June 10, first day in the Slums

Tuesday, June 10.
WOW. what an exhausting day.
Today I saw the real India. I saw the paradoxes which the country is famous for. I saw the worst poverty I have ever seen in my life, some of the worst in the world. I also saw modern New Delhi, tall buildings and fancy shopping centers. I saw middle class marketplaces and the construction of the Metro. I ate my first Indian food in India and had my first taste of Indian coffee.
I started off the day waking up at 3am, finally falling back to sleep and waking up after a bad dream at 7:58, two minutes before my alarm went off. I was in a foul mood after dreaming of my ex writing a love letter to his new girlfriend, and then finding out that the city I was living in was famous for animal sacrifices. After being single for two years with hardly anything remotely serious, and having been a vegetarian since age four, this dream was enough to put me in a rough place to begin my second day in India. My air conditioning hadn't worked due to a blown fuse so i relished stepping into a cold shower. As the water turned hot as it ran off my body, I tried to talk myself out of the bad mood. All of a sudden, I heard the voice of a woman singing passionately in Hindi. I wasn't sure if it was a tape or a neighbor but either way, the vibrating tones of music eradicated my frustration. I stepped out of the shower refreshed and put on my new turquoise salwar kamiz. After locking my computer into the drawer as advised, just in case the sweet housekeeper was tempted, I lathered on the sunblock, took my malayria pill and headed to the office.
After being bored at the ASHA office for several hours, I was finally called to meet with Dr. Martin. She was an intimidating presence at her large desk in a pink office with two large frames hung behind her. One was her medical certificate and the other a photograph of her receiving one of the most prestigious awards a civilian could be presented with from the president of India. I had pointed out to Paul, who by this time I was forming a slight crush on, that I had been trained in adolescent social development more than the tuberculosis they had assigned me to. I did mention this to Dr. Martin, but she dismissed it politely but firmly explaining that I came here to learn new things and therefore would be enriched by learning about TB. She showed Anurag (my Delhi counterpart) and I the survey we would be asking to each and every person of the slum Zakhira. She then picked up the phone, pressed a button, said a word, and Dr. Krishna appeared in the office to discuss the English Literacy program. It was made clear that I was expected to have lesson plans prepared for my classes to take place the next day, despite the fact that I had zero resources and had not even set foot in a slum. I smiled and accepted the plan outlined for me in spite of my disappointment at being able to learn anything about what I studied, since I had chosen to study it because I was interested in the topic.
The afternoon however, was soon to shock me into a state where what I preferred did not matter, and whatever was needed took immediate priority. First I shared an onion paratha with my new comrades at Asha. Then Anurag and I hopped in with a driver and headed towards one of the poorest and newly acquired slums of the Asha Project. I took snapshot after snapshot out of the jeep window as we cruised through the insane traffic, avoiding rickshaws, people, cows and buses.
After half an hour of driving and chatting with Anurag about various topics in India such as oil prices and unemployment rates, we arrived at W85, Zakhira. We were lead into a four-room building and immediately presented with an exquisite necklace of bright orange flowers and showered with petals. Twelve children of different skin tones and ages introduced themselves and explained their job as part of the Bhal Mandal. This childrens group gave each youth, aged 10-16 a particular responsibility of knowing a certain area, the people living there and any health complications they were suffering from. The Asha staff member explained the DOTS progam for Tuberculosis in Hindi as Anurag translated for me. I was awed by how charismatic and confident the children seemed as they pelted us with questions about our families and if we liked Zakhira. I wished so badly that I could understand the language, but did a descent job of communicating through body language, namely plastering my face with a constant smile. All of the girls had nose piercings on the left side, a tradition which represented beauty, and they were dressed in colorful salwar kamiz. The boys were wearing ironed button down shirts and black slacks despite the heat. The center was small but inviting especially because of the amiable murals painted on the walls. After this introduction to the students I would be working with, we jumped back into the jeep, wiped a layer of sweat off of our faces and drove around the block to W88.
Have you seen those infomercials for the Christian Childrens Fund or a similar organization, that shows impoverished children and asks for a donation, but you're not quite sure where the money would go and not quite sure you want to believe that people actually live in those conditions? Well, it is real. We walked over garbage down a corridor and entered the slum. A paved ground strewn with goat and dog feces was split by a narrow lane full of stagnant water and litter. Houses of brick covered by corrugated tin with cloth in the doorways were flanked by puddles of mud and garbage. We were introduced to an older woman, and after giving the appropriate nod and bow with hands placed together in prayer postiion with a Namaste uttered in respect, she told us about her life. Through Anurag as interpreter I learned that she had lived here for thirty years. She explained that the slum used to be just on dirt ground and when the monsoons came entire homes would float away. Now she said many of the problems have been solved because they have water (though right now it was not working....and appeared to have been broken for awhile). She was the president of the Mahila Mandal and was proud that now the women communicated and worked together since they used to never speak to one another. We were ushered into her house after reluctantly removing our shoes at the doorway. it consisted of one room with two cots placed side by side. Pictures of Hindi gods and goddeses lined the walls and a single fan blasted hot air around the cement walled area. She told us that she had two sons and two daughters. The sons had been studying but when their father died they had left school to find work. One of her daughters was married but they could not afford dowry for the second right now.
We walked through the muddy, litter filled lane to another area of homes. We were introduced to a few more women who told their positions in the womans group and praised Asha for their help. As we were listening flies buzzed around our faces. Probably one of the biggest challenges I have had to face was learning to keep a smile on my face as a fly landed on my nose and restrain myself from flicking it away lest I offend the native slum dwellers. Many half naked toddlers wandered through the mud toward us, never bothering to raise a hand to the flies swarming around them. The women scooped up the children, many of whom were caked in dirt, and never flinched when a fly landed on their cheek. We were taken turn by turn into the homes of the women of the Mahila Mandal. We removed our shoes at the doorway and entered one room homes where a single chair was brought for our convenience. Sometimes sleeping women or children were ushered out of our way as a blanket was spread on the cement floor for our comfort. The homes were usually unfurnished but well decorated. They were kept neat with vibrantly colored saris folded in the corner, pots and pans sitting off to one side, and in one of the smallest homes, a tv showed a cricket match. As we walked among the homes, goats wandered around, and young children carried their baby brothers and sisters in a big procession surrounding us. We met a ten year old girl who had suffered from tuberculosis but was cured by ASHA. We met an older man who had contracted TB three times. He sat among a pile of small yellow and blue boxes, and was filling them with ten bobby pins each. Naked babies sat on the ground while their mothers sorted small pieces of metal to sell. The smell of dung and dirt filled the air. We met a woman who had six children and explained that while she was pregnant with the last one, her husband told her that if it was a girl he was kicking her out, but fortunately it was a boy and she was allowed to stay. Coy children came up and whispered namaste before scurrying away down the lanes. I was smiling throughout the entire experience, wishing I could communicate. A woman dressed immaculately in a lime green sari handed me her adorable six month old baby who looked intently up at me with large brown eyes. She then began to cry and was passed among several women who all took turns cooing at and cradling her until she was all smiles. Finally we waved and bowed goodbye and thanks and got back into the jeep.
I wasn't sure if I was going to pass out or vomit. I could attribute it to the heat and dehydration but I know it was not only physical suffering I was feeling. The psychological shock of seeing this extreme of poverty was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Part of me felt like bursting into tears but most of me was numbed by the sheer assault of reality. Images of giggling toddlers with dirt smears on their faces playing with the garbage in the pools of water stuck in my mind. The astonishment at how the women who had kohl etched around their eyes, intensifying their look, with bindis on their foreheads and red powder smeared on their parts, dressed in immaculate clothing of pinks and blues and greens, ushering us, total strangers, into their homes and calmly explaining their histories will always stay with me. I felt nauseated at the thought of my own lifestyle at home and the complaints of anyone in any class living in the United States. This poverty was truly brutal. The feeling of accepting flies on my face while smiling at these proud women and their children, dressed in scraps of clothing gleefully poking at feces, was one which made my stomach flip and my heart wrench.
The ride home was in silence. Anurag grew up in Delhi and had never visited a slum. I have been to the poorest country in Central America and never saw anything like this. The thought that I would be working there for the next six weeks was one which made half of me want to catch the next flight home, and the other half consider that I would make this my life's work. I simply could not connect my world in the Northeastern United States, with electricity and houses, unlimited water and upscale parties, with this slum in New Delhi, India. Part of me was outraged at everyone I knew because they were not here, seeing this other world with me and realizing they needed to make a difference. Part of me was also envious of their ignorance and ability to reject this world which they would never encounter. But most of all I was grateful. I appreciated every single aspect of my life at home, but I also appreciated my willingness and ability to visit this place of absolute poverty and greet strangers with a prayer and a smile.


I returned to the apartment, looking forward to a long cold shower and a nap. I ended up talking to my roomates, trying to dissect and decompress from my day. Soon Freddy, our Asha correspondent, a funny and intelligent man, stopped by to try to hook my computer up to the internet and fix my air conditioning. The internet to the whole apartment turned out to be down, so he invited us cheerfully for some coffee. The coffee turned into a marketplace which turned into a visit to Connaught Place to meet up with my cousin who was in Delhi for one more day. My roomate was a trooper and came with me because 9pm was too late to be out on ones own. We talked a lot about our countries and our experience so far in India while we waited for my cousin and her friends to show up, since none of us had cell phones. We luckily found them and spent a couple hours cheerfully chatting and exchanging experiences and opinions in a coffee shop. My roomate and I then caught an auto-rickshaw home and after getting briefly lost, entered the apartment at last, turned on the air conditioning, and passed out.