June 16 - 22, 2008. Shillong

Tags that students taped to an AIDS awareness and support poster.

Jenny, teaching kids in Shillong about HIV/AIDS

Women making bags with "loin looms" at a vocational school.

The inputs.

Jenny and me at the Shillong Country Club.

Kids at one of Mother Theresa's Orphanages

Jenny getting the Hindu Bindi placed on her forehead.

Jenny with bindi.

This picture was taken at Kamakhya temple in Guwahati. This is a group of Hindu men who are on the first day of a four day fast. I hope the second guy from the left makes it.

A couple of disclaimers:

1. Due to weather complications, we were unable to ride a military helicopter last week. The colorful, but not quite as glamorous alternative, was a car ride, discussed in paragraph one.

2. I was humbled this weekend while visiting a Hindu festival in Guwahati. Most of the men in attendance were in possession of at least one trident. As you’ll recall from our previous post, I made light of a plaque, at a temple in Delhi, which stated that tridents couldn’t be brought in.

We spent last week in Northeastern India, about 40 miles from Bangladesh, and 150 miles from Bhutan. Winnie, our intern host, arranged everything and joined us for the trip. On Monday, after flying into Guwahati, the capital of Assam, we drove to Shillong in the neighboring state of Meghalaya. To accurately represent the road to Shillong, one would need a wholesale box of hairpins, some Himalayan foothills, green in bulk, 1100 head of cattle, a Scottish loch, and a handful of broken down Tata coal trucks. In other words, while I’ve never been more carsick in my life, Jenny thought the scenery was absolutely incredible.

Shillong was formerly the capital of British Assam (in the mid to late 1800s), and the city still retains some aspects of British culture and architecture. The streets are very thin, and have moss covered, stone walls on either side. Many houses and buildings are built in the Tudor style, and the Shillong Country Club – one of the first golf courses in Asia – is modeled after the early Scottish courses. Shillong is also about 35 miles from Cherrapunjee, statistically the wettest place in the world. As I said before, green in bulk.

Winnie’s husband is a retired military special forces general, and he was the head of the base in Shillong for several years. Apparently he and his troops spent most of their time performing counter-terrorist missions in the region. Fortunately I think the special forces made substantial progress prior to our visit, and very little of the terrorist activity was aimed at American interns in the first place. Maitri started in Shillong, and Winnie still has an apartment near the center of town. From our bedroom windows, we could see soft, green mountains across the valley. The mass of trees made the mountains look like the thick wool on a sheep headed for the shears.

We arrived on Monday afternoon, just in time to catch a rock shattering thunderstorm. After a brief visit to an international trade expo featuring vendors from Thailand, Bangladesh, Pakistan and Kenya (of all places), we walked down the main Shillong thoroughfare and did a little window shopping, and finally settled into the apartment. Our first few days consisted of planning the logistics for two school presentations. With the rest of our time, we visited schools, training centers, and an orphanage that was started by Mother Theresa.

Maitri basically has a two person team in Shillong, led by Sanjay, a graphic designer and small business owner. Sanjay lived in Europe for about 5 years, has the best soap collection in Shillong, and is working on a coffee table book on the Rajasthani Regiment that was the only loyalist regiments in colonial India. Sanjay is a very accomplished guy, and he helped us all week long.

Our presentations went off smoothly. One was at a small private school, and the other was at the Army School of Shillong. We basically gave a presentation on HIV/AIDS, performed a brief skit, and answered any questions that the kids had about the subject. The questions ranged from “How much spit would I have to swallow from an infected person to contract HIV?” to “How old should I be before I start a relationship?” The culture in India is very conservative, and these kids – some as old as 17 – hadn’t talked about relationships, AIDS, or many other teenage topics. We administered a survey prior to our presentation, and many kids thought that one could contract HIV just from being close to an infected individual. Jenny gave an oral quiz towards the end of the presentation, and it seemed that most of the misinformation had been cleared up. After our presentation, we had each student write, “I will think before I act because…” on a red piece of paper, followed by their reason. Each student then taped the paper on an outline of a large AIDS ribbon we had drawn. After every student had posted their statement, the ribbon was red, indicating support for those with HIV/AIDS, but also demonstrating the students’ resolve to do everything they could to eradicate the disease.

On Friday, before our visit to the Army School, we stopped by the country club for an early morning walk. After circling a number of the fairways, we stopped on the 9th hole to drive a few balls. I had a hard time proving that I was the best golfer in our group that day, and Jenny frequently out-distanced me.

Jenny, trying to make me look bad.

However, as I grew up on a healthy diet of Fiesta Fun miniature golf, I rely on my short game to compensate. I drained a 40 foot putt at the end of the morning to solidify my status in the group, and the golf pro – a weathered Nepalese man – asked me if I wanted to practice driving again.

(This is what I do.)

Aside from our school visits, we visited an orphanage founded by Mother Theresa. It was neat to see the caretakers in the same indigo-bordered white robes that Mother Theresa wore, and a large photo of Mother Theresa hanging in the main hall. Unfortunately, the caretakers weren’t as eager to have their pictures taken as the children were.

The orphanage had some of the most adorable children, but some heartbreaking stories as well. Most of the children were left at a hospital by their mothers immediately after birth, and several of them were left in the street as newborn infants. The orphanage’s rules indicate that extended family members may retrieve a child, and a set of sisters was split up when an aunt and uncle sought out the older of the two, and likely put her into prostitution. The younger of the two, who is blind, and whose face is somewhat deformed was left at the orphanage by the family.

All of the children were ecstatic to see Winnie, who used to throw them parties at her house, and who still brings them treats when she is in town. This time, Winnie brought little watches for all of the kids. The watches were all different colors, and were painted with cartoon characters and diamonds, etc. I helped Biki (pronounced Beeky), a 12 year old girl, put her green Hello Kitty watch on, and she gave one of the more touching displays of gratitude that I’ve ever seen. Biki is an orphan with cerebral palsy. Needless to say, she didn’t start out with much in this life. But Biki’s smile grew the closer Winnie came to her. After Winnie had waded through the group of children, and was in front of her, Biki struggled to bring her hands together in front of her face and bowed her head, still smiling.

On Saturday, we woke up bright and early, to beat the unpredictable Shillong weather and catch our flight in Guwahati. People frequently get stranded in the road by impassable roads, horrible weather related traffic problems, etc. On good days, the drive is two hours. On bad days, it can be as long as seven hours. We had a one o’clock flight, and we left the house at 7:30, giving ourselves about five hours. As it turned out, the weather cooperated, and there was no traffic. We made it to Guwahati before ten, and Winnie took us to a Hindu festival at the Kamakhya temple on top of a mountain overlooking the city. The festival only takes place once a year, and this was day one of four. Kamakhya is the site where the Hindu goddess, Sati’s, reproductive organs apparently landed after she was inadvertently torn into 51 pieces by gods who were attempting to appease Lord Shiva. It’s a long story. Briefly, though, Kamakhya is an extremely important location in Hinduism for fertility. Sati, the goddess, is also the namesake for the Hindu practice of “sati”, where a widow is forced to throw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre. That’s another long, interesting story for another post. But the festival and temple were awesome. We didn’t get to go inside, but the outside was more than enough. Nancy, Kaitlyn, Jenny and I had the bindi placed on our foreheads, and flowers placed around our necks. We also performed a ritualistic chant that I’m assuming had something to do with fertility (hopefully it doesn’t work toooo soon – sorry Moms).

So it was a wild, picturesque week, but when Jenny and I arrived in Delhi, we both strangely felt like we were, kind of, home.

June 14, 2008. Hindu Weaponry and "Walk-About" Kahn

After a week in the office, we left home this morning for Akshardham temple. The ride to the temple was with a Formula-1 rickshaw driver, and let's just say we got there faster than we had anticipated. Akshardham temple is on the Eastern outskirts of Delhi, and holds the Guinness World Record for being the “world's largest comprehensive Hindu temple.” And it’s a good thing I left my trident in the apartment. At the security check point, a plaque displayed all of the items that could not be brought onto the temple premises. The forbidden items made quite an interesting cast, and included: digital cameras, the Islamic burqua, fencing foils, samurai swords and yes… the three-pronged trident.

The temple itself is incredible. The base of the temple is a cutaway frieze, depicting tens of life-size elephants, as well as lions, monkeys, and other Indian animals. The entire building and surrounding edifices are made out of Rajasthani pink sandstone, and apparently, the temple was constructed without a single piece of steel or concrete. And did I mention that the temple holds a world record for size? It should also hold a record for intricate detail. There wasn’t a square inch of wall or ceiling, inside the temple, that wasn’t carved. There are over 20,000 deities cut into the structure, and an eleven foot gilded statue of Swaminarayan, the founder of this denomination of Hinduism, sits in the center of the temple.

Prior to our visit to the temple, the four of us went to a number of attractions on the temple grounds. As the temple was completed in 2005, the Swaminarayan denomination created one Disneyland-esque (with emphasis on the “esque”) walk-through attraction, an IMAX movie, and an enjoyable boat ride through 10,000 years of Indian history. One of the most interesting parts about the boat ride was hearing how everything was done in India much earlier than it was done elsewhere in the world. “So and so discovered the laws of physics 300 years before Newton…so and so discovered flight 1000 years before…etc.” The narrator was brazen and smug, and by the end of the boat ride I wanted to shout “Hey pal, Disneyland opened in 1955.” For Jenny’s sake I held back.


We spent the rest of the afternoon shopping near Connaught place, and eating vegetarian and chicken masala pizza at Pizza Hut. Jenny and I are becoming quite the shopping pair. Jenny makes the final decision on the product, and I do the bargaining. Today we whittled our bill nearly in half for a piece of silver jewelry and a 1 foot tall, rosewood Buddha head. Unfortunately, however, the novelty of street shopping in Delhi is eroded by “walk-abouts” as I call them – the guys who don’t have a store, but are as eager as Hurricane Andrew to sell you something frivolous. Apparently, aside from looking like I sport a trident, I’m also the guy who looks like he wants to buy wooden snakes from street vendors. Nobody has tried to sell Jenny a wooden snake.

June 10, 2008. Birthdays, Shopping & Flame Throwing Air Conditioning Units

Only a few pictures this time:

These are three of Winnie & the General's six dogs. (L to R) Big Boss, the Yorkshire Terrier; Lamaji, the Beagle (a.k.a. Kyle Korver for his tan coat, knee high socks, and magnetic pull on the women in the office.); and finally Buddy, the Lab. While Buddy is the friendliest dog in the office, you could argue that he "doesn't have the belt through all the loops".


Winnie brought cake in for Kaitlyn's birthday. (L to R) Kaitlyn, Winnie, Me, Jenny, Shenahz, The General (Retired Director General of the Indian Military Special Forces - yeah, he's the man), Nancy, Sonali, & Sonal. Winnie & the General are the founders. Sonal, their daughter, is CEO.

Scott treated us to dinner at TGI Fridays in Connaught Place with Liz. It was great to have some good old American cuisine for a change. We also enjoyed hearing about their excited adventures this summer in China, Singapore, and Cambodia.

The 2007 Kamas Valley Fiesta Days Demolition Derby

As Jenny and I were getting ready for bed two nights ago, our air conditioning unit started making loud cranking sounds. About 20 seconds later, the A/C unit emitted a large flame and clouds of smoke. So we talk to the handyman on Monday, and he goes into our apartment to fix the unit while we’re at work. We get home from work, and there is a pile of dirt, wires and pipes in the corner of our room, as well as a mysterious dirty rag. So I open the bathroom door, and the toilet seat is completely covered in urine. Front, back, everywhere. I’m giving Jenny the benefit of the doubt this time and blaming it on the handyman.

As far as work goes, Jenny and I are both working on some pretty exciting projects right now. Jenny has put together the first Maitri quarterly newsletter, and is also creating a twelve week course on health for Indian women. She is putting together a curriculum and I am drafting a proposal on ways that Maitri can incorporate microfinance into their operations. I have made a spreadsheet delineating how much money Maitri will need to raise to start their operations, and different interest rates they should charge to create funds for additional loans. If the project gains traction, it could be an amazing experience. Winnie has said that she hopes to implement the proposal before we leave. This weekend I believe we are flying to Shillong, a mountainous city in Eastern India, and, while it’s still unclear what we will be working on there, it should be a good time.

After traveling three weekends in a row, and with a trip tentatively planned for next weekend Jenny and I decided to stay put for a change. Our first three weekends consisted of lost luggage, bumpy bus rides, and Indian night trains. This Saturday morning, we slept in. That’s one of the nicer things about living in an area for a while – you don’t feel rushed to do everything at once. You can take time to relax. When we were in Washington D.C. last spring, I remember walking along the Mall and passing a family that was obviously on a trip. The mom listed seven Smithsonian museums, and then said, “we have four hours left before we need to go to the airport, which ones do you guys want to see?” It reminded me of my childhood. I felt relieved that I didn’t have to go to the airport for another 2 months, and I felt spoiled because I had already had two entire afternoons in the National Portrait Gallery alone.

In the afternoon, we went to Kahn market. The word “market” is very ambiguous in India. On the one hand, a market could be a row of thatched huts along the street, with cuts of meat hanging from the ceiling, or mangoes piled up in front. On the other hand, a market could have a movie theater, a TGI Fridays, and a United Colors of Benetton. Kahn market is somewhere in between. You ask yourself, as you drive up alongside Kahn, why anyone would have highly recommended this place to you. It doesn’t have the authentic market look of say, Pikes Place in Seattle or the fish market in downtown Boston, or an Indian roadside market. And it definitely doesn’t look like a higher end mall. Imagine a gray, dilapidated strip mall that you pulled out from under a viaduct. That’s Kahn market. Once you get past the façade, though, the shopping is world class. That’s one of the things that blows me away about India. While many of their streets and buildings are dirtier than mud, their styles and colors are probably the most unique and extravagant in the world.

As I was with three females, the shopping was done mostly in jewelry stores, clothing stores, and home décor stores. I’m hesitant to say that after six and a half hours of shopping, I was saying “cute” and “fun” with way too much ease.

We made a reservation for lunch at a Western restaurant called The Big Chill, and then climbed a narrow, dark flight of stairs to FabIndia, India’s version of IKEA. FabIndia was actually very impressive. They had everything from men’s leather slippers to wool rugs to colorful Indian curtains to pottery and table cloths. And it was all pretty high quality stuff. We bought a leather bag for Jenny, and two table cloth and napkin sets. All together it set us back about $65. From FabIndia we went to The Big Chill for some Western food. Jenny and I shared a barbecue chicken salad and pepperoni and gouda baked pasta with mango shakes and a tropical smoothie to drink.

After lunch, we went back through a number of clothing stores. We stopped briefly in a book store and thought seriously about buying a large coffee table book entitled “The Monumental India Book.” We decided against it when we saw that it cost $300. Jenny bought three pairs of silver earrings and a shirt, and we called it a day. Honestly though, for the ladies out there, India has some pretty outstanding shopping.

Back at our apartment, we hung out and watched a movie. Nothing too crazy. Our cook, Janki, made us puri (think fried scones) and stir fry. While we have a pile of Bollywood movies by our DVD player, we opted for Best in Show for a second straight evening.

At church on Sunday, Jenny and I met an American family from Ogden. The Miners were in India with their daughter and son-in-law, the Speths, picking up their grandson Elder Speth. Elder Speth had served in the branch we attended, and had also served in a branch just down the street from where we were in Hyderabad. Apparently the Church is growing rapidly in India. The branch president of the Vasant Vihar branch we were attending had only been baptized one year earlier. Elder Speth had actually done his baptismal interview. Brother Miner introduced himself to the Elders quorum as a retired chemistry professor, and I thought I would mention to him, after the meeting, that my Grandma was Henry Eyring’s younger sister. Not wanting to come off the wrong way, I decided against it. It turns out I didn’t have to mention it though. Jenny had made a connection with his wife in Relief Society, and Brother Miner’s mother was Caroline Eyring, Grandma’s sister. Brother Miner (Bryant is his first name) is my Mom’s first cousin, and we had a good laugh about the connection. What an interesting coincidence that I bump into a close relative from Ogden, who I’ve never met before, at a branch meeting in Delhi, on the other side of the world. Brother Miner talked about being a missionary in Europe, when Aunt Rose and Uncle Grant went to Germany to buy Mercedes and travel around Bavaria.

Today we celebrated Kaitlyn’s birthday in the office, and tonight, Uncle Scott took us to TGI Fridays in Connaught Place. It was fun to get caught up on all of Scott and Liz’s travels around the world, and hear about their reactions to Indian culture. Fortunately it doesn’t sound like anyone has urinated on their toilet seat (yet).

May 31 - June 2, 2008. Indian Night Trains and a Ride on the Ganges

Some Photos First:

Jenny and me, shortly after boarding our night train from Delhi to Varanasi.

Dad at 5:30 in the morning.

Wood, near the steps of the ghats, used for cremations. Sandalwood is the most expensive wood to use, and is considered the most noble wood over which to be cremated.

Kaitlyn, Jenny, and Nancy, at the beginning of our boat ride up the Ganges.

Just a dude, meditating on the steps of a ghat.

Another dude, deep in meditation.

A cycle rickshaw driver in Varanasi.

Women bathing in the Ganges.

Jenny and me, walking along the ghats at 5:00 a.m.

Interesting topics discussed in this posting include: bats the size of eagles, India’s not-so-glamorous version of the Euro-rail, silk bedding, what “personal space” means in India, and a naked man completely covered in dried mud.

We had originally planned on traveling to Agra and Jaipur. However, due to Gurraj riots in Rajasthan, West of Delhi, we decided that it was a better idea to head the opposite direction. Rajmal, our intern hosts’ driver, took me to the train ticketing office on Friday morning, where we waded and fought our way through the masses to get last minute tickets to Varanasi. Even with an Indian leading the way, the ticketing office was remarkably inefficient. We had to get in one line to reserve the tickets, and another line to pay for the tickets, all the while, fighting to maintain our spot in line. The recurring thought that has been in my head for the last three weeks is, “There has to be a better way to do this.”

Kaitlyn, Nancy, Jenny and I left for Varanasi after work. The train pulled out of the station, and went right past the Red Fort as the sun was going down. I had heard a lot about the Red Fort before, and kind of dismissed it. The thing is absolutely massive. Imagine if they had constructed the Pentagon out of Southern Utah red rock and then placed a huge gate with towers in front. It’s that big, and that picturesque. We’re excited to go inside when we get a chance.

When I think “night train” or “sleeper car” I’m usually thinking about the separate compartments that the Euro-rail offers, with clean sheets, air conditioning, and a sink. Northern Railways, the Indian counterpart to the Euro-rail, was not quite as lavish. We’ll start with the bathrooms. There were two bathrooms per car, one of which had a sign that read, “Western Bathroom.” I peeked into the one that didn’t have a sign on it. It was literally a hole in the floor, with a pipe leading to the track. The “Western Bathroom” had a toilet in it, but no toilet paper, and no running water.

The train’s beds were vinyl, and didn’t look like they had been cleaned in years. A thirty-something Indian man perched himself on my bunk, and managed to communicate to me, “When you want to sleep, you tell me and I’ll move.” In the meantime he made himself right at home. He took off his shoes, one of which fell down the bunks and landed in between the four of us as we discussed the novelties of riding on an Indian train. The guy also had a full meal and left some scraps and crumbs for me. That’s what “personal space” means in India.

The windows of our car were pulled down, and we absorbed the odors of the night. Pungent, burning garbage was the most prevalent aroma, but the train also apparently passed through a field of rotten mangoes, deceased squirrel and unleaded gasoline. Despite the siege of our olfactory senses, we enjoyed the evening ride, and admitted that we were glad we were doing it. Man after man passed by calling out “Chaaaaaai! Chaaaaaai!” or “Bread, butter, omelet!” We had been advised against having the food and drink on the train, but it was interesting and annoying to see and hear the people come by with their goods. I took an Ambien and slept 8 hours away.

Our train stopped for twenty minutes, about 200 yards from the Varanasi station, before finally completing the journey (three hours late). Again, I said to myself, “There has to be a better way.” Tens of taxi and rickshaw drivers vied for our attention outside of the station before we finally negotiated a three dollar taxi ride across town to the ghats and our hotel. Our Lonely Planet book explained that, in Varanasi, the best information to give the taxi driver is a point of interest near your hotel. Otherwise, they will try to take you all over town, or will try to convince you that your hotel is overbooked, out of business, etc. so that you book a room in their friends’ hotel. The hints were useful as our driver tried to get all sorts of stuff out of us before we left. He wasn’t pleased when we continued to tell him that the only place we wanted to go was Assi Ghat. I’ve never had a taxi driver laugh at me and ask, “Why are you so serious today? You don’t like to have fun?” I thought to myself, “Why do you care, you’re a taxi driver.”

The Hotel Ganges View got rave reviews from my Lonely Planet book, and Nancy’s Frommers book, so we decided that, for $60 a night, the four of us would cram into a room and try it out. If any of you go to Varanasi in the future, the Hotel Ganges View is the place to stay. It’s located about 50 feet from the steps of Assi Ghat, and feels like a 1920’s, Indian-themed, Avenues mansion. The lobby and dimly lit dining room have white and black marble checkered floors, and there are lots of interesting knickknacks, paintings and coffee table books on shelves and tables. With the exception of a picture book on Abu Ghraib (which reminded me of Mom’s coffee table book entitled Global Nuclear Terrorism) all of the books in the room had photos of India, Nepal, and the Ganges. There were also cases of books that had been signed by famous Indian authors whom the hotel owner knew.

Our room was on the third floor, and we walked up a steep wooden staircase to get there, past a large, coral sandstone balcony with about twenty pots of flowers and green grass. The balcony overlooked the Ganges and a large Hindu temple. Painters were working on bright images of Ganesha, women, cows or birds. Some painted on their canvases while others painted directly on the walls of the hotel. Every room in the hotel was stylin’. Our room was trimmed with gold paint and had really cool light fixtures.

As it was too hot to walk the ghats in the mid-afternoon, the women decided to shop indoors. So I sat by as they searched through silk scarves, skirts, and blouses. In one store I couldn’t help but take a picture of a slightly pudgy Indian guy in a tank top and a mullet, hanging out on his mat as Kaitlyn, Jenny and Nancy went through his silk goods. Eventually we stopped by a Lonely Planet recommended silk shop, called Open Hand, where Jenny and I bought a couple of handmade, six piece silk bed sets.

In the early evening, we hired a fifteen-year-old kid named Pradeepa to row us up the Ganges to Harischandra Ghat, one of the main ceremonial cremation ghats. As it turned out, all of us wanted to do some of the rowing......so Pradeepa got paid full price for doing half the work. We passed by boys swimming, men doing their laundry, and women bathing. We could see the fire at Harischandra Ghat, and as we got nearer, four men carried a wooden stretcher down from the street. The stretcher was carrying a body wrapped in cloths, and the first stop was the river, where the body is apparently doused with water. The ceremony stopped for a bit, and Pradeepa started back to Assi Ghat before it resumed. When I looked back towards Harischandra, after about two or three minutes, the fire had grown quite a bit.

As we returned to Assi Ghat, with the sun completely beyond the horizon, our solemn thoughts about the cremation ceremony were obliterated by an influx of bats. Their arrival was as sleek as their shape. First there was a tiny one, flying drunk. Then there were a handful of tiny ones. Jenny pointed up to the sky and spotted a large flying creature that looked like an eagle. As it got closer, we realized that it had a 3-4 foot wing span, and that it too was a bat. No joke, it was the largest flying creature I’ve seen since spotting a Bald Eagle in the Olympic Peninsula last summer. After a while, there were hundreds of little bats flying around, and a constant stream of large, anxiety-inducing bats. They flew about ten or fifteen feet above us, and every once in a while, they dipped down and snatched something out of the water. Creepy.

We had dinner at the hotel – a buffet for the four of us plus three other tourists. Among the best dishes were a cauliflower and bell pepper dish, a really good lentil curry, lemon rice, and hot chapattis – think small flour tortillas. The other person sitting at our table was a British photographer, named Sebastian, who was on the back end of a four year trip around the world. He started out in Costa Rica, had spent almost three years in India, and had touched down in a handful of other countries.

Sunday morning came fast. We were up at 4:50 to catch the sunrise on the Ganges and take a walk along the ghats. I’ve decided that the two best places in the world to people watch are Las Vegas and Varanasi, two cities at opposite poles of the spiritual continuum. There were more women bathing in their saris, men leading their water buffaloes to the river, and a group of people doing early morning yoga to the sound of a ritualistic bellman. There were sudhus (men who cake themselves in mud for meditation purposes), more people meditating, and two or three more tourists. We passed Harischandra Ghat again and saw the end of the ceremony that we had missed the night before. People stood around a pyre of wood and oversaw the cremation of a deceased loved one.

Jenny, Nancy and Kaitlyn hired a yogi to come to our hotel for an hour after our return from the ghats. I’m already pretty flexible, so I went back to sleep as the women stretched and meditated outside our door. They all claimed that it was effective, since their muscles were sore the following day. We went to several markets in Varanasi and bought a few more silk items, before heading for the train station to catch another train back to Delhi.

Once again, we became all too familiar with the inefficiencies of the Indian rail service. There are many amazing things in India, but an efficient rail system is not one of them. For an hour, nobody could tell us where our train was, or if we even had seats on the train. Apparently, we had been given standby tickets, and we had to go through a bunch of lines and charts to figure out where our seats were.

Jenny and I have now traveled in India by taxi, rickshaw, bus, train, plane, motorcycle, and company car. If you are interested in going from point A to point B in India, and it is anywhere over 10 miles between the two points, take my advice and fly there. I had the middle of three bunks in our section of the train. As I fell asleep, a man, whose family was sleeping on the bottom bunk, stood up and coughed directly into my face. This went on throughout the night. Jenny woke up early in the morning to three teenage boys sitting on the bunk across from her, staring at her. Good times.

After traveling on an Indian night train, and dealing with the madness that is the Varanasi taxi/rickshaw scene, we felt relieved to arrive home on Monday morning. F-block, with its 1970s East German architecture, never looked so good, and our quiet ride to work was an absolute breeze.

May 30, 2008. Work & the Weekend!

So we've been working in the office this week. Jenny has been working on a quarterly newsletter for Maitri, and I've been looking into possible ways of giving small loans to women associated with Maitri. Jenny has also put together a health related activity that she will do with the kids. She plans on taking their vitals and teaching them the importance of getting check ups.

Tonight we are off to Varanasi. We bought night train tickets this morning, and will come back Sunday night. We're pretty excited about it. More on that later...

Rickshaws

As we were negotiating our ride to work today, I realized that getting a rickshaw is a lot like dating:

First there’s the introduction and a brief proposal of where you think things are going. When you mention a price, and it’s too serious, or not enough of a financial commitment, the driver scoffs and acts like he’s going to drive off. But he doesn’t quite drive away, he lingers around for a while. So you start walking away too, but you don’t go too far, because the price was close to where you wanted it to be, and you don’t want to start the whole thing over again. You act like you’re looking for another rickshaw driver, but you’ve got the original one in your peripherals. He either drives away because he really isn’t interested, or he throws a better deal out, something that works for both of you.

May 25-27, 2008. First Few Days in Delhi

Pictures are scattered throughout the post...

Our plane left Hyderabad at 6:55 in the morning, and I told the receptionist at Cosy Homes that we wanted to be there by about 5:00, so she had a taxi pick us up at 3:00 a.m. In normal traffic it takes about an hour to get there, but we arrived at about 3:20. It would have made my Dad proud. One of the less noble parts of Indian culture, in my opinion, is the tendency to “butt” in line. In the boarding line, a 55 year old man walked right in front of everyone, and jumped in right in front of me. I think I was the only one to notice (as Jenny and I were the only foreigners, and she’s generally more relaxed about that kind of stuff). “This isn’t the third grade lunch line pal,” I thought to myself.

When we arrived in Delhi at about 9:00 a.m., we were greeted by Rajmal, our intern host’s personal driver. It was a much smoother arrival than our previous one in Delhi, a week earlier. That time we had lost baggage and we had to navigate from the international terminal to the domestic terminal several miles away. The inefficiency would blow your mind.

Rajmal dropped us off at our apartment where Kaitlyn and Nancy were relaxing and taking in the Sunday morning. I have to say, our apartment is rad. The inside kind of has a loft feel, and I feel like we are close enough to everything, but not too close. We live in a residential colony called Som Vihar, which has about fifteen 7-story apartment buildings, a small park, a restaurant, grocery store, fruit stand, internet café, and a bunch of morning walkers. We live in F-block. That sounds a little communist or Alcatraz-ish (as you’ll recall, D-block, also known as solitary confinement, was home to Robert “The Birdman” Stroud), but F-block is actually a very pleasant place to be.

First, Nancy, Kaitlyn, Jenny and I made an itinerary, including Gurdwara Bangla Sahib, Lodi Gardens, and Humayun’s Tomb, and then we hopped on a rickshaw. Our rickshaw drove through some pretty nice areas, passing all of the embassies on our way to Gurdwara. The Thai embassy had a tall, ridged dome/tower, very reminiscent of photos of Thailand. The Swiss and Swedish embassies looked very efficient and clean. The Chinese embassy had barbed wire around the entire block, as well as guards standing every 25 yards or so. We pondered the reasons why there might be so much security around that particular embassy…

The outside of Gurdwara looked like an Indian Rage Against the Machine concert. The loudest part of the ruckus was coming from the shoe depository. Everybody had to take their shoes off, and place them in a depository prior to entering the temple. There must have been 75 people trying to hand shoes to 3 employees, in an 8 foot squared area. I honestly could not believe how rowdy the crowd was, and how hard you had to fight just to drop your shoes off. I took all of our shoes in, and took a couple of elbows to the ribs before getting to the front of the line.

The inside of the temple was quite a bit more peaceful. The temple opened up into a massive, white marble courtyard/gathering place, with a large pool in the middle. Hundreds of kids, men and families were bathing in the outer division of the water. The temple is located on the site where the 8th Sikh Guru, Harkrishan Dev, spent several months in 1664. The Guru helped many sick people, and the pool water apparently has curative properties, (although I think the sanitation issues may cancel out some of the good). We walked along the shaded edges of the temple courtyard, listening to Sikh men singing religious hymns and chants over loudspeakers, before entering the temple itself.

The temple building was packed with people. All of the men were in turbans, and everybody was trying to get a look at a religious ceremony going on in the middle of the temple. The three men producing the music which we had heard over the loudspeakers were sitting near the ceremony, singing and playing a sitar, and two accordion looking instruments. We did a little more people watching, and headed back to the melee outside to retrieve our shoes.

Our next destination was Lodi Gardens, which is the perfect respite from Delhi’s crowded streets (and temples). Think Central Park with large 15th century Muslim tombs scattered about.

After a few photos of the tombs, a mango popsicle, and a rest in the Jose-Canseco-steroid-ant infested grass, we headed down to the Lodi Garden Restaurant. There was a large group of French tourists leaving as we arrived (all I could think about was Air France and my lost bag). The presence of the tourists was good because it meant the food was good. The presence of tourists was bad because it meant that, not only was the food probably not Indian, but that it was also on the expensive side. Fortunately, an expensive meal here costs about the same as a Rumbi’s Hawaiian chicken Sandwich in the U.S. The restaurant was actually just O.k., but we were full, and we had rested for a good two hours in an air conditioned room with a nice view. We left the gardens and headed for Humayun’s Tomb.

Humayun’s Tomb was the inspiration for the Taj Mahal, and it totally impressed.

The surrounding gardens and tombs were also interesting and entertaining, despite a very up close and personal encounter with a couple of bats (the flying animal kind) in the pitch black stairwell at Isa Kahn’s tomb. The coolest part of the post-bat setting was the music that we could hear from a celebration in the distance. The music was more Sikh chanting that you would expect to hear out of Arabian Nights, and it drifted over the entire complex.
As we tried to leave the complex for our apartment, a rickshaw driver told us that the streets were filled with people from the celebration, and that we would have to walk a ways and find a rickshaw where the streets weren’t so crowded. I grabbed another mango popsicle for the walk, and we passed through the celebration, which apparently was reaching its climax. Everybody singing and throwing rose pedals at a carriage filled with some celebratory something or other. The scent of roses was subtle, but something I didn’t expect to experience in the streets of Delhi.

When we got home, Jenny and I unpacked, and we all generally just hung out.

On Monday, it rained in the morning. It was the kind of rain that sweeps across everything over and over again like curtains in the wind. Jannke(sp?) our maid and cook, came and fixed breakfast, and burned incense in the apartment. She brought her homemade pickled mango to put on the omelet style flat bread she had made. The pickled mango had been set aside for a year and a half so that all the flavors could mesh together. It was extremely spicy, but pretty good. After the rain stopped, we left for work, and were introduced to the four or five employees at Maitri. While I’ll go into detail in another posting about the CEO, and employees, I just want to highlight Winnie, the founder (with her husband), and her 6 dogs. First of all, everything about her is impressive. She comes across as capable, motivated, and in control of the situation. She brings five of her dogs to the office every day. First the males, their breeds and names: Lama Ji, an overweight prize winning Beagle and possibly the handsomest dog I’ve ever seen; Buddy, a yellow lab who just lies around and reminds me of a sea lion; Big Boss and Amigo, two small, precocious Yorkshire Terriers, one of whom doesn’t get along with Lama Ji; and finally, Pushkin, the Chihuahua, who needs to be carried, and who talks big, but hides behind Buddy in times of peril. Elsa, the Daschund bitch, stays at home on a plush cushion near the dining room table. We ate at Winnie’s home for lunch (amazing lunch and an amazing apartment), and became better acquainted with the Maitri staff and the collection of canines.

The rest of our day was spent repairing the internet and air conditioning in our apartment. In the evening we went to Priya Market, which is basically an outdoor mall, with a nice movie theater and shops like United Colors of Benetton, Von Dutch, a French grocery store, and a really cool cheap bookstore. We bought cereal (who would have thought you would be able to find Blueberry Morning in Delhi), milk and juice from the grocery store, and Jenny got a pair of stretchy, pajama pants with good airflow to wear around the apartment.

The most exciting things today were driving to the other school and tailoring center that Maitri started in a Delhi slum, and teaching the kids at the main Maitri school underneath our office. We sang Let it Be, karaoke style, as the kids clapped to the beat and played the air guitar. We also practiced English and Math with them. They were extremely interested in everything we taught, but they were so rambunctious that it was hard to work with more than two or three at a time. Winnie explained that the kids are in pretty desperate need of attention. Right now it sounds like Jenny will be taking the children’s vitals and teaching them the importance of checkups and health. It is still a little unclear as to what I will be doing, but Jenny and I are both pretty excited to be here.

Interesting Observations

A few of the things I've noticed about India that may be of interest:
1. The ads in my Yahoo Mail page are not for E-Harmony or other dating services. They are for E-Matrimony sites.
2. NOBODY wears shorts. It's 110 degrees farenheit outside, and everybody is wearing pants or saris.
3. The kids at the Delhi Public School, which is just down the street from our apartment, play a bunch of different sports in their time off, most notably cricket and badminton. The DPS facilities are surprisingly nice, and we can use them for free.
4. Bathroom etiquette is quite different here. I won't go into the details.
5. There is no set price for anything.
6. While every Indian I have worked with has been incredibly competent and efficient, many of the facilities and institutions (the Delhi airport, the driving/bathroom habits, etc.) are remarkably inefficient.
7. With FEW exceptions, there is little public affection between men and women. Not evening holding hands. Apparently this is looked down on. That is the single biggest difference between India and say...Brazil. Men, on the other hand, hold hands with and caress the shoulders of other men in public, and this is totally acceptable. We're talking about straight men. Now I don't have any problems with this, it's just a little different than what I'm used to.
There are more on the way...

May 24, 2008. Baggage Reclamation, Golconda Fort, etc.

Photos of our last day in Hyderabad:

The Saturday after Jenny and I returned to Hyderabad was basically a free day. We decided to drive out to the new Hyderabad airport to pick up our bag that Air France had lost a week earlier. Before I get into the lost bag fiasco, let me tell you that the new airport, completed about one month ago, is amazing. It's nicer than any airport I've been inside in the U.S. , and it's actually kind of embarrassing how much nicer it is than Delhi's International airport.

(If you want to skip this next paragraph, I won’t be offended. I’m ranting. Just promise yourself that you won’t ever fly Air France or Air India)

So Air France left our bag in Paris when we flew to Delhi a week and a half ago. There was plenty of room on the plane (Jenny and I each had a 5-seat row to ourselves to sleep on), and the Air France baggage claim guy in Delhi made it seem like the bag wasn’t lost, but that they just decided to leave it in Paris. He also assured me that the bag would be delivered to the address I gave him in Hyderabad, within 48 hours. Then he promised me, while looking me square in the eye, that the bag would be delivered to the address I gave him in Hyderabad, within 48 hours. So, as you can imagine, Jenny and I were pretty frustrated when, after a week, there was no bag waiting for us at Cosy Homes. So we called the Air France people in Delhi, and they said that the bag had been delivered, and that we would have to pick the bag up at the Indian Airlines baggage claim in Hyderabad (????!!!!). So we paid ($30 roundtrip) for the taxi out to the airport and discovered that there was no Indian Airlines baggage claim office. The people at the airport’s general lost baggage desk told us that they hadn’t seen our bag either. To make us even more frustrated, they told us that their phone was only for local calls, and that there was only one phone in the airport capable of reaching Delhi (????!!!!), and the woman who managed the phone was at breakfast (????!!!!). Finally we reached the Air France people in Delhi, and, after deliberating for 15 minutes, they told us that the bag was actually at the Air India (Not Indian Airlines) cargo pickup center. Frustrating. When we reached the cargo pickup center, 2 miles away, we had to pay about $10 to retrieve our bag. The neighborhood we were staying in was listed on the baggage slip, but no Cosy Homes address was listed. I could tell that, despite the baggage claim guy’s promises, there was no intention of delivering the bag to Cosy Homes. Once we had the bag, which contained all of our American goods that couldn’t be carried on the plane, I was happy again. After being insulted by Air France and Air India I am encouraging people not to fly the airlines whenever possible. So that is the end of my rant.

After the wild goose chase for the bag, Jenny and I drove to Golconda Fort, a fortress built by the Qutb Shahi Kings in the early 1500s. To give you an idea of how bad (for the older generation, “bad” in this context means intriguing, unique, and breathtaking) this fort was: spikes were welded to the front gates to deter invading Mughal war elephants, and a clap under the portico at the bottom of the fort could be heard perfectly by the king at the top of the fort, 1 kilometer up the mountain. In the 1600s the fort was eventually overtaken by the Mughals from the North (Delhi area I think), but only after an 8 month siege. Abul Hasan, the Qutb Shahi king probably wouldn’t have been defeated if not for a “treacherous insider.” Other interesting facts about the fort and the surrounding area, are: the Hope Diamond was taken from the Golconda mines nearby, and the name Golconda was associated with massive fortune and wealth in the 16th-19th centuries. When the people in the fort ran out of water, the King at the time (late 1500s) sent people to the nearby Musi River, and thus, the city of Hyderabad began.

After visiting the fort, we returned to Cosy Homes, relaxed, napped, and said goodbye to the staff at SKS. In the evening, we went out with Shailesh, our first guide in Warangal. He had come to Hyderabad for the weekend for additional training. First we went to the Charminar, which is the main site in Hyderabad. Unfortunately I didn’t have my camera, so we don’t have pictures, but you can Google Image it. Finally we went to a restaurant called Paradise, which makes the best biryani in Hyderabad. Biryani is the food that Southern India is famous for, and I have to say that it was amazing. We also had chicken tikka masala, and lots of naan and pineapple juice. It was a good way to finish up our time in Hyderabad.

May 19-23, 2008. Visit to Warangal & Khammam

I’m going to be honest - this blog submission will be long. So, for those of you who are not family or friend, or who lack adequate time, I’ve typed up an abridged version of our last week in India for your convenience: money, spices, parasites, motorcycles, tribal languages, buffalo, a Hindu goddess of death and destruction, and a 1000 year old Kakatiyan fortress which was cut out of black basalt and which was visited by Marco Polo. Here are some photos as well:










Here is a less abridged version of the week:
On Monday, Danashree, the woman coordinating my visit with SKS, informed me that I would get an extensive look at the company’s field operations. Apparently that meant that Jenny and I would be traveling 100 miles into the Indian wild to visit SKS branches in rural parts of Andhra Pradesh (AP). Our taxi picked us up from Cosy Homes (our guesthouse) and drove four and a half hours to Warangal.

The wildest part about the Indian wild was the freeway. If there is one law on the road, it is: Survive. Rickshaws, taxis, buses, trucks, motorcycles and ox-drawn carts all compete for space, whether it’s in the right lane, the wrong lane, or on the shoulder. Everybody is honking, and swerving around vehicles in front of them. Our taxi driver was a 21 year old kid, and was particularly aggressive. He would swerve into the opposite lane, and, just when we thought there was no hope of getting back into our lane, he would sneak in before a truck could nab us. I became very familiar with the term “Road King,” which is painted on the front of every Tata brand truck.

We arrived in Warangal at 11:30p.m., and checked into the Hotel Ratna. Our room was barebones, and came with a couple of lizards and a trail of ants leading to the drawers. Jenny had never showered in a bathroom that didn’t have some sort of separation between the shower and the toilet (maybe in Japan), but she got used to it and, by the end of our stay, she was commenting on how efficient the setup was.

Before diving into our experiences in the field, let me briefly explain the way SKS works, and why it is growing so rapidly. There are somewhere around 200 million “very poor” and “ultra poor” citizens in India alone. These people have no access to loans from banks, because they have no collateral. As several other microfinance institutions have done, SKS forms groups of these people, who all count on each other. If one person defaults on a loan, the entire group, consisting of 5 women, has to pay back the loan. If the group can’t pay back the defaulted loan, the larger “center”, consisting of 4-8 groups, has to come up with the money. Basically, the financial obligation keeps getting spread out thinner and thinner until it is not difficult to collect the loan. As a result, SKS has a 99.6% repayment rate. SKS works through women, because it is a goal of theirs to empower the female population in India. Many times, the woman’s husband is actually the one with the business idea. However, if his wife is the financier, there is more of a balance of power in the relationship. One of the stipulations of the loans is that the money must all be put to use within four weeks, or else the remaining money is taken back. This way, all of SKS’ resources are put to use more efficiently, and the women are not burdened with more financial obligation than they can bear.

Two of the things that really set SKS apart are their profit model, and their aggressiveness in organizing new groups, centers, branches, etc. Other microfinance institutions (MFIs), who acquire their funds through grants, donations, government, etc., have given many loans to the poor. Because the funding runs out, however, or the value of the money circulated depreciates, the MFIs are not terribly self-sustainable. SKS charges 12.5% interest on loans, and turns a profit. The money that they create is put back into the process. SKS has taken out loans from Citibank, ING, and a long list of other financial institutions, who pretty much rest assured that their loans will be paid back. One benefit of the profit model is that SKS can incentivize their sales team. Sales people get commission for setting up new groups, so they have a personal financial interest in combating poverty. There is a pretty amazing system of checks and balances in place so that corruption, bribery, etc. doesn’t occur. Another benefit of the profit model, is that about 50% of the sales force are sons, daughters, brothers, or sisters of one of the borrowers. Borrower and employee obviously aren’t responsible for each other in the system, but the direct employing of the poor is another way that SKS helps fight poverty.

So the field is set up like this: A group (5 women) is part of a center (4-8 groups),which is part of a branch (25-40 centers), which is part of a unit (4-6 branches) which is part of an area (10 units). A field staff member recruits the groups. He can then be promoted numerous times. Typically within two years, s/he will be recruited to branch manager, then to unit manager, then to assistant area manager. In rare cases, s/he could eventually become area manager, but that position is typically reserved for MBA graduates. The company has around 2 million borrowers, and it grew by 200% last year. They feel like this rate of growth is sustainable for at least the next few years. They have really only begun to saturate (that may even be a strong word) one of India’s 30 states. They are the largest and fastest growing MFI in India, and this is all only the beginning. They are just starting to roll out health and life insurance, educational loans, home loans, access to quality consumer goods at low prices, access to cellular phones, etc. I was honestly blown away by it all.

So, now that I’ve probably bored everybody but Mom away from the blog, let me get back to our first day in Warangal…

On our first day, Shailesh, a recent MBA graduate and an Area Manager in training, and Mahesh, the local Branch Manager, picked us up from the Hotel Ratna at 6:30 a.m. (everything starts early here because the loan disbursements take place outside and it gets up to 115 degrees in the afternoon). These two guys were honestly lifesavers. Shailesh speaks Hindi, English, French and something else, and Mahesh speaks Telugu and Hindi. The local dialect in Andhra Pradesh is Telugu, so between them, they could communicate between us and each other. Because Jenny and I had spent 2700 rupees the night before on a taxi from Hyderabad (a rip off apparently), we weren’t about to spend any more on a taxi to take us from place to place. We jumped on the back of Shailesh and Mahesh’s motorcycles and rode with them.

We first went to see the local branch office, which was in the upstairs room of a very average apartment building (The company is working for the poor, so office space isn’t lavish. Their main office in Hyderabad is in a house, not a big glass office building). We met the field staff, who were all leaving for their center meetings, and then joined one of them for a nearby center meeting, held on the roof of one of the women’s houses. We didn’t really know what to expect, so when we climbed the stairs and came out on the roof, to 30 women in saris, sitting in a semicircle, Jenny and I both had one of those, “I can’t believe I’m actually here” moments. The center had waited for us, and when we sat down, they began to recite the SKS pledge, which basically states that they will attend the weekly meetings and pay on time, that they will not accept bribes, and that they will use their loans for profit building purposes only (no weddings, parties, etc). After the pledge, we watched as the women received loans, made payments, presented new loan applications, etc. Shailesh explained everything to us, and answered all of our questions. We attended two more center meetings in the morning, and saw more of the branch office operations.

At night we went to Bahdrakali Temple, and drove around inside of Warangal Fort, which once housed members and leaders of the Kakatiya civilization. The fort walls are massive pieces of black basalt, and a sign near the middle of the fort explains that Marco Polo marveled at the civilization, their fort and its carvings, when he passed through India. The fort still houses thousands of people, and apparently people have to authorize occasional governmental checks of their property because pieces of gold are sporadically found in yards and fields throughout the fort.

On Wednesday, after attending three more center meetings in the morning, Mahesh, Shailesh, Jenny and I went back to Warangal Fort to get a better look at the sculptures and carvings. They really were some of the most intricate carvings I’d ever seen. There were small six-inch carvings of elephants that were detailed down to the beads on the harnesses. It was all pretty incredible, especially because it was out in the middle of the Indian countryside. We obviously would never have visited the fort and seen the carvings if not for our visit with SKS.
In the afternoon and evening we drove from Warangal to Khammam. We took in the sunset as we drove, and watched Indian farmers cutting hay in the fields. Khammam was a little greener than Warangal, and not nearly as crowded. It was nice to feel like we could walk around the streets and not worry about getting hit by a “Road King”.

On Thursday, we went around with members of the area office to the different center meetings, and saw how the area manager works to solve the problems created by the death of a borrowers husband SKS writes off the loan for these women, and returns the principal that the women have paid back. In the evening, we attended a training meeting in which all of the field staff from the surrounding area were being trained how to implement a new life insurance product into the system. The meeting was in Telugu, with a Hindi interpreter. The meeting also lasted three hours longer than Jenny and I had anticipated. It was one of the less thrilling experiences of our trip.

On Friday, we visited several more center meetings and the local area and branch office, before taking off for Hyderabad. One of the centers we visited was about 25 miles outside of Khammam, and as we drove in, we could tell that few (if any) Americans had ever been there. Most of the town members followed the taxi and watched as we got out of the car. We sat on a members roof, and while the meeting was going on, one of the area staff told me that the women were speaking in a tribal language that only their assigned field assistant knew. It’s a long way from English to Hindi to Telugu to that tribal language, I thought. Back at the branch office, the branch staff gave Jenny and me a plastic statue of Rama and a female goddess (Shiva?) as a gift, and had us write about our visit in a notebook. Our experiences in Warangal and Khammam were some of the most unforgettable of our lives.

Because of the harrowing experience of driving through the night with an unfamiliar taxi driver on Indian freeways, Jenny and I decided to travel back to Hyderabad by bus in the afternoon, with two familiar SKS staff members. It actually just worked out that way, but Jenny and I were very grateful that it did. We were able to relax on the bus, and we actually got to see all of the countryside that we had missed on our way to Warangal. The staff at Cosy Homes were excited to see us again, and they made us a pile of steamed rice with paneer masala and butter naan for dinner.

May 18, 2008. Hyderabad Streets

The yellow rickshaws you see in the picture are just like the one we were traveling in at the time of this photo. The roads are mayhem. Jonny was lucky his arm didn't get cut off sticking it out to grab the photo. We were taveling back to our hotel after visiting an Indian museum.