The Golden Temple at Amritsar

Devin took a weekend trip to Amritsar with a friend of his on his second weekend in India. He really enjoyed his time there so Madeleine and I decided to go on an adventure there too. We booked a train for 7:20 am Saturday morning. The Indian train system is much more complex than in the US. First of all, there are about 8 different classes one can pick from according to cost and quality. Some you just buy standing room and pack in like a New York subway during rush hour. Some have air conditioning some don't. Other cabins are sleepers in various level of comfort. Some is just a flat board essentially hanging from the ceiling as your bed. Others have two tiers of beds against each wall.
Madeleine and I bought our tickets a bit late and so had to pay a little more (which frustrated us until we thought about comparing it to American prices) to sit in the AC chair car. We took a rickshaw with Amar to the Delhi train station at 6:30 am. The city was still very active and awake even at this early time on a weekend. The train station seemed to be an unofficial hotel and many people were sleeping on the floor. We found our platform, stepped into the much appreciated air conditioning and settled into the remarkably comfortable Laz-E-Boy type chairs. I promptly fell asleep and woke up to the first serving of Chai. Next we were brought a delicious breakfast in neat travel sized portions. The train steward was dressed in a black robe with a square hat on and a long ponytail going down his back. The girl in front of us, about 12, also had long hair down to her knees. It was telling to see her get out her ipod and complain to her mother about how long the ride was, because it seemed noticeable that she was a first generation American or British and that her parents were from India. This cultural juxtaposition is a frequent one to appear at touristy sites out here. The countryside we were passing through was entirely flat as we traveled northwest. There were many rice fields and cows grazing, displaying a picture of rural living that seemed far removed from the fast-paced city.
We arrived around 1 to the last stop, Amritsar, and disembarked into the heat. Our first challenge was getting to the golden temple, next finding a place to stay and as soon as possible after that, locating someone to take us to the Waga border of Pakistan. We were bombarded by taxi and rickshaw drivers as usual, whom we avoided instinctively. We asked around and were told there was a free bus which shuttled between the station and the temple. We found a somewhat empty corner of the parking lot, beneath a tree and by a small hut we assumed to be security and waited, not really knowing what to expect. At one point a man from the small building yelled a disgruntled warning and spat forcefully on the ground. One driver kept approaching us arguing that the bus wouldn't come and that a taxi ride would be more comfortable anyway and that he would drive us to the temple as well as the border. Madeleine and I looked at each other, considering that this would be a convenient arrangement but also wondering how much we should trust him. Fortunately the bus soon arrived and we watched as person after person exited the vehicle, it reminded us of the clown car and volkswagon bug circus trick where endless numbers of people appear to have been in the car. We got a comfortable seat and went out into the streets of Amritsar. It was a descent sized city, with all the regular hustle and bustle of India. We were dropped off in a central plaza and followed the crowd towards a large white gate. Our plan was to stay in the lodging provided free of charge near the temple. We first entered a busy room filled with men wearing Pugs (sp? the Sikh headwear similar to a turban). We were elbowed out of the crowd leering around some windows, and we weren't sure how to proceed. A nice man informed us-since we were obviously out of place one by our gender and two by our clothing- that we were to go to the other section of the hostel. We went to another entrance farther down the building and to our right were confronted with the awe-inspiring image of the golden temple.
Although a ways away we were able to see the entire building was made of glistening gold. We were motivated to find the lodging so that we could go see the temple up close. We wandered into the other building where people were laying out mats on the ground, walked into an open area where there appeared to be communal showers, but were no closer to finding what we were looking for. We passed a door marked "only for authorized individuals" and were surprised that the guard stood up when he saw us, asked where we were from and upon answering, ushered us inside. He showed us to a room on the left side of a hallway filled with side by side cots, and informed us to use our locks to store our stuff in the cabinet. Madeleine went to buy a lock and I changed into my usual modified salwar kamiz outfit. We were fortunate to have a room with 3 cots in it and cabinets on the side to store our stuff.
We were locking up our backpacks when a woman wandered in looking distressed. The story she told us was one of the most frightening we had heard in India. She had arrived two weeks ago from Portugal and visited the Taj Mahal and another tourist city of Jaipur. On her way to Amritsar on the train she had befriended a family sitting in front of her. At one point, their young children offered her some candy, so she accepted a piece of chocolate. The next thing she knew was waking up in a hospital. The candy had been drugged, probably something similar to "roofies" and the family had stolen everything from her. They took her money belt containing her passport off of her and went off with her bags. A train employee presumably had found her and sent her to the hospital. Upon release, since she had no money, they brought her to this free hostel. She had called the embassy in Mumbai but they responded that until she got there, they could not help her. We didn't know what to do or if we should offer her money or what. Madeleine suggested that her mother, who she was in contact with via payphone, should purchase a train ticket online in portugal, and that she could print it out here, board the train, and just reassure the employees she had her passport because they usually did not check, and get to mumbai. She lamented that someone had warned her not to travel along and now Madeleine and I were that much more aware of our surroundings. We never saw the woman again because when we came back later that evening she was gone.
We entered the human river flowing through the streets and picked a large blue rickshaw. There were two young men on it and gestured excitedly towards us. We jumped on and told them our destination; the Waga Border of Pakistan. The rickshaw teetered along the dirt road, it wasn't long until we noticed that everyone was passing us. Devin had told us the drive took him twenty minutes, we were still on the rickshaw an hour later. At one point we went though an intersection where a man was handing out cups of a greenish liquid to passing cars. Our driver grabbed one and offered it to us. We looked at each other and politely declined, wondering what the oddly colored substance was. At one point, the rickshaw stopped completely, and the driver deftly grabbed a rope from the back of the rickshaw, tied it to something on the engine, pulled a few times and it roared back to life. We were impressed that every driver seems to be doubly qualified as a mechanic. As a rickshaw loaded down with a family passed us, the kids waved and smiled at us.The drivers seemed to engage in a sort of race, which we were obviously losing.
We finally arrived at the border and the driver indicated he would wait for us at a particular point. We joined the flow of people heading towards a stadium structure ahead of us. A little boy offered us chips for a few rupees which we declined. He gestured for us to go down a certain path away from the rest of the people. We sort of ignored him wondering what trap he as directing us towards, but quickly realized when a guard came up and pointed the same way, that he had just been trying to help us out. Foriegners got front row seating. Women were allowed to go up and dance at the front. We met the Israeli men behind us, and enjoyed a smiling baby in front of us. The guards went through an elaborate procedure of shutting down the border for the night. Pakistan and Indias flags crossed over each other and were lowered bit by bit as the guards kicked their legs into the air in perfect unison and shouted in Hindi. There was a large chorus of Hindustan! Hindustan! Hindustan!.
For our return journey we picked up two indian men (who we overheard, rode for a quarter of what we had paid). And once the drivers recieved our payment for the first ride, promptly got gas and we traveled at a normal pace.
It was evening when we got back and we decided to go to the Golden Temple. Madeleine and i removed our shoes and covered our heads to enter the gorgeous white marble plaza surrounding a placid body of water in the middle of which reigned the golden temple. It was breathtaking. The temple glittered over the dark water, sparkling on every facet of the walls.

Bal Mandal Childrens Group

In the afternoons we would follow the Bal Mandal Children's group on their usual activities. At DAB it is interesting because the group has been in existence for so long. I met one young man, college bound as well, who joined at age 6 and was a member until age 16. This really creates a sense of community for children. One of the most remarkable and affective aspects of the Bal Mandal organizations, is that it truly fosters empowerment. When I was in fourth grade, there is no way I would have been trusted to administer medicines to sick patients. As a fifth grader, I did not hold any titled positions in a group. In the sixth grade, I was more concerned with fitting into the newly formed cool group than teaching my neighbors about tuberculosis. These children are held responsible for real situations. They step up to the challenge because it is offered. Adults look to them and say, we trust you, we know you can do it, and they internalize that. This builds critically necessary self-esteem at a young age. The fact that the children go around the slum taking care of others fosters the idea of service. Learning from these experiences is invaluable for all young people, but critical for children from the slum. The Bal Mandal serves as a social support network in an environment where families are not always able to provide . These children know how to work together in teams to complete a task. They understand elements of leadership and organization. Most important of all, in a society where they are looked down upon and considered inferior, they know their own worth.
On my first outing with them the project was to clean the waste lanes out. In every slum there is a one foot wide lane cut into the ground, meant to carry water and garbage out of the area. Unfortunately most of these lanes get clogged with trash and sit stagnant, creating a breeding ground for mosquitos. I headed out with a group of fifteen chipper kids ages about seven to fifteen. They paraded through the alleyways armed with sticks of wood. When we reached a particular area they set to work. The president, a tomboy of about twelve, assigned each child to one section. They furiously dug out the clutter, dumping piles of fetid litter along the sides. (VIDEO) For the whole afternoon they cleaned out garbage lanes, calling attention wherever they went. Everyone in the slum knows about the Bal Mandal group and respects them and their work. The kids were beaming with pride when we finished the job.
The next day the mission was to visit the elderly. In each slum, some older people living alone have been targeted by Asha. They are provided with relief in the form of food and basic goods. The most valuable donation however, are these visits from a group of children. We approached a particularly small home, just a single room with no outer decorations. Ranjina entered first and escorted out a sweet eighty year old woman. She sat on a bench and the kids surrounded her. She spoke to them, held Ranjina's hand, and encouraged Madeleine and I to come sit next to her as well. We learned that she had had eleven children. Five daughters had been married off and were now only obligated to their mothers in law. Her six sons had all passed away. If it weren't for Asha, she would be lonely and unhealthy.

STD Survey, DAV

In the mornings at DAB, we did a survey on Sexually Transmitted Diseases. We were stationed in the main Asha building in the slum, and women were recruited to participate if they had any questions relating to personal areas. It was difficult to manage the survey, since neither Madeleine nor I speak Hindi. We had Rani, the regional leader, and the team leader of DAB working with us. The latter however, did not speak very coherent English. She also was not very patient so we would ask her to explain something and she would answer curtly yes or no which did not adequately respond to our inquiry. We learned the questions in phonetic Hindi and I was able to pull most of them off rather well. The downside is that coupled with my Indian looks, naturally the patient would assume I spoke fluent Hindi and would launch into a babbling explanation. I would just have to listen for key words, and then ask them to repeat to the translator. Another issue is that many of the women, understandable, assumed were doctors. One afternoon on a Friday a woman came in with fever and pain, but we had to reluctantly explain that we could not help and that the doctor would be in on Monday.
We asked them about excessive discharge, pain during intercourse, any unusual lumps or bumps, abdominal pain, any abnormal periods, and finally referred them to Ranjina for a breast examination. The majority of women experienced pain in the lower belly area. We would then write out a referral slip for Doctor Sharmila in the Asha Center Polyclinic. Many of them also had symptoms of STDs, Pelvic Inflammatory Disease, and Urinary Tract Infections. Yeast infections also are common in the conditions here in India. It is always hot and humid out, and people do not use toilet paper, instead they rinse off with water, leaving a warm, moist environment which is ideal for bacteria to grow.
It upset me to see how many women had suffered and had nowhere to ask for help. A few women had suffered from symptoms for a year or more! During one breast exam, a lump was found the size of an apple on the side of her chest. She said she had endured it for ten years. Fortunately it was benign, but the idea of just living with such a growth without having it looked at for a decade, blew Madeleine and I away. The Asha women explained; if there's a problem with the husband, its a huge deal and everyone gets upset, same reaction if a child, particularly a male child, has some affliction, but a woman's problem, they gestured, is pushed under the rug.
We surveyed about 120 women during my time there, and a rough estimate would be that at least 75% of women were recommended to the doctors clinic. It was frustrating not to be able to follow up on the diagnosis of the problems. A couple women we overlapped with during our shadowing hours but not many. Another huge problem is that obviously for the treatment of an STD, both partners need to participate. Logistically, many of the men work during the morning hours when the clinic occurs, and culturally, the men often assume it is the woman's problem and she should fix it alone. The disease then is perpetually passed back and forth.
It was a nice environment to work in, all women, working for women's health. It was interesting to be immersed in the Hindi language. In some ways I learned a lot from trying to decipher the exact problem in my limited Hindi. At the same time it was so frustrating not being able to fully communicate. Madeleine and I were saved from any awkwardness regarding the questions since we did not understand word for word what we were saying. Most of the women were quite willing to be honest about their situations. The Asha women clearly helped create a comfort zone where talking about such ailments was safe.

Adolescent Girls, DAB

Next the adolescent girls came in. About twenty girls aged thirteen to twenty one streamed in wearing a variety of colors in both Indian and western styles. They introduced themselves to all of us, name, age and school class. Unfortunately several of the girls had dropped out. One girl had suffered from an eye condition and had left school for awhile. When she convalesced however, she was not allowed to re-enter school. The is an absurd policy that if you do not attend school for a certain amount of time, your name is crossed off the list and cannot be added. Another girl who left after sixth class had had to care for her family. It is not uncommon for an elder sibling to essentially raise their brothers and sisters. For example we met one girl who sold chapatis on the street of the slum all day for money to survive. Her mother had left with a man and she was in charge of raising the family. Another girl's father was an alcoholic so she had to provide for the family. The only option for these girls to continue their education is for them to participate in a program called Correspondence. A student is enrolled, given schoolwork, and graded on completion. There is no actual teaching available. Asha is working on helping some girls get back into the system but for now they are encouraged to learn a trade. One girl sews to make some money during the day. Overall the situation of girls in the slums is in some ways the lowest of the low.
On the bright side, one young woman, Vinita, is going to college! She is a very petite girl, hardly reaching my shoulder, who just began the very challenging course of economics at Delhi University. She speaks the best English by far of the group and I'm sure will go far wit her ambition and commitment. Other girls have ambitions to join the air hostess academy, to be a teacher, or, somewhat in jest, to marry an American man and go to the US. It is so important for these girls to see their peers and even myself and Madeleine as role models for what a girl can do.

The next day, we began our health classes with the girls. We had them write down on a piece of paper any questions they have relating to health education, so that they would not feel shy. Dr. Krishna translated them for us. The girls had a lot of interest in HIV/AIDS, as well as the menstrual cycle and pregnancy. Our first class addressed menstruation. We explained the ovulation cycle using print outs as well as the white board to illustrate what occurred. Then we addressed the social side of it, something which is crucial to be culturally sensitive about. Traditionally here, when a woman has her period she is considered to be dirty. She is not allowed in the kitchen to cook or in the temple to pray, and is generally shunned until it is over. We explained that menstruation is a normal part of being a woman, and does not make you unclean in any way. We then went over how best to keep clean and dry during this time. Sanitary pads are too expensive for some, so they use a cloth which they wash daily. We next explained what a tampon was. The girls were shocked. They had never seen or heard of this before. They winced as we explained how to use it, and were convinced it was either painful or would get stuck. One girl, Anjum, did most of the talking in her strong, low voice, as the other girls giggled or whispered to her what to ask. It was a really interesting moment of cross cultural difference mixed with the commonality of all being young woman; we shared a lot of laughs.

Doctor Ambedkar Basti

Madeleine and I decided somewhat reluctantly to move to a new slum called Doctor Ambedkar Basti, DAB. We were swayed by the opportunity to teach health education. I had worked for 4 weeks at Zakhira and while I was hesitant to leave my students who had finally opened up to me, I was also excited to expand upon my experiences with Asha. We were promised a female translator who could sit with Madeleine and I as we taught important health lessons to a group of adolescent girls.
Another intriguing part of Ambedkar Basti is that it is one of the very first slums Dr. Kiran entered twenty years ago. Madeleine and I were welcomed again with a wreath of marigolds draped around our necks and flower petals were tossed around us.
Paul acted as our translator as the Mahila Mandal gathered in front of us on the floor. We introduced ourselves, Mera nam Lali hai, Mein American se huun, me bis salki huun (spelling is probably atrocious) but that generally means, my name is Lolly (spelled the Indian way), I'm from America, and I am twenty years old.
We met the president of the Mahila Mandal, a few Community Health Volunteers, the Asha staff, some of whom live in DAB, and the regional director of several slums. It was fascinating to ask the women about their lives before and after Asha became a presence. Ranjina, an elegant, extremely intelligent woman who has since moved out of the slum and is now an employee of asha explained that she was about twenty years old when Dr. Kiran came to DAB.
She, like many of the women present, had moved from her village here when she got married so that her husband could look for work. The women explained that "where your husband is, you are". It is traditional for the wife to move in with her husbands family and be obedient to their demands. Ranjina was married at the age of ten years because her older sister was getting married at that time. Luckily they came together to DAB. Many of the women were officially married at very young ages, lived at home for a few years, and then moved in with their husbands as a teenager. Child marriage is gradually decreasing in prevalence here but it still exists. One generation ago it was the norm. In Zakhira I met a woman who had been married at the age of five, although she didn't move in with her husband until age 13. I asked how far in education the women had reached. No one had gotten further than fifth class and some had left even earlier. The role of women is very clearly a domestic one. Only in the current generation are there beginning to be signs of change but overall the patriarchy in traditional communities is smothering.
The women described the conditions of the slum twenty years ago. There was a significant Cholera epidemic going on. People suffering were not given water because it was believed to make the disease worse. Sadly, this lead many victims to die of dehydration. There was intense flooding and peoples homes would basically disintegrate during the monsoon. Dr. Kiran Martin then entered the scene and was appalled by the conditions these people were living in. She went to the local slum lord and requested permission and assistance to treat Cholera patients. She was given a single table to work from, and began addressing the ailments of the poorest of the poor. She realized that she would need the help and support from the community she was working in. The first Mahila Mandal, womens group, was established by some of the women who sat in front of me that day. Some volunteered to be trained as Community Health Volunteers, assisting Dr. Kiran with the numerous Cholera patients. Others agreed to be in charge of several areas of DAB and looked after the health of their neighbors.
I asked how the women's husbands felt about them joining such a task force. I was curious as to how the men would react that their wives were working together outside the home, exercising their first bit of independence.
One woman, her name is Asha, is a licensed midwife. She is a striking character, filled with a wry sense of humor. She has a dull face with bright black eyes and a witty smile. She bragged about her skill at delivering babies, even offering to be present for Madeleine and my pregnancies if we would buy her a ticket to the US. We all appreciated this bit of light heartedness after discussing such grave issues.
A former CHV remained quiet during most of the meeting. She is a bit chubby, with sunken eyes behind round glasses. We eventually got to hear her story, which was remarkable. At the start of Asha she had been very involved in the community. Gradually however, she lost faith in the cause, lamenting the tragedies of the slum and stopped working for Asha. Unfortunately, she was diagnosed with cervical cancer. This often fatal disease afflicted her at a time when she did not have many people to depend on. Ranjina and Rani and the other Asha women were there for her. Many diseases in the slum carry stigmas with them as they are not properly understood. When she became ill her own family was not there to support her, but Asha was. Thanks to the best medical treatment arranged by Asha and Dr. Kiran, she has fully recovered and has now redoubled her efforts working for this incredible organization.
We allowed the women to ask us some questions as well, though I was fascinated by their experiences. They inquired about the usual; if we were married and how many siblings we had. When the meeting ended I was stunned at the tranformation these women had been through and created. If there is such a thing as a dream come true, this is it. Ranjina studied for a particular exam in order to get a job and scored one of the top marks. She since has moved out of the slum with her children and dedicates every day to Asha as an employee.

update

Hi blog readers!!!

First I want to share the Very Exciting news that we have raised just about $1,000 for ASHA!!!
THANK YOU SO MUCH! and congratulations to everyone for accomplishing this!

To illustrate the effect this can have for real people living here in New Delhi I'll share some facts.
For one of the 30 slum kids who are now college students to go to school for one year costs $250. So five of these hard working deserving kids is studying at Delhi University thanks to our efforts!!!

Also-$15 dollars will provide TEN children with Vitamin A supplements to prevent blindness!

$30 will provide full medical care And vaccinations for a child for its first year of life (well baby clinic!)

$270 will equip an Asha Community Health Volunteer (a woman from the slum) with Supplies for an entire year!

$750 will provide basic Health Care Education (what i've been teaching at DAB and observing in the health clinics) to 1500 people! thats a lot!

Can we Do it?! $1500 will provide basic medicine and clinical supplies for a community of FIVE THOUSAND for one year!

so thank you all so much for donating to this amazing cause.

I have tons and tons of moments and people and stories to share with you but I have been busy finishing up work at Asha and for the next 2 weeks will be traveling in the Himalayas.
The first week I'm going with my roomates to Manali and Dharmsala, coming back to Delhi to celebrate my 21st birthday! and then heading up to Rishikesh, the spirtual center of India, to reflect on my experiences here (and prepare lots of blog entries!) and to spend some time at this turning point in my life being introspective and considering where Ive been and where I hope to go.

In an experience which I will write about in depth, I was able to speak with a guru who reads Chakras (7 forms of energy associated with parts of the body and aspects of personality and character) and have some specific areas to consider during meditation alone for a week.

I shall return full of stories and commentary about my experiences here in India, so I advise checking back on August 9th!
Namaste, Lolly.



Some Photos from Ambedkar Basti Slum Community. Some of the people benefitting from your donations :)

TB survey, W85, Zakhira

During my last week at Zakhira we finished up the 200 Tuberculosis Surveys. We have not yet analyzed the data but fortunately only found a handful of likely cases. I really bonded with the Asha staff members and slum residents who work for Asha. At one moment while I was observing the doctor, the Community Health Worker took my hand and held it in her own. We could not communicate verbally, but that gesture was really touching. Also while I was observing women would just hand me their toddlers. I particularly have fun with one baby, Nas, who I have several pictures of here. She just turned one and had a small birthday party at the Asha center where we gave her chocolates and some new clothes. One of my students, Shabnam, pictured in the previous slideshow several times, came in one morning and asked if I had my ears pierced. That afternoon she came and fitted bright turquoise earrings into my ear. I tried to return them at the end of the day and the next morning, but she refused to take them back, they were a gift. I wear them everyday as I did not bring much jewelry with me, but the girls scold me if they don't match my outfit. I'm going to buy her some pink earrings because that's her favorite color. It continues to amaze me how kind and inclusive and sweet the girls are. They took awhile to warm up but just the other day they were feeding me some of their lunches. Literally Putting food in my mouth. It was very close, like we were sisters. Except then Sifat put something incredibly spicey in my mouth and my lips were burning for five minutes, so Anjum and Saba gave me crackers and roti to calm the burning. They thought it was hilarious how I reacted to the spice.
I really enjoyed my time at Zakhira and miss the staff and students!

We completed the survey in the slum part W85 in Zakhira. Here live 400 families and at W88 live 800 families. There are many young children for several reasons. One is that in a Muslim community, having more children means that you have been blessed more and a large family is encouraged. Two because the mortality rate is so high for children under five so to ensure some survivors the women have many children just in case. We met one woman who had had eleven children and six had passed away. The third reason is
that contraception is not widely used. Partially due to a lack of education, partially due to religion. One woman came in with her fifth child and explained that she had wanted a tubal ligation, but that her religion would not allow it. In many cases it is the mother-in-law and husband who make decisions regarding a womans body.Asha is working to combat all of these factors so that the poor families can share their resources adequately among the ideal of two children.
It is interesting to note that the majority of families here are from a village and came to Delhi only to find work. Many slums are located near railroads because it provides labor for the men. Therefore also, many of the women are unfamiliar with the area in which they live, and until Asha came, with their neighbors.

Girls at Zakhira

Some snaps of my students and I at Zakhira

Well Baby Clinic at Zakhira!

This clinic happens once a week and is for healthy babies to come in and get their immunizations. I helped to give them drops for polio, and observed them getting shots for Hepatitis immunization. It was a nice morning to see healthy children instead of the many afflictions which the adult patient endure. It was half heart-wrenching half hilarious when the babies got their shots. I held their hands as they lay on the table. They have a very delayed reaction to the pain, scream loudly, and then promptly forgot what upset them within a minute. Even their mothers were laughing.

The Intersection of Medicine and Culture in India

We have been able to observe a doctor both in the slum as well as in the polyclinic at the Asha office. It is fascinating observe the patients and the doctor and how they interact. Many of the ailments which afflict the slum dwellers are a result of their lifestyle. Their diet especially is low in key nutrients which leave the people vulnerable to illnesses which could easily be avoided. The amount of physical labor required of these people also is a detriment to their health.
The culture is one which believes that having many children is a blessing. One woman had suffered a "missed abortion" which we know in the US as a miscarriage. This had occurred 3 months before and she was advised to wait 6 months before trying to conceieve again. Her visit to the doctor this time however, was to ask how she could get pregnant, because there was a lot of pressure on her from her family. I saw several other women who visited the doctor because they were concerned that they had not become pregnant after being married or six months or a year. Once a woman is married, they are basically expected to start a family as soon as possible. The doctor at the polyclinic, an older, kind faced woman, assures them that they will in time. She explained that often, a patient will come in worried that something may be wrong and that is why they are not getting pregnant. The doctor tells them not to worry but sets up some tests for later that month. Often she revealed, the next time she sees them, they are pregnant. So she now has a reputation for helping that problem just by seeing the patients.
One woman came in with a bloodshot eye. The doctor examined it with a light and had her look different directions. She then touched the skin below the eye tenderly, and noticed a dark bruise descending from her inner eye out towards her cheekbone. She asked the woman what had happened and the woman said nothing, is it alright? The doctor turned to us observing and asked what it looked like to us. Reluctantly we suggested that it appeared she had been hit. That is exactly what the doctor thought as well. She prescribed an antibiotic just in case and told the woman to "be more careful". She then explained to us that domestic violence is fairly common here but that there aren't really any resources for women.
One woman, the president of the mahila mandal in w88 in Zakhira, came in complaining of leg pain and general achiness. She is 55 and recently had an operation to remove her gall bladder. The doctor explained that the pains she was experiencing were essentially psycho-somatic. Getting an operation is a daunting idea in general, and for a population of people who hardly ever go to the hospital, it is particularly upsetting. The doctor prescribed calcium and vitamin B complex. She says that these two vitamins she gives to basically every woman who comes in, because they are very often deficient. The patient usually feels better because these are good for the body, but also because of a placebo effect. The doctor at the polyclinic explained that similarly, she makes sure to have every patient lie down on the examination table, even if she is not looking for anything in particular. She explained that this process makes the patient feel taken care of and looked after. Sometimes just knowing that a professional is there helps them to feel better.
One of the most haunting images I have seen here in India occurred the other day at the polyclinic at Asha. A woman dressed in a royal blue sari, with pale skin and gold earrings, came in with her newborn baby. The baby was wrapped in a hand towel. It was ten days old but hadn't been eating properly. It was tiny. Its skin was so thin you could see its veins. It wouldnt stop screaming. He kept flailing his arms and crying in a birdlike way, repeating the same high pitched noise over and over. The mother tried to keep the towel around him as she lay him on the table, but he kept squirming and moving around. The doctor stood up and expertly wrapped him coccoon style in the towel. The two women then sat down at the desk to discuss the issue. I couldn't take my eyes off of the child and all I could see were its pale arms flailing in the air, his whole miniature body writhing on the table. The doctor then observed the baby breast feeding to make sure it was getting enough nutrients. She then sent for some medicine and mother and baby left.
One woman came in with feet swollen to double normal size. Only her toes managed to fit into her flipflops. She lay on the bed and explained that she had just come from her village. She was about 5 months pregnant but was not able to rest. Her mother in law was sick so she worked all day taking care of her. Her blood pressure was very high as well. The doctor explained that if the woman were able to rest and have a healthy diet, the condition would be easily cured. Unfortunately, it is expected for the daughter in law to care for her husbands mother, so it would not be easy for her to ask for time to rest. Hopefully now that she had the doctors orders her family would allow her to not work as hard.
Overall I have been impressed with how much trust these poor people put in doctors. Most of them did not grow up having any type of formal health care. I have been pleased that so many of these people take advantage of the facilities Asha has offered to them. However, one case which I observed, showed the other approach. A young woman suffers from diabetes. She is also highly allergic to many medications. Therefore she has elected to practice home remedies in order to deal with her problem. The doctor has tried to explain to her that diabetes is a serious condition which can lead to tragic outcomes if not properly treated. Unfortunately this patient does not understand or believe this and comes in only for basic tests but will not take any medication. I also was surprised to learn in another patient with diabetes however, that the doctor first suggests lifestyle changes, then emphasizes diet change, and only utilizes insulin as the last choice.
I am learning a lot and really enjoying my time shadowing doctors. It is so important to understand how interconnected medicine and culture is. Both doctors understand and consider their patients backgrounds and lifestyles before addressing the medical issue. They are sure to allow their patients to trust them, and make a personal connection with each one. Any large hospital is more impersonal than these clinics. Some patients visit the clinics after a hospital date only to understand what happened to them because in the big facilities they feel ignored and out of place.

Coming to terms with the reality of poverty on the streets of India

The hardest part about India is seeing myself becoming hardened and numb to the atrocious situations occurring around me. At Pria Market, the local place to go for dinner, a movie, or the grocery store, children follow us around begging. As soon as we arrive, since we look markedly like foriegners, children between the ages of roughly 8 to 12 approach us. One boy has bold green eyes that contrast with his golden brown skin. He holds up drawings of trees and houses, to show us his talent and to exchage his only trade for a few rupees. The kids will motion to their mouths indicating that they are hungry. During the first week, Nick gave two boys ten rupees each. As we stood there deciding where next to go in the market, we were suddenly surrounded by five more children. They encircled Nick and hoped to get as lucky as their friends. Sometimes the kids will follow us for five minutes as we walk around doing errands. They are skilled at begging and walking at the same time and know a few words of English such as "please madam". One time I was standing in the market drinking from a bottle of orange soda I had just purchased. A seven year old boy, wearing a ragged T-shirt and cut off jeans, his face smeared with dirt and no shoes came up to me begging, making motions that he was thirsty. I finished my gulp and looked at my friends, wondering what to do. The child stood there watching and again asking for something. I tentatively held out the bottle and he grabbed it. I watched as he strolled away indulging in half a bottle of orange soda.
If you acknowledge them, they will follow you and keep begging. If you give to them, it will attract more children and at times their mothers. It is a difficult moment to realize that you either must decide to always give, or to find a way to steel yourself against them. Any eye contact will trigger their attempts so if you do not want to be bothered or held back from whatever errand you are trying to accomplish, you must ignore them. At first it feels so inhumane, to see a small child begging for any amount of money and not even look them in the face. In order to get anything done at the market however, one needs to learn not to see them. You must adapt to continuing your conversation and stride as if there is not a skinny boy at your side saying "please ma'am". As difficult as this is, the hardest part I am only realizing now; accepting that I am capable of building up that wall, and walking by without helping. Part of me argues that I could afford to give each child a whole dollar a day and still stay within budget. But then that is only helping each child in this market, how many hundreds of ten year olds go hungry in my neighborhood here alone. How much would a dollar help? I have heard warnings that the children will spend it on drugs, seeking their only refuge from their twisted childhood. I could give them food, but would quickly have to become a walking soup kitchen. I saw one child begging at the take out window of McDonalds. I saw one woman, clearly mentally ill, sitting on the ground at the market, ranting while her tiny baby flailed on a blanket in front of her. Who could I call? Is it my place to save that baby? I do spend my days working in the slums, but is that enough? Does that make up for my ability to deftly swerve around the children begging in front of me. When I am not with the other volunteers, who's phenotypes betray their foriegn status, I am approached less. Should I be pleased? that I do not have to be so assaulted by hungry children, or should I feel all the more guilty, that they assume more quickly that I will ignore them.
After being in India for a month, I have walked by countless beggars on the street. I am struck by the number of physical deformities I have passed on the street. I do not mean to objectify these people by taking a photo, I hope to convey their humanity, I hope to strike some level of commonality, instead of just evoking pity. This is is a very real fact of life in India. One young man at the Taj Mahal entrance sat on the ground cross legged, and his left arm went behind his neck and came down crookedly onto his right shoulder. I have seen a man using two pairs of flip flops, one for his feet and one for his hands. His knees bent outwards and his calves and ankles were as thin as my wrists. He clambered along the ground, in the midst of a myriad of wheels whizzing around on all sides as he crossed the dangerous street. Here was a human being, reduced to a starving four legged creature, who was ignored by the hundreds of people on the street. I have seen men with mangled feet sitting on the sidewalk with a cup in front of them. One man chanted a single word over and over in a croak, hoping for a few rupees to be dropped into his cup.





While driving, the more mobile people approach the vehicle. One man pressed his hand which had only two fingers left, against the window the whole time we were stopped at a red light. Unable to deal with this frightening site, or more likely, unable to look into his eyes and then look away, we hurriedly engaged in conversation amongst ourselves inside the vehicle, no one comfortable enough to acknowledge the fact that this man was on the other side of the car door.
In the evenings one frequently passes families made of sagging skin around weak bones, sleeping on the hard ground. Little distinguishes the street people's social status from the dogs and pigs who wander the same areas, living off the garbage piles on street corners. One family inhabits a corner made of a large pile of dirt on the way to the Asha office. They sleep beneath a blue tarp stuck onto two poles. Every morning an emaciated woman bundles together pink roses to give her seven year old daughter who spends the days approaching cars at red lights trying to make enough to survive. I'll never forget the image of her standing alone in the pouring rain of the summer monsoon, drenched to the bone, holding the dilapidated roses in her hand.
It seems that Westerners who have the means to visit countries where this type of poverty exists, have their own ways of dealing with their fellow humans. At first I thought that the people of Delhi were cold hearted and selfish to be able to ignore the blatant struggles of people on the streets. I felt nauseated at the sight of two tiny children sleeping on a pile of dirt, naked to the world, on a street corner of Vasant Kunj. I always brought food for the begging children on the corners who approached our car. It was hard for me to walk by deformed bodies groaning on the sidewalk. But, a few weeks into it, I am able to avert my eyes, continue a conversation, or push the sights out of my mind. It terrifies me. If I am capable of this, someone who I consider to be pretty socially conscious person, then no wonder the wealthy, the governments, the world, are able to go on existing while humans exist in utterly unfathomable conditions. I wonder where all those people are right now. It's nighttime, its raining outside, and there are innumerable mosquitos and disease carrying pests overloading the humid outdoors. How do these people survive? The answer is not all of them do. But the ones that do, that wake up every morning and make a drawing or a bundle of roses in order to earn enough charity to be able to eat, how do they manage to accept that the world has turned its back on them. I work in the slums, where there is extreme poverty, but the fact of the matter is that the street people have it worse. They do not even have single room homes to get out of the elements. They rely on the traffic and shoppers to help them obtain the most basic needs of a human being. And If I have learned to ignore them in one month, what are their chances of success, begging from people who have spent their lives around this type of poverty?
This is one of the hardest things I have learned in India, about the country, but about myself and my humanity.

Taj Mahal

On Saturday morning we rolled out of bed and into the only available rickshaw at 6am. We went to Ross and Kerrys new place, called the Anchorage Hotel. There we met the driver who Ross had arranged. We piled into the minivan and settled into our seats. I arranged my neck pillow, put on my headphones and eye mask, and slept for the first two hours.
I woke up surrounded by monkeys. The driver had pulled over to get a pass to enter the next state. Clearly this stopping point was well known to vendors and street performers. On our left were a number of men with light brown monkeys wearing collars. We all made the mistake of gawking and pointing at the monkeys, causing the men to approach the car. Monkeys jumped on the car and clung to the windows. The men gestured "picture" but would clearly ask for money afterwards. By now we were wondering if the driver was coming back, or if he received commission from these men for bringing tourists. After about 15 minutes, by which time the car was getting hot, he returned and we continued our journey to agra. The driver then casually told us that we would have a free guide at the Taj Mahal. We were skeptical at first but double checked that there was -no cost-and he repeated -no cost-. Just to be sure, Ross called the office where he booked the driver. There was no guide included. We now realized this driver was one of the usual scammers, even though we had used a travel company recommended by the Lonely Planet. Later in the day he took us to a restaurant, which we had not asked to go to, and nearly parked at a crafts store, which we also did not ask about and had to emphasize that we did not want to shop at.
We drove into Agra and the city was rather run down. We passed a grungy motel boasting the "best views of the taj mahal' although the palace was nowhere in site. We were eagerly anticipating the view, but first encountered Agra Fort.

Red Fort, Lal Qil'ah

The Red Fort and the city of Shahjahanabad were constructed by the Emperor Shah Jahan in 1639.








The Red Fort was the palace for Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan's new capital, Shahjahanabad, the seventh Muslim city in the Delhi site.


The art work in the Fort is a synthesis of Persian, European and Indian art which resulted in the development of unique Shahjahani style which is very rich in form, expression and color.



At one point in time, more than 3,000 people lived within the premises of the Delhi Fort complex. But after the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857, the fort was captured by Britain and the residential palaces destroyed. It was made the headquarters of the British Indian Army.

Rajghat, Gandhi's resting place

This was a very peaceful setting. We again removed our shoes to enter. It is a very simple square area with an eternal flame in the center. It was surprisingly empty, but the simplicity was fitting with his character. It would have seemed contradictory to have an elaborate and fancy tribute to the memory of such an unassuming person.

Gurdwara Bagla Sahib

On Saturday Devin went off to Amristar with a friend, and Nick, Madeleine, Amar and I rolled out of bed and into the car. Asha had given us one of their drivers for the day to go to the sites around old delhi.

We started out at the Gurdwara Bangla Sahib. It is a Sikh shrine dediated to Guru Harkrishan Sahib. We were fortunate to have a guide included, since Amar is sikh. Sikhism is the fifth largest religion in the world. It originated in Northern India, in Punjab. It is well known for rejecting the caste system of Hinduism. It is a fascinating religion and I look forward to learning more about it while I am here.

We removed our shoes and covered our heads, then washed our hands and feet before entering the shrine. There we bowed, touching our heads to the floor, to the Guru Garant Sahib , the holy book of the religion, known as the living guru. Sikhism has ten gurus and this is technically the eleventh.





Next we received blessed marigolds. After exiting the temple we received a handful of blessed food. We then entered the adjacent water and rinsed for its healing powers. It was a very peaceful and spiritual experience.