Almost Home

I'm coming home in 11 days!  I can't believe it.  I'm excited, but it feels weird too.  I really, really want a Chipotle burrito and one of Juan's awesome breakfasts with perfectly fried eggs, refried black beans, hashbrowns and avocado.  I've made my requests:)

Since the last time I blogged, my brother, my dad and his wife (Deb) all came to visit for just under a week.  It was a whirlwind trip (for them), and we had a great time.  I felt satisfied in exposing them to all the ups and downs of India.  The low was my great idea to take an overnight sleeper bus, and Deb being sick that night and having no other toilet option but to pee beside the bus next to a sleeping dog in the middle of the night.  We didn't actually sleep on the sleeper bus; seems like it would be comfy, but it's not as soon as the thing starts moving.  Phil and I joked that three seatbelts would've been necessary: one across the thighs, one across the chest, and one across the forehead.  Oliver was actually rolled over once in his sleep because the bus rocked back and forth so violently.  The highs were seeing a wild tiger at Pench Wildlife Reserve, and Dad and Phil hanging out at the Hard Rock Cafe during the Cricket World Cup quarter-finals (India was playing and won), while Deb and I browsed designer saris after a great day of sightseeing around Hyderabad.

I visited villages numbers three and four, but due to a hopefully positive turn of events we've cancelled our train tickets to go to the last research villages this week.  I presented my research last Thursday to the economics research staff, and it went really very well.  Got lots of good questions and didn't miss a beat in my responses and explanations.  On the whole I can say that they were impressed with the amount of work I got done in three months and are receptive to the possibility of me continuing to work with them (from home) on a contract basis.  So, I'm really, really hoping that that works out, and I'm under quite a bit of pressure to write a publishable paper in the next week or so.  

What else, what else?  Oh right-Oliver!  Does new things everyday.  Yesterday he started playing with the phone; we don't talk on it that much but he was imitating me, holding the receiver to his head (albeit upside down) and leaning into it.  I swear he would play with the phone all day long if I let him; phone time is over when he starts banging it on the ground.  The other day, he stood up completed unassisted, not even holding onto anything.  He was crawling around in the grass, I looked away, and when I looked back he was just standing there!  Being so close to coming home, I'm hoping he holds off just a little longer on those first steps so that Juan can be there to see it.  He did do pretty well walking in the kiddie pool today just holding my hand though.  He's also started making farting sounds with his mouth; no idea where he picked that up:)

I found out that he really loves raw red onions and tomatoes.  Strange, I know, but he really gobbles them down.  I gave him banana slices and pieces of tomato tonight for finger foods, and he was preferring the tomato.  He insists on holding onto a spoon now while I'm feeding him too; he's really good at turning the spoon so it's the right way for scooping in his hand, but then he just bangs on the side of the bowl, sometimes flinging food into the air and tries to stick the spoon in my mouth.  He won't let me brush his teeth anymore either; he's got to be holding onto the toothbrush, which he sticks in his mouth and chews on.  I've got to be quick helping him brush back and forth because as soon as he realizes what I'm doing, he pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth, closes his lips really tight and gives me this adamant look.  Squirt.

Another of Oliver's amazing new feats is that he can climb up onto his walker and sit in it backward.  I think that means that he's outgrown it, so I'll be leaving it here with another family who has a small baby.  He loves playing with doors--doorstoppers, door hardware, the fridge door, the closet door and just opening and closing doors.  Our flatlet has a screened-in porch with glass doors that separate it from the living room, and Oliver will go on the porch, shut the door, and then stand up and start banging on the door like he's trying to get back in so it looks to everyone walking by that I've locked my child outside!

Goa

Ahhhh, Goa.  It was awesome.  I've heard from several other people that they didn't like Goa because it was so touristy, but I ended up on a nice, quiet beach and just enjoyed the sun and surf.  I'm glad I didn't book a hotel online for the two days before the conference, because I would have ended up at a beach that I thought was quiet but turned out to be party central.  The taxi driver at the airport suggested Agonda beach, so I ended up spending more on a taxi since it was further away, but the guest house, run by Inacio and Maria Fernandes and family (Goa was a Portuguese colony), was only $12 per night.  There are about five similar guest houses along Agonda beach, but not too many people.  It seemed to be a popular spot for middle-aged and older European tourists, so there was no problem wearing a bikini and being harrassed by local men, as I've read happens at the busier beaches.  We spent an entire day on the beach.  Oliver loved crawling around in the sand naked, and tasting the sand once in awhile.  He was all smiles when we sat in the water, giggling when the waves hit him.  He only sat still for two minutes to eat his supper, so I had to chase him around with a spoon...after playing on the beach all day he was still too excited to sit still.  That night, he was out as soon as I laid him down in his crib, didn't even roll over.

Goa was a lot like I imagine the Dominican Republic to be...beaches, coconut trees, narrow winding roads, colorful houses, crucifixes and rosaries, men wearing soccer jerseys, women dressed in knee-length dresses and skirts.  The conference was good-nice hotel, great food, and fun to see and talk with other Fulbrighters.  There was a family there with their 9-month old daughter, so she and Oliver had a few playdates.

Oliver's First Birthday

Oliver celebrated his first birthday on March 1st with lots of chocolate (we helped out too).  He's grown considerably in the last few weeks; every couple of days he looks taller and feels heavier.  He likes to say "no no no no no no no" and "ma ma ma ma mom."  We (Oliver, myself and my mom) recently returned from a trip to the Ellora and Ajanta caves near Aurangabad.  The caves date between about 1300 and 2000+ years old and are carved out of solid rock cliffs.  Before going there, I held my first focus group discussions in two of the ICRISAT villages near Sholapur.  We traveled on local buses, which was bumpier and longer than the train but a good, cheap last minute option.  Mom left last night, having been here with us for seven weeks, and Sinclair returned the night before Oliver's birthday.  Research is speeding ahead and going well, and I'm starting to feel the time crunch as I'm coming home on April 21 and still have four more villages to visit, more numbers to crunch, a final presentation to prepare and a report to write.  Tomorrow, Oliver and I are headed to Goa (tropical paradise, here we come!) for the South Asia Fulbright Conference.  All-expenses paid:)  We're going two days early so that we can relax on a beach by ourselves for a good day and a half before the conference starts. 

I bought Oliver an ethnic outfit and my mom bought a sari in preparation to go to an Indian wedding, but we decided not to go because it was during violent protests in Hyderabad and was located near the epicenter...so we took pictures anyway.

Oliver on his first birthday, with a tree just his size.

Inside one of the Ellora Caves



Buddha, buddha, buddha, buddha, buddha call...



Temple at Ellora Caves, carved from the top down.

After the first focus group discussion in the village of Shirapur

Photos from Gurgaon

The guest house in Gurgaon where we lived

The view from the front door-the dwellings of construction workers amid plenty

Street view

The Hindu altar where one of the girls prayed, sang and rang bells every morning.  The others joked that she was asking for a good husband.

The bhayas: Tirupati and Pintu

Oliver on the big deck between our room and the kitchen

The local market

Friendly neighborhood cattle

The courtyard of IRRAD's beautiful, Plantinum-rated green building

The goodbye party for Ranjana and me at IRRAD, complete with chocolate cake...how did they know??  My supervisor, Pradeep, is on the right

Research

I finished my research at IRRAD, and while I’m still working with my supervisor there on finalizing my paper (there will be one version on which he is the coauthor for in-house publication, and one version that’s entirely my own for my purposes), these are my conclusions:

The regional level investigation of food security found that on the whole, the commercial region (Agon and Rangala Rajpur) can be said to be more food secure than the subsistence region (Kotla and Uletha).  Farming households located in the commercial region have higher incomes (both from agriculture and non-farm employment), higher yields and total production, less yield variability, have more diversified cropping patterns and are able to spend more on food consumption.  Still, the volume of food available to households is approximately the same in both regions, and the average diet is heavily dependent on staple foods.  Therefore, it cannot be said that either region is food secure, since widespread micronutrient deficiencies are suspected based on reported food intake.

Size of landholding was found to be the most important determinant of household level food security.  Households with a larger plot of land at their disposal are able to provide for their own subsistence crop needs as well as diversify into growing other crops, including the ability to allocate a larger portion of land to cash crop production.  Thus, having a larger landholding allows farmers to be responsive to market signals while remaining relatively insulated to crop failures and market instability compared to farmers with less land.  These households are able to purchase more food from the market, consume more food overall, yet they spend a smaller percentage of their income on food.

                Women in this region were found to have much lower literacy rates than men.  The number of women who had gone to school was four times less than the number of men who had been to school, but educated women had attained levels of education comparable and even higher than that of men in the commercial region.  Very few women work outside of their household’s domain, they are generally responsible for livestock rearing and food preparation, they work approximately the same number of hours in the field as men, and no women owned land.  It was found that gender relations are generally more equitable in the subsistence region than in the commercial region, as women there have more power in production decisions and households generally eat together, versus having women eat last.  This study found little support for existing gender theory as it relates to food security; households in which men had more power in production decisions and worked more in the fields were more food secure.  Regarding the individual food security of women, male education is correlated with women eating more compared to their husbands, and the presence of an income-earning woman is more common in households where women consume relatively more.  Most importantly, this study found that women’s status or women’s food security does not improve as household income or household level food security improves.

The study that I did at IRRAD was based on a survey of the head of household and his wife in 120 households across four villages.  Needless to say, this was a wonderful experience, and I wouldn’t have been able to do it without enormous support staff and resources provided free of charge by IRRAD.  I will post the final paper when it is ready.

Here at ICRISAT, my research is based on a world-famous database, containing information from surveys with the same 40 households in six villages between the years 1975-1984 and from 2001-onward.  It is focused on evaluating the socioeconomic status of women in those villages and what impact agricultural modernization has had specifically on women.  My supervisor here said that it is a priority project, since little gender analysis has been done with this data.  It’s a huge amount of information, so I’ve been mining through it with Excel.  Soon I’ll start planning for focus group discussions in the villages.  The closest two villages are about 70 kilometers away and the farthest are 300 kilometers from ICRISAT, so my research here will involve some travel.

Fresh Milk?

Processed milk in India is, well, very processed and contains an array of lovely chemicals.  It’s sold unrefrigerated in boxes or in little plastic bags, and needless to say, it tastes funny.  I don’t like it, so I haven’t been drinking much milk and I’m sure that I haven’t been getting enough calcium either.

I decided to do my best to get fresh milk, which is delivered in tins by men on motorcycles.  I see them everywhere on the roads, so I know that fresh milk exists.  I called the housing office to see if they could help me arrange delivery of fresh milk a couple times a week.  This is an abridged version of our conversation:

“Uh, yes, I’m wondering if you could help me get fresh milk delivered?”

Fresh milk, madam?

“Yes, sir, fresh milk.”

Yes, madam.  There is a boy who delivers packaged milk every morning.  How much should he bring to you?

“No, no.  I mean fresh milk, not packaged.”

Yes, madam.  Then you can get fresh milk at the canteen.  They serve it hot.

“No, I’m pretty sure that is not fresh milk.  It tastes like packaged milk.  I don’t want packaged milk.”

No, madam.  That is fresh milk…

“No, it is packaged milk.”

Yes, madam.  Fresh packaged milk.

Ok, so I’m clearly using the wrong vocabulary.

“I’d like unprocessed milk, sir, directly from the cow.”

Oh!  You want cow’s milk?

“Uh, yes, cow’s milk.  Fresh, right from the cow.  Unprocessed.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

Ok, madam.  No problem.  I’ll call the boy who comes from the village everyday and see if he can bring cow’s milk.  How much do you want?

“Great.  I’ll take two liters.”

So I think the problem is solved, and I’ll be getting fresh milk; I just have to call a day before I want it.  Then, the phone rings.

Two liters is a problem madam.  It is not easy to bring two liters.

“Ok, so is it easier to bring less or more?”

No, no madam.  Two liters is a problem.  Very hard to bring two liters.

“Ok, but how much can I have?  Is one liter easier or is five liters easier?”

Madam, two liters is not possible.  How much would you like?

“I’ll take one liter.”

Ok, one liter.  It is better. Uh, madam, it is okay if it is buffalo milk?

“Sure.”  (“Buffalo” here are what I think are water buffalo, not bison.)

Later that night, someone knocks at my door and hands me two liters of fresh milk.  By fresh I mean unpackaged, unprocessed, unchemicalized, and straight from the cow.  Er, buffalo.

Oliver's Playdate at Hauz Khas

Hauz Khas means “royal water tank” and seems to be an overlooked historical site in Delhi.  It is located in a neighborhood called Hauz Khas Village, near the Hauz Khas metro stop of all places.  Hauz Khas Village is a string of upscale but interesting shops and winding offshoots, and includes Kunzum, a traveler’s café that serves excellent coffee (yes, real drip coffee of the best sort, not Nescafe) and tea as well as delicious dipping biscuits and is a pay-as-you-like setup.  It’s also a photo gallery and is full of great travel books and of course, interesting people.  Wonderful find by Sarah.

Oliver at Kunzum Cafe

Anyway, Hauz Khas.  Parts of it are 800 years old!  Entrance to the ruins is free, you can climb all over the place, the signage is informative, and it is better upkept than many other tourist sites in Delhi.  I’m thinking especially of the Red Fort, supposedly the icon of icons, that is expensive to get in, lacks signs with historical information (or any information, for that matter) and is rundown and seeping with herds of leering creepsters.  Beyond the ruins, Hauz Khas is a legitimately nice park to have a picnic and just pass the day basking in the sun.  We found a nice place and plopped down to play with Oliver and relax.

Near us was a group of laboring women who were taking their lunch break with their very young children.  I had noticed them as we sat down and was, in all honesty, hoping to avoid interaction because they were dirty and the kids all had runny noses and who knows what else.  I soon realized that I would have to get over my apprehensions, open up, and relax as the kids, being curious, approached us.  At first they just sat next to Oliver, looking at him, looking at his toys, then started gently touching him and smiling.  Oliver, being the little flirt he is, was smiling at them as well.  Children are so innocent; they are completely blind to boundaries to which the most educated of adults hold themselves.

Little by little, we started playing more and more with the kids, talking as much as we could with their mothers, and wondering what the other families around us (fairer skinned and upper class) thought of our interaction with these “street people.”  We had such a great time watching the kids play with Oliver’s rattle ball that we made sure that the mothers understood that they could keep it and that they hadn’t taken it from us.  One of the kids squeezed himself into Oliver’s sweatshirt, so I counted that as gone as well; it’s not like it would break me to buy him another one, but these kids probably froze outside every night.  Their mothers went back to work nearby, leaving a very small baby in the care of a child that surely wasn’t even two years old.  Heartbreaking—imagine having to leave a defenseless baby with his siblings who are themselves so young that they could easily smother him or otherwise hurt him without realizing it.  Witnessing things like this while surrounded by plenty, as a Mercedes drives by, for example, make me feel so small here.  I can watch this baby for a few hours, but what will happen tomorrow?

I must say that inequality in India is sickening.  I am not saying this from a perspective that blindly and “patriotically” sees the US as perfect or even the best.  I can say that being in India has made me realize that for all our imperfections and shortfalls as Americans, the idea of justice and equality really is hammered into our psyche, and for the most part, we live it out.  It bothers me, and I think I can safely say that it would bother any random American, that servants of the upper class sleep in shacks without proper beds (euphemism: servants’ quarters) either outside or in a separate part of the mansion even though there are extra bedrooms inside.  It bothers me that servants are invariably darker than their employers.  It bothers me to go to a fancy luncheon, where everybody is eating and drinking from plentiful tables, everybody except the dark-skinned maid taking care of some rich woman’s children.  It bothers me to see servants belittled instead of given thanks, especially when people are so incredibly dependent on their servants for basic, basic things...I swear that if somehow every servant went on strike, the entire country would screech to a halt.  It bothers me that my favorite bar of chocolate costs a little under $2, which is approximately equal to the official minimum daily wage.

Why?  Why is it like this?  Is it the “democracy” that is only a façade, and a crumbling one at that?  Is it the rush to emulate the US at its worst, to consume material goods like there’s no tomorrow?  To pursue “development” at all costs?  Too often, it seems to be no more than a dog-eat-dog whirl in which no one cares or pays attention to the “collateral damage,” to use a phrase from Arundhati Roy.  In her book Listening to Grasshoppers: Field Notes on Democracy, she tells the untold stories about the elephants in the room: politicians who overtly call for the extermination of Muslims and the lowest rungs of society, who publicly boast of the number they have killed, how truly democratic movements for freedom from military occupation in Kashmir and from corporate mining interests in central India are strategically labeled as “extremist,” “Maoist,” “Naxalist,” to make way for their demise.

We played with some kids at Hauz Khas; I felt ashamed that I had intended to ignore them.