], Pranayama [breathing exercises], and Shodhana kriya [cleansing actions].

Gardeners collecting saijan seeds

In a typical day at the clinic, I spend time with a doctor or other health provider, filming them and learning about a different part of the clinic. It is very interesting to me that in one clinic, the whole supply chain of medicine can be seen. In the garden, 150 different varieties of medicinal plants are grown. The other day, I planted aloe vera. The gardener himself, Mahmohan, happened to have a cut on his foot. He split a little branch of a young aloe vera plant and spread the oozing liquid on his cut. Another gardener takes prescriptions. Patients who are prescribed a certain herbal treatment from the ayurvedic doctors come to the garden directly to get the plants. The gardener takes a look at their healthbook, then collects the appropriate plant and gives it to the patient. How amazing is that?

The clinic also grinds and makes its own tablets — allopathic and ayurvedic. There is a big machine that takes in raw materials either found in the garden or purchased in the market, and then shapes the medicine into little tablets of different strengths.

Healthworkers doing community outreach

Then there are the healthworkers. These folks are another powerful weapon that the clinic uses to combat poor health in the community. When the community cannot come to the clinic, the clinic goes to them. Healthworkers go door to door doing research, taking comprehensive surveys of the health of families. Other healthworkers conduct workshops in the communities of how to combat malaria and how to plant medicinal herbs in their own gardens. They also recruit other volunteers within each community and teach them to spread the message further. It is these kinds of practices which are self-sustaining, and allow the clinic to have a farther reach than an ordinary clinic.

All these staff members come together to serve the public health. I have talked to a number of patients, who have said that this clinic is different from the government hospitals who are chronically understaffed and lack medicines. People at Sambhavna actually care, this is the message that I keep hearing. And I see it as well. This is Sambhavna Trust Clinic — the name literally means “possibility.” This is the people’s clinic, where good health is not only a possibility, but the mission.

Stats:

Top 3 diagnoses in the clinic (2007-2008): Hypertension (#1), Diabetes (#2), and Myalgia (#3)

# of varieties of medicinal herbs grown in the garden: 150+

# of medicines manufactured in the clinic: 64

Cost of treatment for patient: $0

The monsoon has finally come to Bhopal, and everyone is quite excited — squeals of laughter can be heard from the children, a collective sigh of relief can almost be heard across the city. One cannot fully appreciate the arrival of this event without experiencing the pre-monsoon climate. As I have been in India for 2 weeks now, I have come to learn and live with this unrelenting heat. Heat early in the morning, heat in the middle of the day, heat in the middle of the night. With regular power outages that turn off whatever air circulation is provided by the meager fans that dangle precariously from the ceiling, the heat just plain hurts. But you learn to put it out of your mind, and make peace with it, because so many generations of people have done well enough without the aid of such gadgetry.

Click here to view the embedded video.

But in the last week, even the staff at the clinic have been feeling the intensity of the heat. You see, the monsoon was late this year. Farmers were starting to get worried about their crops. India and all aspects of life revolve around the arrival of the monsoon. The monsoon determines when farmers plant their crops, soybeans and other plants. It also determines the schedule and yield of the harvest. The higher the yield, the more disposable income that farmers have. And the more income they have, the more that they spend on various goods ranging from TVs to home appliances, cars, etc. So if the monsoon is late, it doesn’t just mean more heat — it means a significant economic loss suffered by the population. I read in a local newspaper that up to 1/6 of the economy of India would be affected if the monsoon was delayed by another couple of weeks.

In any case, this week I experienced the full glory of the monsoon. It was rather scary, but exciting and joyful at the same time, if that is possible. You could see that the earth was so thirsty, it was longing for this rain. The sky lit up for what was about 3 hours. When I say lit up, I mean that every other second or so, there was lightning. This was unlike any storm I have ever experienced. It seemed that the storm was coming from very far away, as there was rather faint thunder unsynchronized with the lightning and rain. Some of the lightning bolts were so bright, that it felt like the middle of the day. You didn’t need a flashlight, as you could walk by the light of the lightning.

For an hour I stood outside my dorm and watched, and filmed (of course!). It was a torrential downpour. The window shutters flew open, doors were slammed shut by the wind. You could feel the energy all around you. The cook employed by the clinic to make daily dinners still prepared the meal that evening, but by candlelight due to the power outage. The power outage was a funny thing — the lights would come on towards the end of the storm, and you’d think things were back to normal, only to have the power go out again two minutes later. It was as if we were being teased. Lights on…lights off…lights on…and so it went…..

The power outage didn’t matter to me however, as the monsoon brought something else that I had not yet experienced in my two weeks of Indian climate: cool air. A stream of cool air — deliciously cool, breezy air — flowed freely through the clinic. I went outside just to feel the cool air on my skin. I had (almost) forgotten what it felt like. One cannot have a full appreciation of this cool weather, without suffering through the heat of an Indian summer. But the heat does come back, however. The water all but evaporates overnight, and only the smallest puddles are left for the morning.

Guess who? It's the mango man!

The monsoon has come, and its arrival was celebrated as it should: with tea and pakora, a fried dough type of snack that is a favorite in India. I celebrated with another Indian favorite: mango. I have been eating mangos just about everyday here, and every derivative thereof — mango cookies, mango drink, etc. I have not yet tried the pickled mango, as the spice is a bit much for my palate. But I’m sure I will work myself up to it one of these days….perhaps at the end of the monsoon?

Next up on the blog files…Life at the clinic…and more adventures!

Stats:

Average $ spent per day: <$3

Majority of $ spent on: mangos, mango cookies, Maaza (popular mango drink)

Quote of the Day: “Rain is life” - Vijay the travel agent, speaking about the monsoon

The train ride from Delhi to Bhopal was quite long: from about 9am to 9pm (it was an hour late, but apparently that is the norm for trains). I had the option of going on a night train, but I didn’t want to risk it with all my equipment. I heard of stories from tourists and Indians of bags being stolen while you slept, so I didn’t want that to be the case. I am being more safe than usual on this trip, mostly due to my equipment (I have a Canon HF-S10 camcorder, 30 32GB memory cards, a Sennheiser wireless audio kit, a Zoom H4 audio recorder, among other things).

On the train to Bhopal, right after I woke up

So I took an air-conditioned sleeper train, even though it was during the day. There were three tiers of seats where you could lay down. And the middle one folds up so that there is more room if you are not sleeping. (When your neighbor is sleeping but you don’t want to sleep, it helps if you are short as it’s easier to sit up). I ended up sleeping virtually the entire day - the AC was quite inviting and I seem to sleep more than usual in this kind of weather. I took the top bunk, however, and had both my bags right next to me as if they were my babies. I packed light for this very reason — I always want to have my equipment and things next to me.

One of the adorable kids, resting on the middle "bunk"

When I woke up, I got to chatting with the children — there are always lots of children wherever I go. They are quite cute - some are shy, but they all seem to like looking at their image on the screen when I take their picture. I also started chatting with two young men on the way home for a little vacation. I asked them about the Bhopal station, as I didn’t want to miss the stop. So they were very helpful, and we got to chatting. They said they have 10 days’ leave every year from their company. They work in Delhi but travel 2 days on the train to get to south India to see their family. Then they have to travel 2 days back! That is not quite a vacation, but they have good-paying jobs so they stick with it.

Excerpt from the stranger's letter

On the way out of the train, one of the young men gave me a letter. He wrote it while he was on the train, and didn’t want to say this in public. The letter basically said to be careful while I’m in India. He said I’m friendly so I talk to people, but that not everybody was friendly and they might try to trick me. I appreciated this gesture, and it has underscored what everybody has been telling me: be careful, be safe. It is like a mantra. And from my many travel experiences in the past, I have learned of various scams and tricks, so I keep them in mind when I travel here. I think in some ways it is good that I have all this equipment with me, because it forces me to be on elevated alert all the time (I’m thinking of that US Homeland Security color chart related to terrorist watch), which is good for both me and my equipment.

When I got to the Bhopal train station, I said goodbye to everybody and got ready for the final leg of the journey to the clinic. I had to get a ride by myself, since Sanjay (my filming assistant) was busy with another project and couldn’t come pick me up. It was dark, as the train arrived late, and this wasn’t central Delhi. Bhopal is a city, but it’s much smaller, more conservative, and poorer. Over one hundred people were milling around the station, talking, eating, waiting. I felt all their eyes on me, as I walked past. This is not a place that tourists usually go, so I couldn’t exactly blend in to the crowd. I negotiated for a fare, as earlier I was told what the local rate was. I was quoted 3x the rate of course, but I managed to bring it down a bit. It’s hard to negotiate as it is true that I can afford these prices, but at the same time, I am against these price hikes just based on the fact that I am a foreigner. I negotiate on principle.

One of the views of the clinic's inner courtyard...indeed an oasis

I arrive at the clinic at 9:30pm, and everyone has gone to bed. The guard lets me in. I cannot really see too much as it is dark, but I can see this place is cleaner and calmer than the outside — it is a welcome oasis to all the noise, chaos, and dirt outside. I am tired, hungry, and thirsty, but I am unsure what to eat or drink. I do need water however, so I ask the guard if he has “panee,” which is Hindi for water. One of the first words that I learned in Hindi, it is one of the most important I have found. He leads me to the kitchen, where there is chilled water. I ask if it is safe — he seems to say in his broken English that it is. Or maybe he is just nodding, because that’s what people do here — it seems to be the mantra that when in doubt, you nod. But I am thirsty and there is nothing else. I reason that this place is a clinic, so it has to have clean water to drink (I am not normally this much into sanitation and water safety, but there is a special reason why I am more concerned about the water in Bhopal — I will write more about this in another post).

So I have my first drink of water all day, but I skip dinner (as I still don’t have a handle on what is safe and what is not, and besides, the stores are closed and I can’t cook!). I head to my room, that is, the female dormitory which has 6 beds. It looks like I am the only one staying at the clinic, as all the other beds are empty. Other than the guard, nothing stirs. I am a little mystified, and wonder what the morning will bring.

Stats:

Price of train ticket from Delhi to Bhopal: $17

Length of train train trip: ~12 hours

# of hours that I slept on the train: 8

Place where I am staying for a month to make a film: Sambhavna Trust Clinic (Check out http://bhopal.org/index.php?id=20 to read more).

This time, however, I got an idea from a friend (thank you Sonia!) which ended up being just right. It’s this concept called couchsurfing (www.couchsurfing.com) where you stay in people’s homes when you are traveling, and you host people in your own home when others are traveling. It’s free, and recriprocal, you can choose your host and who stays with you. It’s very safe, as there are built-in systems for verification and testimonials from others about their experiences with different hosts. Since I’m always going for that ‘local experience,’ I decided to give it a try and it turned out to be eye-opening. I stayed with a corporate lawyer named Ankita in southern Delhi. I wanted to see what the corporate world was like in Delhi. And unfortunately, it’s looking the same as the corporate world in the USA. Case in point: Ankita works till at least 9pm in the evening, often times till midnight, and on weekends as well. Only on Sunday were we all able to go out to the market (where I bought my first Indian garb) Ankita also plans to work like this just for another year and then travel, before she “gets married off.”

In the meantime, I have found that the Indian culture is very much a family-oriented culture. Because Ankita could not go out herself so much, her family and friends come to her — there was a steady stream of visitors all weekend long, who came to stay with her, or just have a meal, or go see a movie. I was quite impressed, that she managed to have a life at all outside the firm. She has a maid that she entrusts to take care of errands, cooking, and housecleaning, so that is another aspect that I found different from middle class USA. It is usually only in the upper class that people can afford housekeepers. Here in India, the middle class can afford housekeepers — Ankita just finished law school about a year ago, and could already afford a live-in maid.

So that is how I got spoiled by my hosts in Delhi. Eating delicious meals (the housekeeper made me special meals on account of my spice intolerance, bless her heart!), discovering and discussing modern Delhi, and having a home base like that was a great experience. I completely advocate this couchsurfing website, check it out at least if you are thinking of going somewhere. You will probably learn some things you would not have otherwise known.

Ankita and her cousin cool off with a salty lemonade drink at the market (notice Ankita's sleeveless shirt - scandalous!)

For example, I had this vision in my mind of a very conservative India — I only brought long sleeved shirts, long pants, etc. When Ankita or her visitors would wear tank tops or shorts, I wondered if that was considered scandalous and they had a good laugh out of that. So for the next 3 days they pointed out all the women who were wearing T-shirt type of clothes or spaghetti-strapped dresses (there were some, not a lot, but some). Ankita said New Delhi was very much modern and liberal — women often wore more-revealing clothing and it was just fine. Old Delhi, however, was a little more traditional and conservative in its dress. So I suppose it depends on the area where you are going and the occasion. It’s not a 1-size-fits-all kind of place, this India.

Stats:

Total price of designer H&M shirt + traditional white laced long-sleeved shirt at notable Delhi market: $7

Price of taxi ride from south to central Delhi: <$2

Price of entrance to biggest Indian mosque (with camera): $4

Price of couchsurfing: $0

Having the full local experience, and making new friends: priceless

World of color at the cloth store

Scene from Sarojini Nagar Market

The International Museum of Toilets...who knew?

I have just completed my 4th day in India, and it’s been the most serendipitous one yet.  I am continually amazed at how things just keep falling into my lap, just by being a little open to the world.  Today was no exception.  It was Monday, so most museums in Delhi were closed, save for one:  the International Museum of Toilets, located just outside Delhi, west of the airport.  

I believe it was serendipity that brought me to this place.   I had been trying to buy a train ticket to Bhopal,  so I was actually supposed to have left on this day.  But the trains were all booked, so I had another day to spend in Delhi. 

I emailed my friend Wendy back home that I was having trouble finding my way to Bhopal.  She responded back with the name of a travel agent who had helped her when she was here last (www.luxeindia.in).   I emailed Vijay about my situation, and he immediately wrote me back.  He arranged for a young man named Ajay to come pick me up and accompany me to the Old Delhi train station where I managed to buy a ticket for Bhopal, leaving the following morning.

Ajay ended up staying with me the whole day while I was sightseeing around Delhi.  He was very patient while I set up for my many shots.  For those who know me, it takes some patience to be with me when I am in shooting mode.  With my video camera, point-and-shoot-camera, and sound recorder in tow, I captured the essence of these places:  the first was the Gandhi Memorial, where Gandhi was cremated.  The 2nd was Humayun’s Tomb, which was a precursor of sorts to the grand Taj Mahal. 

So after these sights, I still had a couple hours to spare.  I turned my attention to this quirky little museum called International Museum of Toilets.  Truth be told, this wasn’t exactly at the top of my to-do list for Delhi but because most other museums were closed on Monday and because I had some burning questions about Indian bathroom practices that I myself had come across (why don’t people use toilet paper here??),   I decided to seek some answers at the Toilet Museum.   Little did I know what I was in for.

What started out as a 1/2 hour tour of the history of toilets through the ages, turned into a 3-hr in-depth look at India’s sanitation system and the current state-of-the-art efforts to make the system clean, efficient, and most importantly, sustainable.  What I saw at this research center astounded me.  Sanitation and engineering of this kind is not exactly my forte, but I know of students down the street from me (i.e., at MIT), that would love to learn more about these efforts and perhaps contribute as well.  MIT has been leading efforts to build sustainability into all kinds of systems, such as water purification and conservation.   

Dr. Bindeshwar Pathak and me, standing in front of his "ultimate" sanitation system

I had the honor of meeting and interviewing Dr. Bindeshwar Pathak, who is a sociologist, scientist, and activist who has been a pioneer in building clean, efficient, and self-sustainable sanitation systems in India.   He founded Sulabh International which has served as a community to promote these efforts, as well as raise awareness about sanitation and liberate the “Untouchables” from making a living carrying around human waste.  Here is a link to read more:  http://www.sulabhinternational.org/

Dr. Pathak and other scientists took me through their process of how waste from their public toilet system is eventually converted into biogas (methane) that is used for heating, cooking, and generating electricity.   The water that is filtered from the system contains many nutrients that make it ideal for use in agriculture.    To get an idea of the kind of power that is generated from this system, the energy that comes from normal use of this toilet in one day, is enough to power over 300 light bulbs for an hour.

Dr. Pathak told me in our interview that this is the cleanest water in the world which uses the most environmentally safe practices.   There is no pollution in this model, as all the gases which would normally be released into the atmosphere to increase global warming are captured and used again.  He said this water was rated 1 BOD (Biochemical Oxygen Demand, a measure of the quality of water source), whereas water in other parts of the world (i.e., developed countries) have a rating of 30 BOD’s more, indicating a level of pollution.  I was incredulous to hear that this water, produced from a village right outside Delhi, would be cleaner than water from New York or other US cities.    Living in America most of my life, I have been conditioned to believe that America has the biggest, baddest, newest, grandest of everything.   So there is a a natural skeptic in me that did not believe these claims.

However, Dr. Pathak has a PhD in this subject, and has spent the last 40 years devoted to the study and development of good sanitation practices.  He has traveled around the world and seen various sanitation systems — he just came back from New York where he received an award from the United Nations for his work.  He is also receiving a Nobel-like award from Stockholm (the Water Prize) for his work in this field.  All these facts put together, and I concluded that the content of what he was saying could not be discredited so easily.   It is worth a closer look at the very least.

I was given quite the royal treatment at the Sulabh Complex.  They gave me a wreath adorned with sandalwood flowers, as well as a shawl of sorts.  Their official photographer took a picture of Dr. Pathak and me.  They gave me a whole bag of literature to take home wth me.  One of the head scientists said to me, “I hope you come back with more.”  I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but all of a sudden I felt a responsibility to pass on what I had learned here.  I was inspired by this chance encounter.  I think there is definitely a potential for exchange here.  I will contact MIT when I get home to get the conversation started.  I talked to Vijay, the travel agent, who also sets up volunteer tourism trips for people.  I think it would be a good idea to have all these forces align for the common good.   The scientists at Sulabh said that Stanford and Berkeley students already came there — I will see if MIT has a similar program and if not, perhaps one should be started.

I came back home, feeling a little spoiled, but also filled with a sense of responsibility.  If I were not a foreigner, would I have been received in this regal way?  I wonder about the special or sometimes not-so-special treatment (as in, getting a normal price for anything) that foreigners receive, just by virtue of the fact that they are foreigners.  It’s like we’re feeding into the caste system – we’re somewhere at the top, but still off to the side somewhat. 

I can’t complain though, as the advantages have definitely outweighed the disadvantages thus far.  I just wonder what life would be like if I were born at the bottom — as an ‘untouchable,’ or ’scavenger,’ as they are more commonly known here.  Dr. Pathak has created this system to elevate people out of the bottom caste.  After 40 years, India has seen much progress in this area thanks to Dr. Pathak.  God bless people like Dr. Pathak for dedicating their life to causes like these.

 Here are some more pictures from my story:

Site of Gandhi's cremation

Woman sitting in the shade of Humayun's Tomb

In front of Humayun's Tomb, which was the architectural precursor to the Taj Mahal

From the Toilet Musuem: Historically speaking, the Untouchable made his living from carrying human waste. He would carry a toilet and when someone had to go, he put the toilet down and the person covered himself with the cloak while he relieved himself. Apparently this practice still continues in some areas

Ever the dedicated one, King Louis XIII apparently never let his personal business interfere with court matters...