South India

Another week has gone by in Mumbai. Too much of this hectic city can drive any person insane. Sitting in noisy, fumigated traffic everyday for 3 hours. Eating lunch in a swarm of flies. The heat. The smell of the open latrines and rubbish in the slums. This ‘hardship’ evaporates with the glowing smiles on the faces of the children.

We set off to Solapur this week, returning back to Mumbai in 3 weeks to carry on with the projects at the dumping site and sewage plant. It is really hard to say good-bye after becoming so attached to the children, but we will return.

This week has been even better than the last because the children become accustomed to you and your way of teaching. Their increasing confidence means they answer more questions correctly. With math’s, simple exercises such as sequences and completing basic sums have taught them how to think independently without using learned memory. It is such a rewarding feeling. As my friend Emma Parnis England said, “Don't you find that one smile on a kid’s face aids perseverance more than any paycheck ever could? Its weird...” But true, Em!

I had the opportunity to get to know what slum life is like as I walked around a slum with one of the supervisors. I noticed that life was similar to any other suburb in the world. You have your shops throughout the area that sell everything from tea, bread, vegetables, tobacco to mobile phones and clothes. And Vodafone and Pepsi brand images are projected everywhere, just like everywhere else.

The difference is the order of their community. There are no real laws and space is everything. Compared to the West, space is not used on the basis of legal ownership. It is unclear who has rights over which piece of land and even in what ways it is socially acceptable to use that space.

It is amazing to find a man peacefully sleeping in rubble beside a makeshift tarpaulin shop by a motorway. The unofficial law, which determines the use of space, can also be in the way the mafia effect the lives of children in the slums. The children seemed to be more scared of the older boys
overseeing their rag picking than their teachers or parents. This type of unwritten law can have a more adverse effect on children than even the law of the state. I could sense the sinister undertones of these boys’ relationships as they lurked outside the schools slicking back their hair and flashing their brand new mobile phones.

One of my friends here on the programme told a touching story after one of his lessons with the children. He kindly shares it with us below.

Nik Adhia – Dharavi Moment

I sat there with the children and saw so much potential in these kids. Little did I know that this one moment on the last day would change my life, my outlook, my perspective, my whole way of thinking. I had decided to give Anil and Mahesh (who could speak English) two jackets; a yellow jacket to Anil as he wore a lot of shirts, and a black biker jacket to Mahesh as he was about to embark on a journey to college.

The other children didn’t have anything as I only had two items of clothing to give away. These children live in very impoverished conditions, simply but gracefully. But they appreciate life. I asked what they would like for a present as a departing gift. After about fifteen minutes, one boy reluctantly mentioned a robot. I was quite taken back that people had not asked for anything. I had been talking about the Swadhyay movement and the principles of Pandurang Shahstri Athavale (Dadaji) and the principles of equality and not taking anything for free and how I saw them as a brother as they shared the same blood as me as the same god residing in me as it is in them. They understood the workings of dadaji and took his principles and implemented them by themselves from their own humble nature as can be seen below.

I asked Mahesh why he did not want anything. He said that if I was spending my own money he did not want to waste ‘Nikhil Sir’ money.
I was quite emotional at this point. He continued. He said that he was happy with his life, as were all the kids. He said that they had families and they were alive; they were having an education; they had food and that was enough. They said that instead of 100 rupees, they much preferred my time. My time to them, they said, was more important than what money could ever achieve. The fact that I saw them as an equal and the fact that they saw me as a brother to them meant that no money could replace such a bond.

We then discussed the future. These children had so many ambitions to become doctors, engineers, computer engineers, scientists, artists and they did not want to be like the older boys involved in fights, smoking and drug related gangs. They were intrigued and inquisitive as to the approaches to get to such careers. A boy Yohan who drew me a picture of him in the navy and gave it to me. They wanted to learn. They were enthusiastic. They were passionate. But they wanted more than the life they were given. And why? Not for money but to ‘help my mum and dad and family who have given me so much. I want them to be happy for the sacrifices they have made’.

I truly saw the god in these children today – I saw Dadaji’s vision and I saw the principles I have grown up with embedded into the nature of these children.

It was beautiful. I was quite taken back by this moment – a moment that I know has impacted on me greatly.

I have come to realize that the real heroes are the teachers who devote all their time to help these children. A teacher works morning till afternoon everyday for around $30 a month. One girl aged 19,
teaches from 7am till 2pm then heads off to university in the evening. She has lived her whole life in the slum. I admire her so much. Her devotion to the children, her hard work and determination to fulfill her dream - to get out of the slums and take her whole family with her. Given all the hardships she endures, she still manages to keep a beaming smile that fills her entire face.

We end every lesson with a game of cricket at the dumping site. With threats of a tsunami and some of the worst rain in years, our last game last Friday looked unlikely. The children, however, insisted that we play. And we did. It was the most amazing game I’ve ever played in my life. We played, as usual, children and older slum dwellers, with a spirit that could be felt by everyone watching. In a way, the rain washed away everyone’s troubles. It cleansed body and soul, and gave us the strength to play harder. The hardships, the poverty, the problems, the smell - all forgotten - the only focus was the game. What an exhilarating feeling.

I did not know that it is improper to hug women in India. Filled with the happiness from the experience, I went round hugging everyone in sight. It was quite embarrassing when everyone started laughing.

Anyway I’ll see them soon.

The Eunuchs

The group's dynamics has had a major impact on my experience in India. It might be interesting for you to hear about the kind of people I've been travelling with. Let me introduce them.

First there's Tom, my closest friend in the group. He's a tall, muscular, white, blue eyed, English, rugby player that has a creative aptitude for making something out of nothing. He once floated 8 people down a canal that ran through my university campus by building a raft out of a copious amount of 15litre water bottles and cling film. He seems to be the chosen representative for the group, the leader who voices the consensus to the charity. His stature gives him automatic respect, especially from the Indians, most of whom never saw anyone so big. We work like a tag team in a wrestling ring. We are in it together for the same reasons: to get the most out of this experience and to make the biggest difference we can, even if it is in the smallest way.

Then there’s Amrish and Nickil. Indian, by origin, from the state of Gujarat. Brought up in London, they’ve been best friends most of their lives. The two are inseparable, almost one and the same yet they differ in various ways. Amrish is a graduate in Maths from Kings College. He is fixated with his looks, protein powder and diet pills – an extreme case of vanity. At first you’d think that he’s pretty shallow until you find yourself laughing at him every other minute. You can catch him staring at himself every chance he gets: in a mirror, in a window reflection, in his photo, literally anywhere. It would make you sick if it wasn’t so amusing. He’s a selfless person who you can laugh at and he won’t take offence. The reason he’s so vain is because he has just lost 20 kilos of weight after intensive gym training and dieting. It’s as though he has found a new body. He loves it and he doesn’t care what anyone thinks. He was pretty arrogant before he found his new body. As he recalls, ‘he always felt sexy’. Unhealthy pride, high levels of testosterone and overconfidence from Amrish have caused quite a few clashes within the group. He is the life and soul of the party, yet too much of him gets to you eventually. This is where Nickil comes in. He neutralizes Amrish’s excessiveness. Nickil is a finance graduate from City University. He’s a quiet, pleasant guy with nothing to prove.

It takes 8 hours on the train from Mumbai to Solapur, a small city lying on the southern border of the Maharashtra state. Like Mumbai, it is cramped and full of people. 1 million live in a 25-mile radius, roughly the size of Malta. The roads are congested. The red stains of chewed tobacco lie everywhere. Unlike Mumbai, people walk slowly and look like they haven’t got a care in the world.  Two old women, dressed in colorful saris  share a story as they walk in the way of speeding motorbikes, auto rickshaws and trucks as though they are blind to their surroundings. I cringe as a truck almost hits them. They carry on regardless of the danger. Cows sleep all everywhere - in the middle of the road seems to be their preferred spot. 

Our accommodation is a step up from the relatively costly flat in Mumbai and comes equipped with bicycles, a drive through, 2 puppies, a playground and a big school right in our back garden.

Faces look different here in Solapur. It’s a different culture altogether within this huge sub-continent. The people are considered southern Indian. They stare at us everywhere we go, unlike in the metro city of Mumbai. They gaze at us in wonder - like a baby mesmerized by a twinkle song - especially when walking around with Tom. ‘Kider Se?’, an old cha-cha asks me. ‘Where are you from?’ I always begin by saying that I’m from Malta, followed by an explanation of where it is on the map. It’s time consuming when you consider how many people we meet. So to make things easier, I just say ‘Italy’.

Our first visit was to the school in our garden. We were introduced to the Principal, a stern lady who commands her way with intimidating confidence in her looks.  She heads 1,364 students divided into 20 different classes, all of them well-disciplined and well-mannered. This school in Solapur is an organized and efficient teaching centre compared to the slums. It was like moving job from a wandering, laid-back Sicilian supplier to a stringent, efficient, German manufacturer. Equipped with an art room, science lab, volley ball court, and a computer room with a photocopier, I wonder what how kids like Gulfam would perform in this well-oiled machine. To give you an idea, the kids in this school study a high-level computer programming course called C++. In Europe, students start this level of training at 18, whereas students here are mastering this program at 16. No wonder India has a comparative advantage in Information Technology, churning out the more computer scientists than anywhere else in the world.

Besides the school, we also visited a teaching centre in the rural slums. We visited hospitals, tree nurseries, HIV centres and water harvesting programmes to see the diverse charity work of the Hindustan Covenant Church, the local partner of the HOPE 4 Children charity.

Later, we had a meeting with 2 eunuchs, also known as castratos, or what the ancient Karma Sutra refers to as the third sex – men born with female features. A eunuch is a strange and eerie human being with a sad and lonely aura surrounding them - the feeling of not being loved – the saddest feeling in the world. We take love for granted. Stripped of it, we have little meaning in our lives. Eunuchs are known as Hijras in India. They have a proud and prominent history here. They were employed by princely rulers as servants for female royalty, enjoying a high status position in Indian society. Yet today they are thrown out of their families, shunned by society like a leaper or a retard in Nazi Germany. There were two of them. One looked like an ordinary old woman. It was the other one who struck me. His name is Zeenat. You could tell that he had been through a lot, battered and bruised with scars on his face, toughened up by the world like a rough foot after years of climbing. He had fire in his eyes and held his head high, like he had something to prove to us. He was out to take vengeance and do justice for his kind as though he was the King Eunuch. His build was manly but his features feminine. He had long black hair that was pulled back severely and tied in a long plait that reached down to his waist. He had no eyebrows but very thick eyelashes, high cheek bones, broad shoulders, red lipstick and a red matching sari which created a hellish look that brought out the fire in his eyes. Our guide translated his life story – one of hardship and hate. He was thrown out of his family at the age of 7. He was stoned and beaten for the way he looked. He was forced to hide and made a living on the black market in India, doing what I wasn’t sure, but I could only imagine that it wasn't your average evening job. He made energetic gestures with his hands and creepy, ultra long fingers that were synchronized with a passionate tone in the way he spoke. You could treat yourself by just imagining what he had been through. Every movement mesmerized and intrigued us; every word the translator spoke resonated in our minds, almost like Hitler speaking at one of his rallies. I honestly couldn't tell if he was acting or not. It all seemed so unreal somehow. All of a sudden, he ended the story and silence filled the room. He wanted to show us something. He got up quickly and, looked around the room, looking closely into our eyes. Without a word, you could tell what he was saying ‘this is how I made my livelihood, this is what I love’. He began to dance. He broke into soft twirling shapes with his henna-stained hands that hypnotized us. He danced with every inch of his body to the psychotic sound of the sitar. It was like being in a dream. He jumped through the air and landed swiftly on his feet, twisting and turning, showing off some spectacular moves. In those 3 minutes he won our hearts. Everyone wanted to join the eunuch’s projects. The lawyers and anthropologists of the group all jumped at the chance to be with this special person.

We visited a hospital in a remote area that took 1 hour by car. We met an inspirational doctor, educated at one of India's best medical schools. He spoke a precise well-rounded version of the English language, which reminded me of the type of English I used to hear at Ampleforth. You could tell that he came from a good Indian family, one that could afford to educate him at a top Indian post-colonial school, maybe the Indian equivalent to Eton. I wandered what this man could be doing here. He couldn’t be earning much - his resources only allow him to perform minor tasks. Why isn't he a plastic surgeon in LA??? He was one of the most honorable, modest men I have ever met, one whose happiness comes from an unselfish desire to help others. He has no need for recognition, no desire for money or the life of a rich cosmopolitan Indian doctor - just the well-being of his fellow Indians.  He made me think about self-righteousness and how pathetic it was. I pitied the poor. The more poverty I saw, the more I wanted to do something in my life that would help them. I just wanted to change things. The more I understand this country the more I realize that things will not change, or at least not just yet. Hopefully in the future India will have enough wealth and power to help its people. For now you just have to accept things could be worse and lend these people your hands, your heart and your mind. We saw people in their dorm rooms, suffering painfully on their beds. Skinny and blistered, most patients have been diagnosed with HIV. The doctor’s inspiration gave me the strength to break free of fear - a pathetic little fear in the back of my mind that these people could infect me. It was a powerful overriding feeling that drove me to approach them, touch them, hug them and give them my heart. Just a little smile can make a world of difference to these people.

India is a powerful place with such heart. Since I left Malta, India has changed me, or I feel it has. Little experiences like this all add up. They make me feel happy that, even in all this hardship, there is hope; a hope that stems from so little that you would believe it to be a false hope. But it is not a false hope. Or, at least, I don’t think it is. Because as long as that hope puts a smile on a dying person’s face and makes his life that little bit better, it is hope nevertheless. It has inspired me so much. I encourage you all to experience this and let it be the same for you.

Football and slums

I do apologize for taking so long to continue my blog. Now that I have finished my travels around India, and settled down in Bangalore, I promise to write more often. The story shall be told!!!

In the last part of blog three I spoke about the group dynamics, the meeting with the Eunuchs and the visit to the hospital in Solapur...I'll continue from there: 

Our house in Solapur was a 100-year old building, dusty and tattered, yet charming. The group grew closer, the dynamics changed; we felt more comfortable in expressing our nature.

Two other protagonists in the group are Eesha and Lucy. I would describe them as a parallel couple to Amrish and Nickil, the Macho Mathematician and the Laid Back Banker. We have often said that they mirror each other in the opposite sex (this makes Amrish tick when blood is thinned with paracetamol and nerves are wrecked with caffeine).

Lucy, I would place in Amrish’s reflection. She is a smart yet hyper-talkative girl from the forest of Dean outside Bristol. She is studying Anthropology at the London School of Economics. She submerges her studies in to her life and can be seen analysing people all the time. This can be quite awful whilst, at the same time, interesting. It’s living life with anthropological definitions that follow every social interaction, on the go.

For this reason I call her Freud. She is constantly looking into Amrish’s ‘self’, a complex array of narcissism, aggression and macho. A man starved by vanity, he stared so long into his reflection and forgot to eat. She also fancies him, which has created a lot of excitement and tension amongst them and the group. They are both louder than each other - it’s almost like a competition. We all watch them. Their drama is infectious, just like a soap opera. Sometimes I wonder if it’s real - and - can I lower the volume! But, in the end, who can resist a laugh and a juicy bit of gossip to follow.

When Nickil looks into the mirror, Eesha is cast in his reflection. She is Lucy’s best friend from university also reading anthropology, yet she keeps her insights to herself. She is easy-going, just like Nickil.

Now this is where the drama starts: Amrish fancies Eesha. Lucy fancies Amrish. Lucy and Eesha are best friends. It’s almost like a syllogism for predicting what comes next. Arguments, egos AND FORGETTING THE POINT OF CHARITY. It is important to note that most groups doing this kind of work together naturally create a complex relationship between them. It is one of the many challenges of working in a large group responsible for the education of the poor. To overcome this pettiness was one of our group’s challenges - a great learning experience. To work effectively as a team means success.

The HCC Resource Centre

We drove in an SUV across the border to Gulbarga, a small city on the northern tip of the Karnataka state. Entering a new state for the first time was almost like entering a new country. Maybe I imagined it but the flora and fauna seemed different, the colours were darker, the sun was brighter, the people were darker and the soil a richer red.

We arrived at the school greeted by a large ‘welcome’ sign on the ground and children who gifted us with colourful garlands that were placed around our necks.

The school was called the HCC Resource Centre, even though it had little resources and more than 200 children. It was a small run down building with a small rocky field used as an excuse for playground. It was more depressing than the back garden of my east end flat.

The cross-wire relationship sparked a tension within the group and frustration followed. The majority of the group didn’t like this new place. They wanted to head back to Solapur where they felt they were of more use. They felt they were actually making a difference and were moved only because of the organisation’s programme. They reluctantly packed up their projects with the eunuchs and hospital and went work back in Solapur. The frustration caused them to see no point in attending so small a school. Hardly any impact could be made here. That was the general feeling upon arrival.

That was our cue. So Tom (my English friend) and I decided to disappear for a while to quietly pursue our own quest. So while the others left, it was Tom and I in Gulbarga. The charity is reasonably flexible and allowed us to create projects for the children. We joined a school in Gulbarga run by a middle aged women with the kindest face I’ve ever seen. She had a smooth round face almost like a peach, with dimpled cheeks and a modest smile that gave her the look of indifference to any situation. Her soft light brown eyes sat in two comforting grey bags that showed the mark of stress that the school had placed on her over the years. Yet she seemed to handle it with such dignity - with an aura of kindness and indifference. You couldn’t help but gaze curiously into those soft eyes every time you looked at her. We were told to address her as Madame. As soon as we met her we knew we wanted to stay.

This playground was empty, barren. It could almost be described as a children’s wasteland. It had no sports facilities, no life, no colour and a bad smell. Together, we had a vision; in the next week we would turn that place into an extravagant version of Michael Jackson’s (RIP) ‘Never land’. Mrs. Madame was happy with our idea and gave us a generous budget of 3,000 Rupees (40 Euros).

Together with Tom and his creative genius, we brought some brilliant ideas to the table - a bunch of different ways in which we could help improve the school. Creativity is the progress of humanity. (I mean really great ideas, Tom. Much more useful ideas than floating on those plastic bottles down a canal.) Now we know what an A-Level in Art can be good for.

Tom drew up plans on a scrappy piece of paper for the construction of 2 goal posts, a volleyball net, a swing ball, a see-saw, some inspirational quotes across the play ground, and colour to jazz the place up. You’re probably thinking: no way did they manage all that in a week – and you’re right. We were slightly over-ambitious. We managed, instead, to paint the quotes and theme the playground with the colours of India’s flag. We also realised that we were on a very tight budget and only managed to construct the goal posts out of bamboo.

But we did one thing that we are most proud of. We brought a new life to the school. We started HCC Resource Centre’s first-ever sports team - not a cricket team, but a football team. And they loved it.

After a few tournaments of football we were scheduled to pay a visit to a poor village in just outside Gulbarga, a small slum area. Being remote and far away unlike the slums in Mumbai, they had hardly seen foreigners before. My expectations were similar to those of the slums in Mumbai, the ones I had grown accustomed to, a place where I almost felt comfortable. How wrong I was.

It was a profoundly frightening place, a terrible shock to my comfortable self. The faces of deprivation on the children are images I will never forget. The children were horribly malnourished, almost deformed, like they had been exposed to some form of toxic radiation and weren’t allowed to develop into the handsome children they could have been, like the ones we had seen in other slum areas or rural villages. Oversized foreheads, crooked eyes, rotten yellow sharp teeth and compressed faces. It’s an awful thing to say but it was like looking at children in warped mirror of a haunted house. A distorted, unnatural image of the children they should have been. Such a sad sight.

As we stepped out of the van the children roared with frightful excitement. They jumped on us, grabbed us, scratched us, and pinched us. It felt almost sadistic, malicious, as if they gained pleasure from it. Like dogs in a pack, mauling a youngster, unaware of its traumatic effect.

It got too much and after some time we had to leave. They ran after the van for around five minutes as it left the area. Poor kids, it was like a nightmare, a bad dream. We later found out that the village was actually built on a toxic waste site. It made me wonder how lucky I was to be raised in such a lovely old town house. Imagine living on a toxic land, having no options to move because you don’t know better. You probably could not afford to, either. How lucky we are.

The next morning we woke up to the sight of children marching to the sound of beating drums. Just like an army discipline, a factory churning out little Indian soldiers. The majority under the age of 10, they marched in a perfectly straight line, every fourth notation precisely produced two little steps. They were on a mission…to drive India’s future and live its legacy. The pounding base roared spirit in their hearts. The form and consistency of their synchronised steps created a logical rhythm. Mathematical minds for future engineers. I wondered what children were doing in China. No wonder these two country’s are the real super powers in this world. They have something the other countries lack - discipline and critical mass.

The thoughts and sounds resonated in my mind for the rest of the day.

As our time in Gulbarga passed, we grew closer to the children, the school and the Madame with the kind face. We’d dine at her house in the evenings and talked about English curries, Indians and white skin and other topics of cultural difference - like two aliens making intellectual exchanges.

We also did a lot of coaching and played small matches during break time and while the bamboo goal posts were under construction. Our last game was a sad one as the kids begged us not to go. They loved the footie but we were due back to Solapur to finish off our tree planting before heading back to Mumbai. Two children who we grew particularly close to were called Stephen and Tofik. A funny pair. Like Lawrence and Hardy or Tom and Jerry, Stephen was the sharp minded, quick-tongued charmer who’d work his way into and out of any situation. Tofik was a tall, handsome, majestic youngster with a sporty build and the number one player in all our matches. Madame, if you are reading this, for their sake, please carry on the football games with our set up for goals and gentlemen points.