"At Least They Knew Their Role"

So much happens in a single week here that it is almost dizzying. Classes have officially started now and I am pretty excited to move into a new phase of life here beyond orientation. I am enjoying learning Marathi far more than I would have guessed, judging from my previous experiences of loathing Spanish class in high school and avoiding dealing with my language requirement for university until I return from India (oops). Marathi is a gorgeous language that has roots in Sanskrit, the oldest language on earth. It makes so much sense compared to English, and part of me wishes the world would adapt to this instead of that. But alas. Besides Marathi I am taking Environmental Studies, which is a class of three people, including the professor. Today we went on a field trip to the Old City of Pune to see how rapid development has affected traditional livelihoods in India, looking at a centuries-old pottery village called Shanivad Wada for an example.

A plan for a metro is underway and within about a year’s time the consortium of villages will be destroyed to make room for it. Ten thousand people will have to be relocated, and it is definite that the government will not compensate them as much as is needed. It was a seemingly picturesque village to stroll through; all the doors were open, with little kids running freely in and out of them, women painting beautiful pottery on rickety front porches, and dogs, cats, and goats roaming wherever they please.

After leaving the village, our professor, Arudhati, told us of how she had grown up in a vadya, or a joint-family home, in Pune. Vadyas are mansion-size homes that house entire extended families in them – as many as one hundred people could be living in a single house. She reminisced about the days of living such a simple life with so many people that she loved around her at all times. Arudhati told us that development has completely eliminated this style of living in India and that she is heart-broken about it. Day by day, as we saw in the Shanivad Wada, the last of these kinds of close-knit communities were being done away with.

The only other classmate in the class and I exchanged somewhat confused looks. Yes, this is true from an environmental perspective, but that is only one of the many important perspectives to look through when assessing development.

We piped up and inquired about the status of women in the days of Arudhati’s childhood compared to today. She answered with something shocking: “at least they knew their role then. No one has any idea of their role or place in society today. That is why there are so many problems. When I was a girl, everyone knew exactly what was expected of them, and they had the older generation to look to for guidance.”

She had a point, kind of, I think. But I can’t say that I agree. On the rickshaw ride home, we had a long discussion about development and what it means in such a rapidly urbanizing and modernizing nation as India.

So that’s Environmental Studies. A battle at times with the annoyingly idealistic visions many people have in the field of ES, but also a passion of mine that I can’t seem to shake.

Then there is Contemporary India, where we discuss modern-day India – its politics, traditions, and all other sorts of matters. Today I brought in an article about the meat ban currently overtaking Maharashtra (the state Pune and Mumbai are in), which is causing problems for Muslims who are supposed to sacrifice an animal in the last week of September for Eid, an Islamic holiday. So it’s a pretty open-ended class that simply allows us to learn about current affairs involving India.

Then there’s my Independent Study. Oh man. It’s an ordeal for sure, but not much has happened yet since we are waiting for our consent forms and IRB proposals to be OK’d by the ACM staff in Chicago. After that, we can begin conducting our interviews and being on our way. (For more info, see previous blog post :)) 

Destination: Garbage Dump

After a life-changing internship this past summer at the Post Landfill Action Network (PLAN) in Dover, New Hampshire, where I was writing a manual for college students to use in order to reduce waste on campuses across the country, I was compelled to assess the waste management system in India for my Independent Study Project (ISP). As I did my preliminary research for this, I learned about the organization SWaCH (Solid Waste Collection and Handling), born out of the organization KKPKP (Kagad Kach Patra Kashtakari Panchayat) (कागद कछ पत्र कष्टकारी पंचायत)

This is a coop of waste-pickers living in Pune. Waste-pickers, or rag-pickers, are usually members of the Dalit caste, also known as the “untouchable” caste. This is the lowest caste, and, because of this alone, they are left with the worst jobs available. Waste-pickers rummage through garbage – in the streets, in landfills, in dumpsters, or anywhere – picking out recyclables (plastic, glass, paper, and anything of any recyclable value) that they can then sell to middle-men to make money. They work a minimum of ten hours a day, often arising before the sun in order to get access to dumping grounds that are locked during the day. They make sixty to one hundred rupees per day, which is the equivalent of one to one and a quarter dollars. Without waste-pickers, India would recycle almost none of its garbage, and the streets would be catastrophically filthier than they already are. Waste-pickers exist in nearly every developing country in the world, and are routinely marginalized, stigmatized, and treated as sub-human. Despite the fact that they offer a priceless service to the community, as well as remove an enormous burden from the backs of governments, waste-picking remains an informal occupation, meaning insecure earnings, no legal protection, no social security, unfair practices by traders, regular harassment, and extreme health ailments.

To give you an idea of their reputation in society, hear this: when I was sleeping over at a friend’s house here in Pune one night, my friend asked her mother how to best dispose of used tampons, because she knows that waste-pickers go through the trash and she did not want to offend or impact the dignity of any of them. Her mother replied with a chuckle and the words “who cares? They’re waste-pickers.”

So it’s a pretty dire situation.

Then there is the fact that ninety – yes, ninety – percent of waste-pickers are women. For most of them, waste-picking is the only source of income for the entire family.  

I want to understand how it is that the only option (and it really is their only option – you can tell because almost anything is better than immersing yourself in other people’s garbage all day long) available to these women (and men) is waste-picking. How can an economy be set up like this?

Anyway, Pune is an incredibly special place to be in terms of waste-picking. It is the only city in the entire world where any sort of organized support is being offered. Usually, waste-pickers are completely on their own, but in Pune there is SWaCH. SWaCH organizes the members – there are about 2300 currently – so that they can do door-to-door collection, have sorting stations, and generally maintain their dignity and self-respect to a higher degree.

Upon arriving in India, I was stunned by the true nature of the garbage crisis. It was so much worse than I even imagined. The garbage is thrown everywhere and anywhere: on the street, in the rivers, in sewers. It's pretty repulsive but people are so used to it here that it has simply become part of the landscape.

The adviser for my independent study project is on the board of SWaCH and is named Aparna. She travels around Pune teaching about the city’s waste management system, what it’s like to be a waste-picker, and how SWaCH is helping. She is an amazing woman, though also quite intimidating. But I’m pretty used to, at this point, being floored by almost every woman I meet in this city.

Yesterday I went to SWaCH to see it and also to meet with my adviser to get the ball rolling on my ISP. Using the directions she had scribbled for me the first time we met, I hopped in a rickshaw and headed for the Kothrud Police Station, the place she told me to use for reference. She said it was 100 meters from the station but I couldn’t make out in which direction, so I tried all of them with no luck. Once people were sufficiently confused by my motives – that’s always the goal! – I went to ask for help in the police station. About fifteen men offered up their knowledge, none of which was particularly helpful, and one man who had very little idea of what I on earth I was talking about even offered to take me there on his motorbike (I politely declined).

I finally found it - in the middle of a garbage dump. Yep, SWaCH is literally located in a dump. There is waste everywhere and the ugly landscape is dotted with the bright colors of saris worn by the women sorting through the mountains of trash. There are goats, cows, chickens, rodents, stray dogs, and cats amidst these heaps. This place is surreal - it's an entire ecosystem supported by the stuff the other half of the city no longer wants around. It smells and I am getting stared at and it is extremely hot and I am questioning my life choices in a big way. “Garbage, Sarah?! Really?!?!”

But I move forward.

Eventually I find Aparna. She is sitting at a desk in a small room. She greets me with a smile but clearly she is very busy. I wait patiently, my eyes darting around the room, taking in all this newness.

By the end of our meeting I have fallen in love with SWaCH. It is caring for women who are some of the most hard-working yet vulnerable citizens in India. It’s inspiring and intense and I feel so out of place yet my heart feels so at home.

(pc: inclusivecities.org)

This is about so much more than garbage. Garbage – trash – waste – in the words of Mira Engler – is “society’s dirty little secret.” Trash says so much about a society, and about the direction the world is going in. It’s about understanding the effects of rapid urbanization and globalization. It's also a crucial aspect to understanding ourselves as human beings. 

I ask if there’s a way for me to spend some time at SWaCH regularly during the week, and see how the whole operation works from the board’s perspective. She asks if I would like to intern – to help her with the plethora of office tasks she has to do. I can’t believe it but I say, elatedly, that I would absolutely love to.

I leave with notebook and pen in hand and excitement coursing through my veins. I wave to a few of the women dropping off huge white bags of, supposedly, sorted garbage. They wave back enthusiastically, staring in awe and curiosity. All I have to offer at that moment is the biggest smile I can muster and a whole-hearted “acha!” (bye!).

And I can’t wait to be back. 

(For more info on SWaCH and KKPKP, check out their website: http://www.swachcoop.com/

For more info on women around the world working in informal employment, check out WIEGO (Women in Informal Employment: Globalizing and Organizing): http://wiego.org/

Both are great resources to learn more!) 

Meeting Sandhya

Sucheta called me into her office. She read over a piece of paper as I waited eagerly, nearly bursting out of my seat. On the request form for host families I had written “lots of little kids!,” followed by a smiley face thrown in for good measure. 

“Ah, Sandhya,” Sucheta, the head of the ACM program as well as the Marathi language teacher, said, leaning back in her chair in a way that told me she was about to delve into a trying story. “Sandhya’s husband died three years ago. She is still quite heartbroken.”

The happy train moving full speed ahead in my mind came to a screeching halt. “Oh,” was all I could manage.

“She has a twelve year old son. Oh, and she is a great dancer.” Sucheta gave me an encouraging smile.

 That woeful scenario coupled with a brother who was much older than I was expecting caused the excitement I had harbored within me just moments before to begin to ooze out, despite my best efforts to collect it before it had the chance. But I kept a positive outlook and was excited to meet my new family. 

Sandhya picked me up at the hotel that night. I was the last to get picked up by my host family. She came with her son and a tight schedule. “Sarah??”

I quickly stood up, a polite smile spreading across my face. I towered over her, but she had a command of the room unlike anything I’d ever experienced. “Come,” she said.

“I am in a hurry because I must get back to the dance lesson I am teaching,” Sandhya explained, speed-walking so that I had to jog every few steps.

“No problem at all!” I announced, reminding myself internally how super-duper great this all was.

The instant we entered the dance room she began to simultaneously sing and count in Marathi while the five students danced in front of her, perfectly in sync. At the end of the lesson, Sandhya presented me with two paper bracelets, one for myself and one for someone for whom I feel “brotherly love.”

Upon entering her apartment, I formally met her son Niranjan who has the sweetest soul you can imagine, and Sandhya’s mother, Sumati, another beautiful soul but who speaks absolutely no English and had a hard time grasping that I know very, very little Marathi. Sandhya gave me a tour of the apartment, and I was taken aback by a few things. First, have a look at the "Indian-style toilet": 

It was a shock, that's for sure. Plus, see that little turquoise bucket in the corner? Yep, that's what they use for what we use toilet paper for. It's a struggle.

We had the most delicious dinner and I never wanted it to end. There was a stir-fry type thing with okra (or ladyfingers, as they call them) onions, and other vegetables; poli – a type of Indian bread similar to a tortilla; peanut chutney; a yellow curry (amti) with lentils; beat and tomato soup; and steamed white rice (not pictured). It was this first meal with my host family that I fully grasped the extent to which Indians eat with their hands, which I had heard about before my journey. Most Indians eat only with their right hand for the entirety of the meal. 

Eating without utensils was very weird, of course, but I followed the rest of the crew as they poured their curry over their rice, mixed it up vigorously with their fingers on their stainless steel plates, and put it directly into their mouths. I felt pretty stupid to be honest and got the feeling that all three of my new family members must have internally been laughing at me the whole time. Halfway through, though, I felt – how do I say it – closer to my food than I do at home, if that makes sense. I felt its texture with both my hands and my mouth, which we very rarely have the opportunity to do with the food we eat in the U.S, besides snacks, mainly. I felt the chutney’s delicate graininess, the rice’s comforting smoothness, and the firm, slightly prickly edges of the okra. 

I looked over at Sandhya at one point to find her sitting in an entangled yoga-like pose on her seat, mixing her curry and rice together on her plate as she gracefully ate the dinner she had just prepared. A pang of intense respect and admiration for her shot through me in that moment. Little did I know this overwhelming and quite emotional feeling would swiftly intensify as this incredible woman steadily became a defining character in the story of my life.