Day 1: Dehli
Coming in from the airport in the wee hours of the morning, I had a familiar realization. This is not Pakistan. I was quickly reminded of my first impression from Pakistan last December which was, this is not Bosnia.
I felt lighter. It felt ok to be an unaccompanied woman. I didn't feel the heavy gaze of a sea of men in shalwar chameez, rather men and women's eyes darted around the arrival area searching for their friends. Allelujiah.
One unintimidating man held a sign that read had my name and USAID written on it.
I immediately tried out my Hindi, I mean Urdu. It worked. We chatted the whole way into town. My questions were about the people sleeping on the streets, they looked like piles of bones. His questions were around my understanding of the Pakistan/India relationship and why I think there is unemployment in South Asia.
As I tried to talk with him I was reminded of my Urdu teachers warnings that I might not get to discuss our mandatory topics (pollution, space travel, woman's rights, terrorism etc etc) in my everyday conversations when outside of the FSI bubble. Hmmm, looks like I might.
En route to Delhi the past few nights I considered staying for longer than 2 weeks. I have come so far, and if this "immersion" is successful, why not stay a month I thought. Flash ahead, by the end of the day, I am thinking, I think I could stay 2 months and still pass my test on October 12.
We will see.
I have got to boil this down:
Today's themes: 1) The blessing and the curse 2) Om, Om, Om and 3) My instincts are right.
The blessing and the curse is being in any country with USAID. It is in fact a blessing to have a crew of friends and assistants waiting for me in any developing country. Consequently, a driver picked me up, a woman I had never met (30 something, Energy PSC) had invited me to stay in her home, had her maid make breakfast for me, wash my clothes and sent her driver to pick up a train ticket for my journey tomorrow to the himalayas. When she wasn't organizing all of this, she had programmed a cell phone for me, and arranged a day of shopping with the woman whose job I want in India, tea with a common SAIS friend and a dinner party for me in her neighbors flat. Ahh, thanks I said as I walked out the door to begin experiencing India. Although was this India? I can't go into details on a public blog about how conflicted I feel about accessing this kind of privelege as a way of life. The ladies I spent the afternoon shopping with have their own drivers, insights into tax breaks and the same furniture that we all have. I had it in Sarajevo and US Buy American law requires that all US Government employees have the same furniture everywhere in the world. This was bizarre in Sarajevo, going to book club at a colleagues house and running into the same furniture from my place. But it became more surreal here as I looked at what felt like "my bookshelf" or slept on what felt a whole lot like "my bed." I wasn't in Sarajevo, but the deja vu was palpable.
Who will I become in this world? How does it change a person to have a driver, cook, maid, gardener and guard--note all separate people? Can you even say you have lived in India when the daily water and electricity outages are mitigated by your constant US embassy supply?
Ok ok, I have to go to bed.
2) Om, Om, Om...
What is yoga to me? I have traveled to Sivananda Ashrams easily 40 times in the past 7 years. I have taken 1000s of classes. I have bought plenty of yoga kitsch and here I am in Mecca, of sorts. I can't believe it, I didn't come here for yoga, but I have been moving towards, into, relaxing into a yogic way of life since Lizzie invited me to the Sivananda Ashram in Austria in 1999. Me coming to India, I always thought, would be about yoga, not about Urdu or USAID. And yet here I am returning to my daily sivananda practice on my mat, wearing my first of many new Ommy shirts, and planning a getaway this weekend to a yoga ashram 3 hours from my language school.
(Bahot ajib cheeze hai kay me yahoon hoon, aur kay jnaneshwari meri sat naheen hai.)
3) My instincts were right.
My sense in DC, is that I deeply believe that the development industry is deeply flawed. I think that moving to another country attempting to be an agent of change without deep preparation is a big fat arrogant mistake. I have created the luxury of a nearly 1 year preparation cycle to try to combat this. I launched my response last December (when this blog started) in Pakistan. 3 weeks quickly became 6 as I was pulled into a wedding in Lahore, the Kerry visit in NWFP and daily heart to hearts with the Pakistani staff in Islamabad. Then came 6 months of SAIS classes and Urdu language training. While living my DC/Pakistani immersion I realized that some days in DC, I didn't speak English or speak with people who are not in someway connected to South Asia. My intention is that I would land, in November of 2006 in Pakistan with a life and professional fluency in the language (the long sought after 3/3). Today, I began reaping the benefits of this work. I spent the afternoon at Ajit's house with he and his mother. Ajit is a PHd student at SAIS, he has heard me stumble through my Urdu evolution nearly every week for the first three months. Ajit was the friend at my birthday party who spun folks around before they batted at the pinatta. Ajit introduced me to Rose who introduced me to Robyn whose home I am in tonight. Blah blah blah.
I have been preparing for this day, the beginning of my South Asian life since, since, since I selected Pakistan last June? Since I selected Pakistan as a post that would help me get to India, since I dove head first into a one pointed season of all things Pakistani/Indian/South Asian.
Mera Dil bag bag hota hai.
That's enough. Should sleep now.
I felt lighter. It felt ok to be an unaccompanied woman. I didn't feel the heavy gaze of a sea of men in shalwar chameez, rather men and women's eyes darted around the arrival area searching for their friends. Allelujiah.
One unintimidating man held a sign that read had my name and USAID written on it.
I immediately tried out my Hindi, I mean Urdu. It worked. We chatted the whole way into town. My questions were about the people sleeping on the streets, they looked like piles of bones. His questions were around my understanding of the Pakistan/India relationship and why I think there is unemployment in South Asia.
As I tried to talk with him I was reminded of my Urdu teachers warnings that I might not get to discuss our mandatory topics (pollution, space travel, woman's rights, terrorism etc etc) in my everyday conversations when outside of the FSI bubble. Hmmm, looks like I might.
En route to Delhi the past few nights I considered staying for longer than 2 weeks. I have come so far, and if this "immersion" is successful, why not stay a month I thought. Flash ahead, by the end of the day, I am thinking, I think I could stay 2 months and still pass my test on October 12.
We will see.
I have got to boil this down:
Today's themes: 1) The blessing and the curse 2) Om, Om, Om and 3) My instincts are right.
The blessing and the curse is being in any country with USAID. It is in fact a blessing to have a crew of friends and assistants waiting for me in any developing country. Consequently, a driver picked me up, a woman I had never met (30 something, Energy PSC) had invited me to stay in her home, had her maid make breakfast for me, wash my clothes and sent her driver to pick up a train ticket for my journey tomorrow to the himalayas. When she wasn't organizing all of this, she had programmed a cell phone for me, and arranged a day of shopping with the woman whose job I want in India, tea with a common SAIS friend and a dinner party for me in her neighbors flat. Ahh, thanks I said as I walked out the door to begin experiencing India. Although was this India? I can't go into details on a public blog about how conflicted I feel about accessing this kind of privelege as a way of life. The ladies I spent the afternoon shopping with have their own drivers, insights into tax breaks and the same furniture that we all have. I had it in Sarajevo and US Buy American law requires that all US Government employees have the same furniture everywhere in the world. This was bizarre in Sarajevo, going to book club at a colleagues house and running into the same furniture from my place. But it became more surreal here as I looked at what felt like "my bookshelf" or slept on what felt a whole lot like "my bed." I wasn't in Sarajevo, but the deja vu was palpable.
Who will I become in this world? How does it change a person to have a driver, cook, maid, gardener and guard--note all separate people? Can you even say you have lived in India when the daily water and electricity outages are mitigated by your constant US embassy supply?
Ok ok, I have to go to bed.
2) Om, Om, Om...
What is yoga to me? I have traveled to Sivananda Ashrams easily 40 times in the past 7 years. I have taken 1000s of classes. I have bought plenty of yoga kitsch and here I am in Mecca, of sorts. I can't believe it, I didn't come here for yoga, but I have been moving towards, into, relaxing into a yogic way of life since Lizzie invited me to the Sivananda Ashram in Austria in 1999. Me coming to India, I always thought, would be about yoga, not about Urdu or USAID. And yet here I am returning to my daily sivananda practice on my mat, wearing my first of many new Ommy shirts, and planning a getaway this weekend to a yoga ashram 3 hours from my language school.
(Bahot ajib cheeze hai kay me yahoon hoon, aur kay jnaneshwari meri sat naheen hai.)
3) My instincts were right.
My sense in DC, is that I deeply believe that the development industry is deeply flawed. I think that moving to another country attempting to be an agent of change without deep preparation is a big fat arrogant mistake. I have created the luxury of a nearly 1 year preparation cycle to try to combat this. I launched my response last December (when this blog started) in Pakistan. 3 weeks quickly became 6 as I was pulled into a wedding in Lahore, the Kerry visit in NWFP and daily heart to hearts with the Pakistani staff in Islamabad. Then came 6 months of SAIS classes and Urdu language training. While living my DC/Pakistani immersion I realized that some days in DC, I didn't speak English or speak with people who are not in someway connected to South Asia. My intention is that I would land, in November of 2006 in Pakistan with a life and professional fluency in the language (the long sought after 3/3). Today, I began reaping the benefits of this work. I spent the afternoon at Ajit's house with he and his mother. Ajit is a PHd student at SAIS, he has heard me stumble through my Urdu evolution nearly every week for the first three months. Ajit was the friend at my birthday party who spun folks around before they batted at the pinatta. Ajit introduced me to Rose who introduced me to Robyn whose home I am in tonight. Blah blah blah.
I have been preparing for this day, the beginning of my South Asian life since, since, since I selected Pakistan last June? Since I selected Pakistan as a post that would help me get to India, since I dove head first into a one pointed season of all things Pakistani/Indian/South Asian.
Mera Dil bag bag hota hai.
That's enough. Should sleep now.
posted by kudzai99 at 12:35 PM
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