"India (summer)" via ACM in Google Reader

GO IRISH!

2011-08-05T09:52:12Z

FIGHTING - for Farmers in Rural India

Posing with Kate, my classmate, and Ram, the dedicated NGO worker stationed in Chilati.

Enough said for the day.

Trick or Treat

2011-07-20T09:48:08Z

Ramram! (“Hello!” in Korku)

My stomach was incredibly upset the last two days. I probably went to the bathroom more than I should have during my three week stay during those two days. It was terrible. I had to wake up 5 times one night to use the outhouse. I felt really bad because I had to pass by Ram, a Maitri worker, every time I had to use the bathroom, and he woke up all those times.

Anyway, I’m feeling better now. This week, I’ve been getting very robust and interesting information. Thus, I made extra effort today to get online and share some of my ongoing research data in the Chilati village with all of my readers. Hopefully I can get some pointers and constructive criticism from you guys. If you don’t want to, it’s fine. But I know that this will be a treat to some of you.

A quick background on my research… I am trying to learn about the village economy, more specifically in terms of the villagers’ indebtedness. After having familiarized with the people last week, I am studying more about their livelihood, budget, etc., and hopefully get a little into their borrowing patterns by the end of this week. Then, next week, I plan to look into the structure and culture of their debt cycle, with hopes that my perspective will help Maitri develop future projects that will effectively disentangle suffering villagers from unintentional, and, at times, peer-inflicted debt. Also, hopefully we can also find ways to improve their living conditions in general through improving the productivity of their labor both by new techniques and helping them bridge the gap caused by unfavorable market structures. Mmm! That is what the joy of every businessperson should be—improving the lives of the oppressed; rerouting resources to their rightful places.

Anyway, please give me some comments or feedback if you think of anything. I may not be able to carry out certain advices to the full, since I only have a week left in Melghat with a limited number of interpreters, but I will definitely appreciate more perspectives on this data and suggestions on where to look.

I guess, in a sense, my data are stories. So, here are the stories of two males, one from the Lohar tribe of the blacksmiths, and one from the Korku tribe.

“
At the meeting:
Jirunjilal & Sanju
Some other men

Lohar
Chilati
7/18/11
7/20/11

About the Smiths
Jirunjilal was sharpening someone’s axe for 15 rupees when Mohan (an interpreter) and I came to visit. To make an axe from scratch, he needs to use about 1.5-1.75 kg of metal and charges about 400 rupees. He buys raw metal sticks from the weekly market in the Hathru village for 40 rupees per kilo. For plowlocks, he charges 20-30 rupees to make a new one and charges about 10 rupees for repairs. He uses soot from firewood for fuel. He also seems to make scythes and other tools, but I have not been able to get information about them. Costs go into his anvil, fan, and tools. His 12 kg anvil cost around 2300 rupees, but he does not need to replace it. His tools are typically 30-50 rupees a piece. He had around 5 when I visited. I did not find out how much his hand fan cost, nor the cooking oil he uses to lubricate it.
Smiths in general only have work during plowing season, from June to July. During non-plow seasons, smiths find work in towns like Parathwara to do labor work, usually 15-30 days at a time, 3-4 times a year. The rest of the year is too hot to work.

There is also a market for metal tools in Paratwada, a town down the mountain, which takes about 4 hours by bus to get to. The smiths who sell their goods there are also Lohars, but from another area. However, the quality of the metal goods sold there are much poorer than the ones they make here in Chilati. Still, the Lohars here cannot enter the market because their production rate is lower than that of the Lohars that sell in Paratwada. Sanju claims that this is because the women here do not do the smith work with the men. Because of low production, they cannot meet the demand. This didn’t seem to be too much of a problem to me, but I’m guessing that the amount that they can make does not yield them enough profit after taking out transportation and lodging expenses in Paratwada than working in the villages. Someone should organize the Lohars here and provide an initial capital to cut those expenses.

Jirunjilal
A man looking to be about 60 (he might be younger; you can never really tell here), he has a family of 22; 3 brothers, their children, and their children’s children. Sanju is one of his sons. Collectively, the family owns 14 acres of land. He does not work any of them anymore. He has said, “It’s too late to plant now… It’s going to be a hard year.” More about this later…

Sanju
Sanju is Jirunjilal’s son and has a family of his own of 3, probably consisting of him, his wife, and a girl child who is about 18 months old. He does not own any land under his name, but he manages 2 acres of land. He does not work it, but he has others do it. It is unclear whether they are hired or not, but he says that he only gets what is necessary for his family. This is still unclear.
Typically, one acre of land will yield 200-300 kgs of soy beans on an average season with a fair amount of mishaps. They cannot grow wheat because they don’t have an adequate water source nearby. They also plant corn and jawar. They say that they eat the corn and jawar. It is unclear how much they need for the family and how much they sell. Soy beans, which don’t seem to be eaten in general, are sold for about 2200-2300 rupees per 100 kgs at the market in Paratwada. Corn and jawar are sold for 800-1000 rupees per 100 kgs.
This year, the rain came earlier than expected. He was not able to plant in time, so the soybeans will either be smaller than optimal or destroyed more easily. An early rain also means that he cannot apply pesticides and fertilizers, since pesticides will wash away and fertilizers will become to diluted and thus ineffective. Also, he was only able to plant on 1.5 acres of his land for now because the other .5 was submerged under water. He says that once he drains it, he will plant some other crop that grows more quickly. It is unclear what that crop is and whether it is sold or eaten. Also, the cows also ate some of his plants. I’m guessing that either he or somebody didn’t take them far enough into the jungle, or it wandered into the fields by itself when nobody was watching…
Typically, during plow season, he makes 250 rupees a day from his smith work. Labor work, which can happen throughout the year, earns him about 150-1,500 rupees per month, depending on the month and amount of work he can get. The best months for labor work are between October and February, near the time of the Diwali festival. Forest work is notorious because he is rarely paid on time. Sometimes, this forces him to borrow money on interest, which can sometimes double if he cannot pay back quickly.
Regarding loans, there are two kinds: Urgent and non-urgent. An urgent loan is taken out for 10% interest, probably not compounded, per month. A non-urgent loan is taken for 5% interest per month. It is unclear how the lender determines an urgent from a non-urgent loan, but typically, an urgent loan is about 1,000 rupees maximum, while a non-urgent loan is about 500 rupees maximum. Sanju says that he requires an urgent loan when there is a medical emergency, or when there is insufficient funds for running the household. A non-urgent loan is taken for no specific purpose, but generally when he wants the money and knows that he will have income soon enough. I’m going to guess that the lender is probably either Madu or Moti, whom I have not met yet. I know that Madu lends on a 10% loan.
”

“
At the meeting:
Madu Bithekar (~35, family of 5; 3 sons)
Shalikram Bithekar (12, Madu’s son)
Surajlal Bithekar (18, Madu’s nephew)
Rajmal Mavaskar (21; married and no children)
Mungilal Mavaskar (25; Rajmal’s bother; 1 daughter, 1 son)

Korku
Chilati
7/19/11

The Market System According to Madu
After the harvest, the village goes down to Paratwada together; not all together, however. They each carry however many 50 kg bags marked with their names that they have produced over the season. They produce wheat and soybeans as their main crops. Wheat is harvested in March, and Soybeans are produced in October. Thus, they go to the Paratwada market roughly twice a year. At the market, wheat typically sells for around 2,000 rupees per quintile (100 kgs). Soybeans sell for 2,000-2,500 rupees per quintile, depending on the quality of the beans.
To transport the produce and themselves, they must hire a truck and catch the bus, respectively. The truck is hired from villagers who own trucks; there are truck-owning villagers in Hathru (the son of one of the shop owners) and Simori (probably the son of the deputy forest officer). The trucks typically charge 40 rupees per every 50 kg bag. Each trip, a truck can carry around 70 bags. Thus, the truck needs to make several trips. If someone’s bags are being transported, he will take the bus from Hathru down to Paratwada. It costs 70 rupees per person to ride the bus. Once the farmer and his products are down in Paratwada, he must sell it at the market in an auction. There is always demand, but the law of supply and demand (mostly supply) is at play. See above for price range. The farmer usually needs to stay over night in Paratwada. He does so outside next to the market, guarding his products.

Living Requirements
This is the case for Madu’s household of 5 people. Generally, in a good year, an acre of land will produce about 500 kgs of wheat or soybeans. Madu owns two acres. So a best case scenario would mean that he would produce about 1,000 kgs of crops. Last year, however, he was only able to produce 500 kgs of soybeans and no wheat due to the lack of rain. In fact, too much rain can also harm crops; planting too early or too late can also affect production.
Housing is simple. He has a house of theek, bamboo, cowdung, and mud. The roof is made of special clay that is not found in the area. To build a house as big as his, one would need 10,000 rupees. This is not to buy materials, however; one would need this much money to bribe the forest officer so that one can take materials required from the forest. It is unclear how much one would need to buy the roofing clay. For repairs of walls and such, which happen about twice a year, one does not need to pay anything because a forest officer would turn a blind eye to villagers taking only the things from the forest which they can carry themselves.
Madu would usually keep about 600-700 kgs of wheat for his family to eat and replant, while only 50 kgs of soybeans for replanting (they don’t eat soybeans). A family of 5 usually requires about 2,000 rupees every month to buy supplementary food that they cannot produce, like vegetables, which require a lot of water (some villagers who have a well by their house can produce vegetables, such as Chotelal from Ruipathar). He first said that he saves about half of his income. When doing the math, this is quite interesting. Assume that he was able to produce 1,000 kgs of wheat from his March harvest, kept 600 kgs, and sold the remaining 400 for 2,000 rupees per quintile while spending 460 rupees for transportation; he was able to produce 1,000 kgs of soybeans in his October harvest, kept 50 kgs, and sold the remaining 950 kgs for 2,500 rupees per quintile, while spending 900 rupees for transportation; on that year, he has made a profit of 30,390 rupees from his two acres of land on a good year. If he spends about 2,000 a month on supplementary food (like vegetables, spices, and meat), he will have left about 6,390 rupees to save, assuming the he has spent nothing else, including clothing, farming tools, and other utensils. Thus, he probably usually saves less, assuming the figures he gave me make up the whole story.
Let’s take a bad year and see what that can mean for a farmer. Last year, for example, he has produced no wheat; he has produced 500 kgs of soybeans, kept 50 kgs, and sold 450 kgs for 2,000 rupees, assuming sub-optimal quality due to poor rain, while spending 460 on transportation; he has earned 8,540 rupees for the year. To buy supplementary food, he has to have spent 24,000, which means he lost 15,460 rupees. This figure is probably greater since he has not been able to plant any wheat to sell or eat. Assuming his market price, this may have amounted to at least 12,000 rupees, if his family ate 600 kgs, bringing his deficit up to 27,460 rupees. A saving may have come in handy. Even so, he would need at least 5 good years without any side spending (including clothes, tools, utensils) to cover that much deficit. But this also shows how hard a bad year can hit a farmer.

Chandu and Ram, the full time Melghat Mitra/Maitri workers, say that Madu is a money lender. He gives out loans up to 2 lakhs (200,000 rupees) at a time, usually at a 10% per month interest, not compounded.

I’m sure Madu has had done something to be able to do that. It is hard to imagine that he has been able to save up much simply from his 2 acres, unless he has had very good luck for a long, long time…
”

This is a tidbit about the compensation system of the government for the work the villagers do on government projects in the forest.

“
Labor Work Compensation System

Hey all, Sorry for not updating for such a long time. Lots

2011-07-17T17:10:13Z

Hey all,
Sorry for not updating for such a long time. Lots happened since I last updated, but I don’t have much time on the computer to tell the full story. It is quite difficult to approach even the most basic technologies I used to take for granted here in Melghat. Last night, the power went out while we were having dinner. No big deal; we only get a few hours of electricity every day from our solar panel anyway.

Unfortunately, I won’t be able to show you any pictures until I go back to Pune since the internet here is so slow.

In any case, I have now spent a full week in Melghat, and here is something from my entries. I thought today would be a good day to post something:

“
July 16
Chilati, Melghat

Having left home more than a month ago and travelled to many places without rest, I do feel a bit homesick. However, I won’t start counting down the days. I still have much to see, hear and learn.

Last night, the ACM students visited Ravidas’ house to observe them celebrate one of their Lohar tribe festivals called Akari. Sitting on a big swinging platform, the girls sang inside the house while the men, smelling of Moha (a heavily alcoholic drink made from Moha flower), played the drums and sang outside. The men’s songs seemed to be improvised over a beat.
“One must not drink,
for it is bad for one’s health!”
the drunk men sang. I really felt a deep struggle in their music. Songs of the exhausted in spirit. Sure, they are probably not innocent people, but who is? The point is that they struggle, and I felt them singing away, or at least trying to, their misery and hard life.
This morning, I got up early, even before Ram (a fulltime Melghat Mitra worker) did, and went through my morning routine. I then spoke with him about indebtedness. It was very revealing, and somewhat discouraging, not because of the plight of the tribal people, but because I felt exhausted.

I have now spent a week in these villages in Melghat, roaming around, getting to know people. I never realized the difficulties of a field researcher, especially one that deals with people. I’ve had experiences with the tribal people in which they purposefully gave me incorrect information. Generally, this meant that just from talking with them, they didn’t sound like they had much of a problem living in the villages. Of course, I knew that I was dealing with human beings, and any human being wouldn’t like to tell somebody about all their problems in detail, no less to a strange foreigner. But sometimes, it can get frustrating, perplexing, and hilarious all at once.

For example, Nandalal is another Korku person working with Melghat Mitra who accompanies me to village visits. During our 5 k walk to a village called Ruipathar, we talked about each other. I asked about his age and his family, and he told me that he was 18 and single. I was quite surprised because he did not look younger than me, and I thought that he had a daughter. He told me that the girl was his brother’s, who is 24-26. He wasn’t really sure of his brother’s age. Later, he told me that his birthday was November 11, 1990. I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

A bit confused, I asked Ram about Nandalal that night. Ram told me that Nandalal is 21, married, and has a baby girl. It was quite hilarious. Maybe something got lost in the translation, but Nandalal had bluntly lied to me about his age. But I knew that he was a good guy. There were just some things that I have been missing during our interaction. However, this incident was another reminder about the characteristics of my “specimen,” so to speak. Later, I found out that Nandalal had lied to me because he didn’t want me to look down on him for being married and having a child at such a young age…

It is true that I am currently living in a region with most of the world’s poverty, as suggested by the first chapter of Jeffrey Sachs’ “The End of Poverty”—South Asia. I got a glimpse of the slums in Mumbai and Pune before I came to Melghat. Supposedly, however, the poorest people living with most insecurity are in rural areas. When I came to Melghat, the problems and the needs of this community was not so apparent – let alone the causes of the hidden suffering. I was met by beautiful children and a people who lived to the best of their efforts, who didn’t spare their smiles (for the most part). Actually, there are problems that are more visible, but it is often difficult to evaluate them according to their severity and immediacy.

It seems true that the issues arise not solely from within the community, but also from the decisions made elsewhere. For example, regarding the most visible problem, much of the infrastructure development has been halted and unauthorized by the government for the sake of preserving the wilderness from poachers and self interest groups. As a result, mainly, roads are not built, which creates a lot of problems for education, health, and positive development to improve living quality due to the fact that these villages are inaccessible. (Still, the Sarpanch, the local governance group, is currently building a toilet next to their headquarter building in Ruipathar, in which they meet four times a year.) Also, forest officers who police the wilderness fall into the trap of corruption as they find their power against a relatively weak people in a remote area, away from accountability mechanisms. There seems to be a delicate tug of war that seeks to either preserve the tribal people’s lifestyle or the wilderness. Hopefully this is not a zero sum game.

Besides infrastructural problems, there seems to be social problems as well. Drinking Moha, which is essentially hard liquor, is a widespread issue, even though it may be a cultural element. Everyone, I mean EVERYONE, drinks this—men young and old, women, and children. Once, a cute little boy named Dipak came to play with us slightly wasted. In the villages, women are also more blatantly marginalized. They do most of the work, it seems. It’s the women who wake up early to prepare breakfast, draw water, and go out to the farms. Children are either deprived of education—because their family needs their labor or because parents are apathetic to their child’s education—or have access to one with questionable quality. Food is also not abundant. The role of successful agriculture in eliminating malnutrition has been discussed in the Bread for the World Institute’s briefing papers. It cannot be truer in Melghat, as farming is not only a source of food for the people here, but also a source of their income. Again, this goes hand in hand with infrastructure improvements which are currently illegal due to the forest preservation laws. Furthermore, apparently, debt is in fact a problem, when I previously had thought that it wasn’t. (I believed the villagers too easily; they told me that none of them take loans because it is not in their culture; they always save up if they need to make purchases. In fact, David Batstone’s “Not for Sale” reading I did for this week was about an Indian family being oppressed by a crooked creditor. This will help me probe into the problem indirectly by learning more about their daily necessities.)

Because the community here is so isolated from the “mainstream” society, I think that equity described in the World Bank’s 2006 World Development Report makes a lot of sense. While the tough question of preserving a certain tribal lifestyle in light of development certainly exists here, I feel that much of the problems here arise from inequality between the tribal people and the “mainstreamers.” Educational opportunities as well as prospects to advance one’s livelihood are certainly limited for the tribal people compared to a city dweller. Policy-based obstacles put upon these people make it difficult for the farming community to expand their fields or upgrade their operations. The lack of education among the people here is basically disenfranchising them; they do not know their government’s obligations toward them. On a micro scale, there seems to be inequality among the tribal people, such as between men and women. I’ll have to observe a bit more, especially as it relates to wealthy/influential vs. poor families.

This idea of equity goes hand in hand with Amaritya Sen’s definition of poverty as capability deprivation. While it is true that the Melghat region is not as bad as some documentaries may suggest (even though a former ACM alumni claims that none of the children he met last year has grown much), they clearly lack a voice as a people. The Indian government must re-examine their policy on the Melghat Tiger Reserves so that it fosters growth and development for natives who choose to stay here while protecting the environment from outsiders who seek to exploit the forest. Because the environment is such a sensitive subject in Melghat, as these people are closely tied to the jungle, these villages can prove to be a great area to invest in eco-friendly technology settlements. This may be a way for the tribal people to participate in the “human solidarity” in fighting climate change described in the UN Development Program report. Development is indeed important because it can greatly help equip the tribal people with proper education, better healthcare, autonomous farming, and with these, greater respect of rights for marginalized members within the community.
”

That was a long spiel that probably didn’t make much sense. I don’t really understand what is happening, either. Luckily, I still have two more weeks in Melghat, though I have a feeling that my perception of the problems and their causes won’t be too much clearer in such a short time. This week, we only have 2 interpreters to work with the 6 of us. This is going to be an interesting week.

I hope that one of the Lohar (a tribal group) kids, Sudir, follows through with his promise to teach me how to make a wooden flute. That shouldn’t need too much translating…

To Melghat

2011-07-06T09:48:16Z

I am finally going to Melghat. The train leaves today at 5:30 PM.

Every day is full of events, and I really can’t say that there ever was a set routine. But roughly, here is the breakdown:

6:30 – Wake up & tea

8:30 – Breakfast

9:00 – Catch a rickshaw to get to class

9:30 – Hindi Class/Indian Society Class/Excursion

13:00 – Lunch

15:00 – Maitri Orientation/Excursion

17:00 – Rickshaw back home

17:30 – play with my host brothers.

20:00 – Dinner

21:00 – Chat with family/Wash/Journal

23:00 – Sleep

Do you know the game Frogger? Yeah, I feel like the frog when I need to cross the street in India.

In all seriousness, I am fortunate to be able to experience a wide spectrum of Indian society. One of the professors that spoke with us made a good point. Not only are there stark socioeconomic variety in India, there is also a whole catalogue of ethnic backgrounds. Sometimes, it’s as if India is a conglomerate of all periods in history. While some drive Honda Cities, others rely on bicycles, oxcarts, elephants, or camels. On the same street!

I’m not sure what to say. Not that life was uneventful. Things are moving pretty quickly right now, and the days since the last post have mainly been those of preparation, logistics, etc. I don’t know how to synthesize them just yet. Hopefully I’ll have more things to share once I’m in Melghat. As for the last 10 days of classes, orientations, and my home stay, I am very grateful to all those who served me and the other ACM students.

On a fun note, I’ll share some rickshaw stories…

1. In India, honking is part of every driving technique. You cannot be near a road and count to ten without hearing a horn go off. Here, it doesn’t seem like honking is a rude thing; rather, it’s courtesy. Since there are practically no traffic rules here, it helps to know that someone is coming behind you. You also come to realize—once you’ve seen Indian traffic—that God exists. Anyway, one day, the ACM students were heading to the Police Registration Office to get our stay in India registered, so we took a rickshaw to the police station. This particular rickshaw driver was quite the honker. If the honks on the road were to be a symphony, he was definitely the soloist. He was a crazy driver, too, weaving through places you probably thought vehicles can never go through (of course, while honking). But we all died trying to silence our laughter when… the rickshaw got on an open road. No cars or bikes to be seen. Not even people (this is very rare in India). The rickshaw driver got so excited that he just started honking at nothing for a good 10 seconds.

2. Last night was the roughest night ever… I was out late with Anna to meet Muldeep Barve, who is a classical guitarist (western). He spoke with us about Indian music and how it differs from western music. He also gave us some pointers for our musical conversation with the Korku people. The meeting ran late, and I had to get home. I felt bad going home so late, so I decided to eat something outside. I got a small pie of pizza from a street vendor and ate it on the way home (on a rickshaw, of course). I didn’t realize how crazy the rickshaw ride was until I was asleep. I woke up a few times in the middle of the night because I felt so nauseous and really wanted to throw up. However, I really didn’t want to, since my host family was sleeping on the next room, and both of our doors are always open. They would surely have woken up. It was quite a night trying to sleep it off. I don’t think that the pizza was the problem. It was fine and clean. It definitely was the rickshaw ride. Lesson learned: Never ever eat anything while riding on a rickshaw.

Anyway, I’m off now.

I don’t have a lot of time to spend online, so here is a quick

2011-07-01T11:25:19Z

I don’t have a lot of time to spend online, so here is a quick snapshot of one of my journal entries:

“June 28, 2011

22:03
Kothrud, Pune

Where do I begin?

At the moment, I am sitting at a desk next to a 15-year-old Indian boy, Anshuman, the eldest son of my host family (his younger brother, Mrugank, 10, is lying on the matted floor in the next room, fast asleep). I can testify that one of the most difficult treatments a person can endure is to be served by somebody. Perhaps I feel this way because I am on an ISSLP—weren’t I supposed to be the one serving?! For now, though, from the minute I met my host father and mother (whom I call uncle and aunt) at the park near Hotel Raviraj, to the minute uncle left this room a few moments ago, I can only say, “oh, don’t worry! I can carry that… It’s really fine, I’m so full. Everything was delicious!… wow, thanks so much!…” as I watch uncle lug around my fat luggage, try to convince aunt that I’ve had so much food already, and follow half the family around the house as they show me the details of their home and offer whatever they have for my service.

Again, I probably feel this way precisely because I am on an ISSLP. Oddly, however, I already knew in my mind that doing an ISSLP does not mean being a work dog for 8 weeks. As the article “The Cost of Short Term Missions” by Jo Ann Van Engen suggests, our common, presumptuous, unrefined notion of short-term service must be overhauled. This home-stay experience is indeed an excellent opportunity to “stop thinking about short-term missions as a service to perform and start thinking of them as a responsibility to learn.” Granted, this is not the main “mission field” for which I traveled to India, but taking in whatever I encounter in India for these 7 weeks is an opportunity to learn.

My interaction thus far with Maitri Pune has demonstrated the only logical possibility of interacting with the nationals here on equal (or slightly lower) level, learning from them rather than thinking about what I can do for them.

Before I arrived in India, (actually, while I was disconnected in Ukraine,) I had received e-mails from Maitri asking me to send them some ideas for the project I will be doing during my stay in Melghat with the Korkus. Honestly, I was perplexed. Weren’t they going to give me jobs to do? You know, like teach children English, babysit young children while their parents are away in the field, teach the men how to do basic math, help them farm, maybe? Well, that’s not what I actually thought, but the inner attitude embedded in me still probably had vague expectations of such things. It is a testament to the fact that I hadn’t been thinking too hard about the things I wanted to learn in my ISSLP.

So I sent one of the organizers in Maitri my disorderly ideas about looking into the economic needs of the Korkus related especially to their indebtedness and teaching them some Western music. Although I had some practice doing research through preparing for the Ukraine trip, I was not feeling very confident about investigating the Korku people’s debt crisis. Upon further thought, I realized how foolish it was for me to suggest that I would teach them Western music; they probably didn’t have the appropriate instruments, and their knowledge of tribal music was probably more advanced than my knowledge of Western music. Also, I don’t know too much about economics and debt, only now about to enter my official studies in business. Was I really going to do research on tribal debt based on my knowledge from documentaries and whatever little reading I’ve done on debt? In short, I was feeling pretty iffy on my way into India.

When I met with my mentor in Maitri, however, things made more sense to me. This is to say that my concerns and uncertainties regarding Maitri’s expectations and purposes for asking me to have a specific “project” in mind. They had been with the Korkus for 14 years now, so I figured that they are already very knowledgeable people (they were also academics as well)! Not that I don’t want responsibilities, it was a relief to confirm that Maitri was not expecting a UN grade report on the causes and results of Korku insolvency (I knew they weren’t, but it felt nice to confirm).

My responsibilities boiled down to learning whatever I can about cases of indebtedness in Korku families. This is obviously going to be difficult, and my mentor knows this, since talking about personal finance is quite difficult in any culture. I’d be lucky to have a case study of one family. Luckily, my music idea took a different, more attractive spin. Instead of teaching, I will most likely end up learning how to play their instruments and more about the tribal music and its cultural implications. Hopefully, music will even become a great way to begin my relationship with the Korkus, and hopefully make them comfortable enough with me so that they will be willing to talk about their kitchen finances.

To Maitri, it was most important that their “interns” would enter the Korku community with a learning attitude, and having a project idea, they thought, would facilitate that. Besides, any new information about the Korkus we may be able to extract may help Maitri volunteers as they continue their relationship with the Korkus and plan future projects. I don’t know why, but that was such a helpful way to frame my responsibilities. I’m still nervous, but quite excited to try out this new approach to service I learned through the ISSLP prep classes and “The Cost of Short Term Missions” in a pretty exotic setting. …”

More about my daily routines and what my host family is like on coming entries…

The Third Landing

2011-06-27T13:22:21Z

Every moment is an episode here.

Actually, things got eventful even back at the Suvarnabhumi Airport in Bangkok, Thailand. The check-in counters at row W for AirIndia was a sort of microcosm of India itself. Everyone standing in line was Indian, except me. A young airport security officer started talking to me in Thai. Maybe I looked like one of her kind amidst the sea of Indian fathers jostling for an open counter. Luckily, my wait was cut short because another officer noticed that I was traveling alone, so he let me check in through the Business Class counter. As I approached the counter, the woman sitting at the counter greeted me in Chinese.

The flight tumbled through the air after a 45 minute delay. At Mumbai, the immigrations took forever but it went fine, except for when I really felt like hurling it; probably the malaria medication. When I got to the baggage claim, I arrived just in time for the last rounds of the baggage from Bangkok and saw my bag just passing by. By the time I grabbed it and was ready to step out, it was nearly 1 AM. I felt bad for my supervisor, who was waiting for me. The original itinerary scheduled me to land at 11:15 PM and get out by around 12, I suppose. However, that was the least of my worries when I saw the arrivals hall. I expected some 20 people holding signs with the names of the people they needed to pick up, but no, there were at least a hundred people waiting in a large circle. It was a miracle that I found my supervisor.

I slept at a hotel in Mumbai at night, sharing a room with Dan, a program alumnus. At breakfast in the morning, I met up with the rest of my classmates (Kate, Adrianna, Anna, Emma). We made our way to Pune after

The car ride was insanity. I half expected something like it, but it was incredible nevertheless. I think our driver really should have hit at least 50 people, and we really should have been hit by another 50. I understood why there were a couple of statuettes of Hindu gods by the windshield.

They say that India compels everyone to philosophize. When the Buddha left the comforts of his palace and saw the way his people were living, he might as well have been a rock head; Buddhism still would have been a success. In a nutshell, the streets of India I have seen thus far are like an overly crowded dance hall where five different kinds of music are playing at once and everyone is doing their own dance. Lane markings on the roads and expressways are merely suggestions to be ignored (and they were symbolically fading and rubbing off). If there are 2 lanes, there’s actually only one because street merchants have squatted on one and business is going on as usual, disregarding the traffic. People don’t seem to use sidewalks too much. There are signs every 10 kilometers or so which read “maintain a safe distance from other cars” or “observe driving etiquette” or “keep to left lane unless overtaking.” All ignored, of course. It was quite thrilling, but at times it was too close. It seemed like everyone else on the road were merely moving obstacles.

In Pune, before we checked into our hotel, we had lunch—Rajasthan style—with some other people from Maitri Pune, the NGO we’ll be working with. The people are very nice (I know that’s the worst adjective to describe people, but I really think it fits them) and lifting.

Most of us got knocked out at the hotel after lunch, and we made a little excursion into town and had dinner at Casa Lolo, a Lebanese-Indian fusion. We’ll do better next time.

Just Visiting

2011-06-25T05:31:59Z

Download: 02%20Still%20Waters.mp3

Before I plunge into the thick of things (India), I spent about 10 days in Thailand. Hopefully my stay conditioned me to the heat and the water… at least a bit… probably not. Nevertheless, the past 10 days have been a very enjoyable time of eating lots of amazing food, visiting places and old friends, and meeting new people.

My Uzbekistan Airways flight landed on Bangkok on the night of the 15th (of June). It was a pretty long journey. I like flying a lot (I always get existential in the air), but the 5 hour layover at Tashkent was a pain. I had been pretty tired from the Ukraine trip, but the strong smell of cigarettes in the terminal in which I was being “held” did not help. There was a pretty large window at the terminal which looked out to the avenue stretching from the Airport, but I was feeling so uncomfortable for some reason that I didn’t take the time to go closer to the window and look out. I’m pretty ashamed of that. Still, 15 hours after I left Kyiv, Ukraine, I was in Bangkok, Thailand.

Ubon
Early the next morning, I took another flight eastward to Ubon Rachathani, Thailand. My great-aunt was there at a place called the Ubon International Center (UIC), a mission center running a preschool, a local soccer club, and a nursing home. My stay in Ubon can be summarized thus: A bit of sightseeing and a lot of eating.

I got to visit the rubber plantation the people at UIC were cultivating. It was a business venture to raise money for its operations. But on the way to the plantations, I made a stop at the Princess’s Park and another of Thai’s national parks. The Princess’s Park was pretty nice. It had a large man-made lake, and she had a yacht, as well. Still, it was a pretty modest yacht, considering the fact that she was the Princess, the daughter of one of Thailand’s most loved King ever. At the entrance of the park, however, there were some protesters who were camping out. I’m not completely sure about this, but either the man-made lake or another dam nearby had flooded their home villages, so the people had to relocate. Strange.

At a Thai National Park I visited after the Princess’ Park, there was a pair of what I call the Dare Bridge. It seemed like one of those shaky bridges you see in movies which always collapse when the protagonist is crossing it to run away from evil villains. Well… the cross wasn’t so bad. Most likely would be absolutely illegal in the US, though.

As I was approaching the rubber plantation with the others I was going with, a woman joined us and treated us to lunch at one of her hotels (delicious food). She’s a very rich and shrewd businesswoman living in a small town called Kong Chiam. She owns all kinds of businesses, including hotels and rubber plantations. Some years ago, when she met my great-aunt, she decided to become a follower of Christ “and love God and my neighbors for the rest of [her] life as best as [she] can, since [she has] spent all [her] life thus far worshiping demons.” Her life is story is pretty incredible, and so she became the first Christian in the town of Kong Chiam. I visited a church she was building in the town; now, the Christian community is growing. What’s crazy is her radical change; my great-aunt says that, from experience, Thai people are usually slow to acknowledge Jesus and go through some switchbacks, especially the older folks like her. But her transformation was sudden, and definite. One would pray that this is a sign of God’s mercy and love for the people in the Kong Chiam region.

In any case, she followed us to the UIC rubber plantation and gave the UIC people a lot of advice. UIC planted the rubber trees about three years ago, and a few were ready for collection. However, lots of work was left to optimize the tree’s lifespan. Apparently, an average tree, if opened well, can give rubber for about 15-20 years. One of the advices she gave was to find a specialist to open the trees, since an experienced specialist can make a tree yield rubber for up to 30 years. After that, a rubber tree can be cut down and sold for a very good price to make furniture. It turns out to be a pretty good business, especially with the rising commodity prices. The woman, for example, makes more than $40,000 USD a year just from one of her rubber plantations.

I was excited to be there and listen, as an aspiring business student. The importance of learning about the market from a native was pretty clear from spending time with the woman (I can never remember her name!—something I need to work on). I was also encouraged to witness her story. She was very much a Christian in the marketplace, in close contact with the world and forwarding God’s eager works in the business world and supporting more traditional ministries through business. It really seems like the people of the church should take steps to get involved in places that are deemed hostile to the church, namely, in business and politics, and take a stand.

Thai Food
I need not say much here. Pictures probably would do a better job.

Nong Cho
When I used to live in Thailand years back, everyone used to call me Nong Cho. “Nong” is a title for a person younger than you, such as a younger sibling (don’t ask where the Cho came from). Now I’m not the youngest person around anymore, and there are people who should be calling me Pi (pronounced “pee”… I know; it’s a title for a person older than you). Still, there are people around who are like uncle and aunts who pretty much raised me. One such person, who probably did the most, is Pi Um (I call her Mae Um; mae means mom). She’s a pretty inspirational figure. She recently won an award from the Thai government for being the best teacher for children requiring special attention. In July, she’s about to move to the Ubon place I talked about earlier and set up a new school for kids with disabilities. Years back, though, she was like my #1 nanny.

So every time I’m in Bangkok, she always makes me these awesome noodles and takes me out. Last night, she took me out to this family barbecue buffet place, and she kept stuffing me with food. I barely had a chance to go around and pick food myself because of her. You know, I’m a grown young man, and I probably should be getting my own food, if not serving her. I felt a bit uncomfortable (in a good way) at first, but then I realized that you can’t really do much in that sort of situation other than let her do what she wants, especially if you’re dealing with a woman who did your diapers as dutifully as your mother, whose shirts you’ve wet numerous times with your urine but loves you anyway. I left Thailand when I turned seven, so even though I’m 19 now and get my own food and do my laundry in college, she still sees me as a little kid at times.

Phood Thai mai dai… (I can’t speak Thai…)
I regret most the fact that I forgot how to speak Thai. Thailand was my home throughout my early childhood. I still thrive best on Thai food than any other food. Still, I notice that the language barrier is not something to be ignored, however much I may feel at home in Thailand. I realize that if I really want to make my presence in Thailand meaningful now and in the future, I really need to know the language. If I don’t, I probably will become a tourist who thinks that he’s at home, being more of a burden to the people here than anything. Constructive, respectful, human-to-human interaction can only happen through conversation and mutual respect, especially on the part of the visitor. How can I do that without language? And I felt that this time around. Thailand means a lot to me, but the realization that I won’t have much of a hand on it if I don’t involve myself more in learning about it as an adult, I won’t have much to show for my love for this country. And here I’m studying business and Chinese… I’m pretty curious.

In several hours, I will be flying out of Bangkok, Thailand, to go to Mumbai, India. My journey isn’t even half way through. Hoorah! This one is going to be a long stretch.

Do pobachennya, Ukraina! (So long, Ukraine!)

2011-06-22T15:09:45Z

Download: 01%20Satisfy.mp3

No Breaks for the Brave…?
As soon as I got out of finals (early, too!) mid May, I found myself in an office preparing to be a “reserach assistant” for a group of high school students. My job description is as follows: Learn how to write a research paper, create a handbook on how to write a research paper, plan group discussions, go to Ukraine with 12 Korean-American high school students, teach them how to write a research paper if they don’t know already, chaperone them during the day as they visit various places in Ukraine, get them started on a thesis, plan out how they will finish the paper by the end of August, guide them through the process. In all honesty, this is some amazing opportunity. I didn’t have as much time as I would have liked to fool around, but that was fine. I banged out the handbook with another research assistant partner-Sam, from NYU-and before I knew it, I was on the plane to Ukraine!

A Tale of Two Cities: Riga and Kyiv
The flight to Kyiv, Ukraine, involved a 5 hour layover in Riga, Latvia. Fortunately(?), a pair of inexperienced flight Uzbekistan Airways flight attendants back at the JFK airport forgot to check our bags to Kyiv, so our group had to actually get stamped into Latvia (whee!), pick up our 30+ bags, and recheck them to Kyiv. The good part is that we got to step outside the airport for a bit and marvel at the beautiful morning sky of Riga, breathe its crisp air, and admire its picturesque trees. We switched over to Baltic Air and took a few hour flight southeast toward Kyiv, Ukraine. Some stern soldiers met us at the immigrations. They seemed annoyed, but we got through, and got our first look at Ukraine from the Boryspil Airport. Everything seemed very yellow.

My sister described the look of the country as very “honest.” I don’t know too much about architecture, but it was clear from a limited knowledge of history that many of the buildings in Kyiv were probably built during the Soviet era. And it was not difficult to determine which were built during the reign of USSR and which were built after (or before, for that matter). The collection of cars on the road were interesting as well. They were not the kind of cars you may see in New York City. They seemed smaller and antique for some reason. The roads were accompanied by trams and trolleybuses, many of them painted blue and yellow.

I guess, in short, the place seemed very old. Actually, that’s not the correct word. I felt like I was somewhere in the past. The fact that Ukraine was a transitioning society was very palpable in the sights. It was almost like history in the making. There were the derelict, common looking apartment buildings probably promoted by Khrushchev or somebody, and the modern malls as well as artistic apartments (and of course the abandoned, unfinished buildings waiting for something to happen). Transition was in the air even in the language. Eastern Ukrainians mostly speak Russian, and Western Ukrainians mostly speak Ukrainian. The President of Ukraine can’t even speak Ukrainian (or proper Russian, for that matter). But schools are teaching strictly in Ukrainian. That’s progress, I suppose.

Ukraine is a fascinating country. But the people really draw you in, and make you love it in the way one must love one’s neighbor.

Koreya vs Ukraeena!
During the trip, I had the opportunity to meet people from relatively wide socioeconomic backgrounds.

Although most of the daily activities happened in Kyiv, the capital, the group stayed in a small town (to us, it seemed more like a rural village) nearby called Stare (pronounced Stareh). There, local kids flocked around our dorms whenever they knew that we were around. I figured that these kids are either really bored by themselves or really fascinated and eager to get the attention of foreigners. Sometimes it seemed like both.

I really wished that I was able to speak Ukrainian so that I can communicate with them. Luckily, there were a couple kids who were able to speak a bit of English (they were from Kyiv on summer break). Although I never got to find out too much about them, it seemed like they were mostly left on their own judging from the fact that they were outside most of the day and liked to make crude gestures. One of our translators also told me that many of their parents are probably alcoholics (and farmers).

The boys were most eager to play soccer with us. It naturally happened so that the guys in our group would play against the local kids, and Vasha, one of the local boys, would often shout, “Koreya Vee Es Ukraeena!!!” I wasn’t sure what exactly went through their minds every time they scored or got scored on, but I hope that they were very proud of themselves. I mean, it was evident that they were often tempted to feel inferior in some way to us. And some of them probably didn’t like it. I felt it in the way they asked for water; in the way they insisted that I was a drinker or smoker; in the way they insisted that I get laid with one of their girls. The worst part is that after each game of soccer, they were kids. Smiling. Laughing. Fighting. Making bunny ears on each other in front of a camera.

I presume that God showed me these kids for a reason. Although there is only a slim chance that I’ll ever meet them again or even get an opportunity to return to Ukraine, I may have understood why. More in the next section…

Phillip Morris and Auchan
We had the privilege of visiting the Kyiv National University of Trade and Economics during the first four full days in Ukraine. The University is ranked #4 in the nation, so it was a great honor for us to be welcomed and get a chance to listen to special lectures by its professors. All of our three or four lectures were on economics and business management, which was pretty interesting for me as an aspiring business major. Learning about the macroeconomic trends of Ukraine over the last ten years, however, made me realize how much international business can affect a nation.

In a nutshell, Ukraine’s main exports consist of metals, while its imports consist of everything else. The slight trade imbalance isn’t the main issue, however (the US has a worse one). I feel that the problem is the fact that the biggest market shares in Ukraine of nearly every retail industry are held by foreign company. For example, Phillip Morris holds about 32% of the market share in cigarettes, while France’s Auchan group (a hypermarket like Walmart) was able to bite into 14% of the market share in just two years.

Few boys back in Stare offered me cigarettes on several accounts. To imagine that one in every three of the sticks they offered me was made by Phillip Morris (currently owned by the Altria group in the US) gives me chills. On top of that, it’s huge when 30% of the country smokes. Sure, if it wasn’t an American company, maybe a Ukrainian company would have done it. Nevertheless, the kind of social reach a corporate entity far away can have on village kids in a small town in Eastern Europe is rather frightening.

One of the assignments we gave our students was to buy all the ingredients to make Borsch at a local flea market. I’m not a particular advocate for small business, but I suspect that when Auchan came in from France, it took away somebody’s business. Sure, what’s wrong with that? You eat, or get eaten, no? I don’t have a straight answer for that. What I do feel uncomfortable about, however, is the fact that the professor at the Kyiv National University of Trade and Economics who gave us the lecture works for a consulting company and she, as part of the marketing department, personally helped Auchan get established. One of my students asked if the entrance of Auchan negatively affected domestic merchants. She felt that it didn’t.

Orphans: Young and Old
Couple of the more existential moments of the trip was when we visited an orphanage, the Chernobyl hospital and the Veterans’ Home, all in Kyiv. It seems like these people are always the most marginalized in every society. In the United States, lots of senior citizens lost their retirement savings as a result of the recent recession, caused by a few powerful men. These Ukrainian seniors lost their health and family as a result of the Chernobyl disaster, dishonestly dealt with by a few powerful men. And there’re always the unwanted children, and it’s not always entirely the parents’ fault. How devastating it must have been to leave their child behind, their circumstances being hostile toward a child who will require extra expenses due to his disability? If they genuinely didn’t want the child, at least they decided to give her a chance.

I probably pushed around half a dozen young children and held another half dozen in the few short hours we were there. I admit that the not-so-foreign, arrogant thought of frustration overtook me at one point. The child you hold is so small and fragile, but then you feel small and fragile also when you wonder what can possibly be done, by you, to help his voice be heard and let her gain the dignity that she deserves. You start blaming the big things, like the corrupt rich, the government, general evil, God. But maybe the truth is that to think like this is total arrogance.

Yes, you feel small when you hold the fragile frame of the baby, but maybe evil powers want you to feel just that. Maybe we’re supposed to turn the thought around, understand that we are in fact powerful, understand that we have opportunities to touch the lives of children like these one way or another. Then we should translate that to treat our opportunities more responsibly, as if our lives were not ours but someone else’s, someone who thought of these children and loves them more than anyone else.

Then there are the old. One man stands out; a man I met at the Chernobyl hospital. He had been a Colonel in the Soviet Army. He had been assigned to go into the explosion site and haul dirt and debris onto the fallout. He was not given any warnings regarding the consequences of his work. I think he suffered ever since from joint pains. I asked him how he would have reacted had the government disclosed fully the actual gravity of the situation and warned all the men that working at the site will cause them serious illnesses. He didn’t think long to answer. He said he would have done the same. How could he not? It was his duty, his service to his country. I half expected that answer, but at the same time, I wanted him to lash out against the irresponsible government. Why? I don’t know. It could be that his story was different; he was a soldier. If I had asked a mother living in Pripyat the same question, perhaps she would have answered differently.

Our older friends also seemed to miss the days of the Soviet Union. Not too surprising, but it was biting to listen to one of the old women. One of my students was conducting an interview with the old lady at the Veterans’ Home, and she said that she missed the Soviet days because back then, she was able to work at the factory, just like men, and hear nothing of it. Yes, this just came out of one person, but it was a powerful blow to our so called free society in which inequality of all forms is harder to discern and correct.

Blue and Yellow
The Ukrainian flag is comprised of two horizontal bands. The blue band is on top, symbolizing the blue sky, and the yellow band lies on the bottom, representing the golden wheat fields of the country. I had a final look at that scene on my way to the Boryspil airport from Stare. Although gravity may pull downward, and the sky may seem higher than the fields, can the beautiful picture persist if the sky refuses to let down rain and send down lightening? Or, can the sky be blue if the earth refuses to release organic gas and water molecules to absorb and radiate blue light? The Ukrainian flag reminds us to reflect upon our obligations to our brothers.

GO IRISH!

2011-08-05T10:32:33Z

Posing with Kate, my classmate, and Ram, the dedicated NGO worker stationed in Chilati. Enough said for the day.

Trick or Treat

2011-07-25T15:25:41Z

Ramram! (“Hello!” in Korku) My stomach was incredibly upset the last two days. I probably went to the bathroom more than I should have during my three week stay during those two days. It was terrible. I had to wake up 5 times one night to use the outhouse. I felt really bad because I [...]

Hey all, Sorry for not updating for such a long time. Lots

2011-07-25T15:25:41Z

Hey all, Sorry for not updating for such a long time. Lots happened since I last updated, but I don’t have much time on the computer to tell the full story. It is quite difficult to approach even the most basic technologies I used to take for granted here in Melghat. Last night, the power [...]

To Melghat

2011-07-25T15:25:41Z

I am finally going to Melghat. The train leaves today at 5:30 PM. Every day is full of events, and I really can’t say that there ever was a set routine. But roughly, here is the breakdown: 6:30 – Wake up & tea 8:30 – Breakfast 9:00 – Catch a rickshaw to get to class [...]

I don’t have a lot of time to spend online, so here is a quick

2011-07-25T15:25:41Z

I don’t have a lot of time to spend online, so here is a quick snapshot of one of my journal entries: “June 28, 2011 22:03 Kothrud, Pune Where do I begin? At the moment, I am sitting at a desk next to a 15-year-old Indian boy, Anshuman, the eldest son of my host family [...]

The Third Landing

2011-07-25T15:25:41Z

Every moment is an episode here. Actually, things got eventful even back at the Suvarnabhumi Airport in Bangkok, Thailand. The check-in counters at row W for AirIndia was a sort of microcosm of India itself. Everyone standing in line was Indian, except me. A young airport security officer started talking to me in Thai. Maybe [...]

Just Visiting

2011-07-25T15:25:41Z

Do pobachennya, Ukraina! (So long, Ukraine!)

2011-07-25T15:25:41Z

No Breaks for the Brave…? As soon as I got out of finals (early, too!) mid May, I found myself in an office preparing to be a “reserach assistant” for a group of high school students. My job description is as follows: Learn how to write a research paper, create a handbook on how to [...]