Tag Archives: Language

More to the Story


Recently, there has been a lot of negativity in the press about India. I get comments like: “I can’t believe you went there.” and “I’m glad you’re not over there now.”

I feel compelled (and was asked) to share my own thoughts and reflections on my experiences in India and how they compare with the image of India that is being portrayed in the news. I am basing this response specifically on the CNN iReport that was widely circulated in the past few weeks, though I caveat this post with the following: I do not mean to trivialize anyone’s individual experiences there, nor do I claim to be an expert after only spending two plus months there. What I would like to do is add my voice and perspective to paint a more holistic view of what it’s like for the many Americans and foreigners who may not get(or choose to take) the opportunity to travel there.

I would first ask that you at least skim this piece and realize that this has become part of a caricature of the current state of affairs in India: http://ireport.cnn.com/docs/DOC-1023053
(which I argue, while being an important part of the narrative, is not complete and therefore alone it stands as an unjust representation). Warning, the piece is a bit graphic. I will not be offended if you scan it.

Personally, I never experienced sexual harassment in the slightest which is why I feel compelled to respond. Though, I will be honest, two Italian girls were killed in the state I visited the week before I arrived. Many of the what we would call counties were closed to foreign visitors. While I wouldn’t take this lightly, I don’t find it remarkable either, having lived in Dallas, Washington, DC, and now outside of New York and Philadelphia. It’s not that it isn’t newsworthy, it’s just not unheard of (unfortunately).

Despite being in one of the poorest, most “backward” states (as classified by the government), I was working with a fairly “progressive” group of men–all college educated and interested in development, helping the impoverished, dedicating their professional lives to it. I would most closely associate my coworkers with 12 year old boys–even the married ones. I don’t mean that condescendingly, but in the way my brother’s and my relationship was when I was 16 and he was 12–it’s relating to a culture they are not fluent in and the norms for gender interaction are different–like speaking a different language.

So to that extent, some of my colleagues were awkward around me (as I’m sure I was around them), but always very kind. We developed a type brother-sister bond which I very much appreciated and made being far from home less difficult. When I left they called me “sister” (still sort of like a 12 year old brother would relate to his high school sister–sweet, endearing, a bit hard to relate to, though professionally treated me like an equal). I would say where I was it didn’t seem they don’t interact with many women professionally.

I also dressed as appropriate for my village (in a salwar kameez–the long shirts with leggings), followed customs for shoes, and didn’t venture far without a male escort (driver and translator were with me most the time). I don’t know how much of this was required, but it was appreciated. I didn’t go out after dark often. I stayed at my apartment in the evenings after work except to walk with a friend to the store or a nearby restaurant both within a 3 block or so radius of the apartment (and one rogue evening hanging out with some local college-aged women at the Pizza Hut).

I ventured to Catholic Mass most Sundays–about 40ish minutes away in an auto-rickashaw/tuk-tuk by myself–that was a little scary, but more for the arranged marriage proposals I received after Mass. (“Funny, I’ve had a difficult time arranging my son with an American Catholic woman. Can I have your father’s phone number?” Um, no. I’m still working on a more polite way of saying arranged marriage is just not my style in preparation for my next overseas adventure). [Side note: If Hillary Clinton is only worth two camels, I don’t want to know what they’d offer for me. I should clarify, this references a story that was in the paper all summer about a terrorist group putting ransom up for someone willing to kidnap Hillary when she was Secretary of State, NOT my colleagues wanting to marry her.]

I never felt particularly unsafe, except riding in a car in Delhi and that’s not because I am a woman–the sheer amount of traffic and chaos would frighten most American drivers. Did I stand out? Yes, my friend and I were the only white people in our part of the city. Everyone stared as we walked down the street–but out of curiosity. There is no feeling in the world that replaces this experience–being a physical minority and attracting attention just by your appearance–a very valuable life lesson.

If I’m honest, I did flirt with/was flirted with by some lovely gentlemen (mostly bartenders in Goa) in the more touristy/European areas, but nothing was threatening, and everyone was friendly. No major problems. One invited me to a party with his friends–which I SO would have gone to had my friend and I been traveling with a male companion, but we didn’t. We were cautious, even though it was probably fine. This to me is a reality of traveling in a country where you don’t speak the local language or even going out in the States by yourself or with only females.

I did have one colleague who always said things like (at the beach) that my friend and I should bring our boyfriends or husbands back so we could swim next time. He’d say that about most activities. As an independent, adventurous, and-yes-American woman, I thought, “Newsflash, we came halfway across the world by ourselves, we don’t really need our boyfriends hear to walk barefoot in the ocean.” But, of course, the truth is that is a part of his culture and no matter how you conceive of it or what similarities there are, there will always be some differences.

Also, I knew locals and India is a higher context society than ours. We don’t have a caste, so they have to know where to place us. My local contact was very well respected–so I felt that I was, too. Many Indians I encountered wanted to know what my parents did for a living, because their jobs have been traditionally divided by caste/social class.

It’s not that there were not difficult parts about it, but my most difficult parts were (keep in mind I was not in the most cosmopolitan of places, but rather in a more rural and less international area):
1) It’s just a different culture with different values. You have to learn/become “fluent” so to speak in the new culture. Body language, intonation, eye contact norms, etc.
2) The caste system made less and less sense the more they tried to explain it to me. It’s connected to their last same…so someone with a surname like O’Reilly or O’Connor is obviously of Irish decent and that you are Hispanic as a Garcia, Singh means warrior caste–it’s in your blood so to speak, who you are. Some people didn’t understand that I don’t have a caste. The divide between rich, middle class, and poor is incredible.
3) There’s a lot of materialism in the big cities like Delhi or Mumbai. I see materialism as the result of believing that faith causes conflict and that religion (all of it) is backwards.
While I also met a lot of very devout Hindus, Christians, Sikhs, Muslims,Buddhists, and Baha’i followers, it doesn’t seem that most people they encounter from developed nations are religious (think about many Ambassadors, government officials, UN officials, aid workers, academics–in the U.S. many of them tend to be not religious–or not publicly religious).

I would keep in mind that I did not spend much time in major cities and that India is one of the most economically, physically, and culturally diverse places I’ve ever visited. More languages and races exist in this one nation than most other places in the world. More important than my individual experience is that there are many vast and varied experiences in India and not all of them are violent or chauvinistic or what we would consider immoral. The more we perpetuate this myth that these negative experiences are “what India is” the more fear we foster among our fellow human beings and the less open we are to working together to tackle common problems and share in friendship.


Guest is god: Indian Hospitality


So the only problem with letting you guys know what I’m going to write about in advance is that then I actually have to follow through and write on the promised topic! I will, but I’ve thought of so many other things since my last post that I could write about. Plus, I’m still hoping to have a montage of my experience shopping for punjabi suits and saree (or sari, if you prefer).

Arrival in India

Upon my arrival at the Bhubaneswar Airport, I was deplaned onto the runway. The 48 degree Celsius heat hit me immediately and a haze from the¬† heat lingered in front of sun, blurring the horizon. As I took in my surroundings, I walked across the sparse runway toward the airport entrance adorned with Hindu statues and a welcome sign which read, “Atithi Devo Bhavah.” This Sanskrit phrase¬† translates into “The guest is god.” I considered this for a moment and applauded the Indian Ministry of Tourism for an effective ad campaign (it has stuck with me so far as well as Dublin’s “Truly, Madly, Deeply” campaign, which is saying something–because Ireland is the motherland!). As I walked into the airport and waited for my bag in the one-carousel baggage claim, I was happy to be out of the over-packed New Delhi Airport terminal and comforted by the fact that I had reach the end and probably most challenging part of this journey–which was of course navigating through the Delhi Airport!

I’ve always wanted to be picked up at the airport by someone with a sign with my name on it. You know, the people you see whose bags are carried by someone else to the car with the engine running and driver waiting. Not, mind you, all the time…just once. Well, arriving to sign with my name on it was only the beginning of the hospitality that’s been shown to me since I arrived.

Even in the expansive New Delhi airport, the couple at the food court table next to us began a conversation. Where are you from? Why are you visiting? Where all are you going to visit? I know someone who works in the USA. I’ve been on a trip to the USA. and so on… It’s as if we’re the guest of not just our host organization, but all of India. (We were also probably the most foreign looking people in the domestic terminal and definitely the most western dressed of the women…even more so once we arrived in Odisha). They, too, were our hosts and welcome committee.

The apartment we’re renting was not quite ready when we arrived, due to the death (here they say, “the expire”) of our host’s mother-in-law who resided with them. They had relatives in town, mostly staying with them, and the mourning process/rituals last ten days after the passing. So they graciously took us to a nice hotel and set us up for the evening. We had our bags delivered to our room by the bellhop and ordered room service for dinner (in addition to getting picked up by a coworker with a sign and having a driver): chicken curry, the only thing recognized on the menu.

The morning breakfast buffet provided us opportunity to chat with women that were visiting the city while their husbands were here on business from Punjab. They asked us pretty much the same questions as the couple in the airport (Where are you from? My boss’s niece works in New Jersey, etc) and then we bonded over two universal experiences: a love of shopping and laughter. Again, they were our hosts, welcoming and glad to have us.

Settling in to our apartment, we’ve had kitchenware provided, linens, clean drinking water, and an incessant offers of further hospitality, in case we have any need. We’ve been taken to eat, had lunch cooked for us every day at work, and taken shopping (more of that to come…food and shopping!).

Whether it’s an ancient Indian tradition or a revived Sanskrit verse to attract tourism, it’s certainly true: “Atithi Devo Bhavah.”

Room Service at an Odisha Hotel

Our Apartment