Tag Archives: India

Too Close To Home

May 4, 2017 dduren

Like many others, I travel to see, hear, feel, smell and taste the unfamiliar. While interning with a contemporary dance company in Bangalore, India, I simultaneously benefitted from and deeply resented a lack of the ‘unfamiliar’ in my environment. Looking back, I longed for an escape from Western culture, and I was frequently left feeling unsatisfied by the pervasiveness of my own culture amongst those with whom I associated.

I knew, in an intellectual sense, that such thoughts imply that there is some sort of quintessential, exotic, and static Indian culture to be experienced; at the time, I used this knowledge to justify my minimal effort to go out of my way to create opportunities to experience “traditional” India. Though I ate street food, wore Kurtas, and traveled to Hampi to see ancient temples, I heavily relied on many Indians’ knowledge of Western culture, particularly the English language, to move through the country with relative ease. I did not learn a single word of Hindi or Kannada, the local language. I was able to live and work in Bangalore speaking only English, but every time I did struggle or feel frustrated – getting a cab or ordering food – it was because I was interacting with a local who did not speak English. Not knowing a local language meant I was mostly having meaningful interactions with English speakers only. I suppose this was one aspect of Western culture I was totally comfortable holding onto. Tasting new food, wearing new clothes, and seeing sites were all significantly less daunting than learning a new way to communicate.

I traveled to Bangalore to intern with a contemporary dance organization. Or was it that I interned with a contemporary dance organization in Bangalore so I could use Smith College funding to travel to India? Both reasons hold some truth. The Attakkalari Centre for Movement Arts, a non-profit organization, like most dance companies, included a professional performing company, a two-year diploma program for young adults, summer camps and intensives for children and teenagers, and community classes. The organization’s primary goal was to increase the practice and appreciation of contemporary dance – a predominantly Western discipline with widely acknowledged origins in modern and ballet and less discussed origins in Eastern somatic practices.

The company also offered training in a variety of traditional Indian movement practices, such as Bharatanatyam and Kalaripayattu. Just as contemporary dancers in the United States and Europe are often expected to be proficient in ballet, many contemporary dancers in India, I learned, believe traditional Indian movement practices to be foundational to their work.

Though I did learn a great deal about the state of dance in India by taking classes and speaking with dancers, my internship mostly involved performing miscellaneous administrative tasks. Aside from employing dancers and dance teachers, the company had nine full-time individuals performing administrative and production duties, and these were the individuals with whom I spent Monday through Friday 9 AM to 5 PM. Most had master’s degrees in varying disciplines, including psychology, arts administration, business, and lighting design. All spoke English fluently and used English to speak with one another while at work. This was, in part, because many professional people in Bangalore had moved from elsewhere, so they all knew different regional languages. Their proficiency in English was due to their high level of education. Several probably also learned English from their parents, as is characteristic of many people from middle to upper class in India.

I spent most of my time sitting at a desk working from my laptop. Some of my duties included researching international (mostly European) choreographers to invite for master classes and/or artistic residencies, as well as contacting high schools from which to recruit students for the diploma program. I was told that my being from the U.S. would intrigue career counselors at international (English-speaking) schools. Since I came to India hoping to fulfill my desire to escape Western culture, I often felt frustrated with my role being centered on my Western-ness. I resented my employers for not letting me truly experience India. This feeling was exacerbated by the fact that I spent most days inside the office, working at a computer. I felt like I was not really learning anything about India because, I was not, in my eyes, truly experiencing it by working for this organization. Aside from the fact that it was obviously not the duty of my coworkers to ensure I was seeing “the real India,” even though they actually often gave me restaurant and shopping recommendations that they felt represented a quintessential India, I fixated on the prevalence of English speakers around me as a symbol of my ‘inauthentic’ experience.

English speakers are prolific in India because of Britain’s imperial presence in the country, beginning in the 17th century and formally ending in 1947. In the 1830s, public schools across India began teaching English, and shortly thereafter, university students and government employees were expected to speak English. According to the 2016 EF English Proficiency Index published by the EF Education First, India ranks 22 of 72 countries rated for their English proficiency, indicating “moderate proficiency.” As in many other locations around the world, British colonization infected India with the idea that the English language and other aspects of Western culture are emblematic of economic and moral progress.

However, those who do not have formal education or professional careers often do not have as strong of a grasp of English as those who do, which is why I was not able to communicate efficiently with many cab drivers, restaurant workers, and other informally educated persons. The caste system in India, which divides Hindus into four main hierarchical, inherited, socioeconomic categories, exacerbates the inability of persons to move in and out of socio-economic positions. Not only has such a system made socio-economic upward mobility quite difficult in the past, contemporary Indian capitalism continues, in some ways, to inhibit individual economic growth, as in many other capitalistic economies.

My discomfort with speaking English was in part due to the fact that my being around English speakers in India meant that I was only associating and connecting with individuals from particular social statuses (specifically, higher income and lighter skinned). I was aware that by only being able to speak English, I was limited in the number and range of people with whom I could interact, which fueled my fear of having an inauthentic experience. Not only did I feel insecure about struggling to communicate with cab drivers and restaurant servers, but I was very uncomfortable with the fact that I could only efficiently communicate with more privileged persons. I recognized that just by being able to speak English, I was automatically seen as valuable in the workplace. Although my coworkers are certainly not to blame for social inequality in India, I think my resentment towards them for speaking English was a manifestation of my own discomfort with having benefited from inequality.

Dana Duren ’17 was born and raised in Austin, Texas. There, she first developed her passions for both dance and global cultural phenomena, which led her to double major in dance and anthropology at Smith College. Dana has mostly pursued both subjects separately, though she did conduct ethnographic research on different dance groups while studying abroad in Ghana. As of now, she intends to pursue dance performance, choreography, and education. She recently presented an original work “There’s something we’re not telling you” as a part of her senior thesis for the dance major.

Special Issue: Cultural Encounters

Chai and Pani Puri by the Road: How to Tell the Story

May 4, 2017 irevett

It is easy to forget when going abroad, whether for work or pleasure, that we return in a way as unofficial ambassadors. We may not think of ourselves this way, and it might not seem ethical or appropriate, but it is a reality. Last year, Smith College gave me PRAXIS funding for an internship in India. I spent three months interning for a human rights organization in New Delhi. In my case, the boundaries were clear: I was to be a representative of the college whilst abroad, and in turn represent to the donors who made the experience possible my vision of India. Smith College was waiting to hear about not only the quality of my internship, but also about my trip on a personal level. As a woman, I had to be prepared to answer loaded questions regarding my safety during the internship.

In the aftermath of the 2012 Delhi rape case, India could not escape intense international media scrutiny. In the years since, navigating discussions about India outside of the college bubble has been a minefield. The cases of violence against women that dominated news feeds seemed everyone’s first thought. As a consequence, well wishes and congratulations regarding my internship position were colored with concern and safety warnings. Fully aware that these negative images of India were only one part of a larger picture, I left with the intention of bringing back another view of India, one that would not play into the media stereotypes perpetuated by ratings-driven news broadcasts. My goal was objectivity and observation-based representation.

Of course, this is much easier said than done. The summer I spent in Delhi was a blur of scorchingly spicy food, friendly stray dogs, and kind people. I was warned that people would stare, maybe even touch me without permission, and that street robbery was common. Even though none of these things happened to me, they happened to others as they do in many other countries or cultures where customs are vastly different from our own. It soon became clear that this duty of representing India in a more nuanced and truthful way would perhaps be the most difficult aspect of my trip. I would have to be careful in my reports back, to both Smith College and the many relatives and friends who waited for my return. They would have to be honest and truthful, but I also had the responsibility to not play into stereotypes, especially in such a racially-polarized political moment in time.

I alternated, from one day to the next, between inhabiting the mainstream narrative and adopting a highly critical stance. My entry to Delhi was guided by the Northeastern community, as I was staying in the young and diverse Humayunpur neighborhood. By virtue of the way I look, this community of people took me in. They pointed me in the right direction when I got lost in the tightly packed enclave, slipped extra momos into my bag on my way home from work, and were patient with my pathetic attempts at Hindi. I was taken to a jazz club by new friends and ate roasted corn whilst watching Tamil movies. I went to the older markets, avoiding expat haunts like Connaught Place and Khan Market in favour of smaller places my co-workers recommended to me, in some sort of effort to experience something authentic, misguided as that might be. In any case, who would eat at Johnny Rockets as my fellow American interns liked to do, when you could have chai and pani puri by the road?

Of course the India that I experienced and spoke of upon my return could not be completely objective. I still had the unwanted responsibility of proving this internship was ‘safe’ to recommend to other Smith College students and that the PRAXIS fund had been used for worthwhile purpose. To be frank, I had to justify my enjoyment of the summer and of India to many people, despite the fact that I witnessed upsetting and difficult situations. Would my positive observations in some way be a betrayal of the those who are attacked, marginalized, assaulted, and ignored? How could I write about India without exoticizing or essentializing a country that is more akin to a continent? How would I answer questions about India’s currently booming growth in the development sector without discussing the displacement of large numbers of adivasis? Did my research interest in government-sanctioned displacements influence my attitude towards particular sectors of society? The questions were seemingly endless.

My thoughts on India would not be of any national or even local importance. Yet I still felt the need to do justice to my experience without perpetuating general negative attitudes towards India. Instead, I needed to find a a way of representing India truthfully as I had experienced it whilst steering clear of essentializing or romanticizing. After all, the image of Jyoti Singh, the Delhi rape case victim who has become a stand-in for all victims, was impossible to forget.

The current racialized politics in the United States compounded the difficulty I had writing about India. As fear and anger towards minority groups grow, anti-Indian sentiments have increased. While I did not want my descriptions of India to contribute to harmful minority stereotypes, I also did not want to want to minimize the very real suffering of women, adivasis, Muslims, and countless other groups across India.

In the end, I could only hope to articulate the cloud of contradictions and dilemmas inherent in observations of ‘elsewhere’. I have no answers as to what is or isn’t appropriate or ethical. Before you can begin to parse out a representation that is as unbiased as possible, you first have to understand your own politics and the position from which you are making these observations. In my case, I was a foreigner, privileged, and supported by funds from a prestigious academic institution. How did these factors contribute to the picture I was trying to paint? Did my desire to not contribute to negative stereotypes blind me to negative things that occurred? Has my own previous history of travel led me, through comparison, to take lightly, or simply not notice, people who stare? I am sure the luck that I have in making friends wherever I go influenced my observations more than I could imagine. Kind people have let me into spaces I could not otherwise enter, and have in turn imparted their own subjectivities to me, changing the way I saw and how I processed my own observations. Anthropology has taught me that nothing is without politics, and no one is without bias, so perhaps all that one can do is to navigate and temper our observations with an awareness of our own subjectivity.

Bella Revett ’17 is a senior Anthropology major, focusing on South Asia here at Smith. She enjoys reading, playing with her rabbits, taking photos, playing music, and general tomfoolery.

Special Issue: Cultural Encounters

Look Out, Look In

May 3, 2017 lausman

“Look out!” my friends reminded each other repeatedly, as we wandered out into the streets filled with cars, buses, trucks, motorcycles, bikes, pedestrians, cows, goats, horse carts, and sometimes an occasional elephant. After three weeks in the southern Indian state of Kerala, we were still lost without clear lines on the road. We watched auto rickshaws speed by, sounding their distinct horns in an aggressive greeting, if not to merely inform others of their presence. The chaos of the mysterious system that seems to guide the roadways in India is something that must be seen to be believed. It also required a bit of vigilance to assure no one in our group carelessly steps off the crumbling curbsides.

We were quite nervous to jump in our first auto-rickshaw. We had seen them driving past our cars and vans for over a week now and we knew we would eventually be riding in one ourselves. After negotiating a fare that was likely high above what the locals would typically pay, four of us crammed in the back of an auto for our first ride. The raincoats we wore over our kurtas, as we anticipated the arrival of a monsoon at any moment, stuck to our skin as we squealed and squirmed trying to get situated in the back of the auto. We waved furiously to our friends crammed in the back of the auto following us. It was liberating for the humid air to suddenly feel like a breeze as we sped up passing villages, crossing bridges and smelling the seawater on our way from the hotel to the city. We were crossing over into a new period of our time in India. We had the freedom to roam.

It was liberating and terrifying, and a hilariously small step into the next months of new adventures and experiences. For the first time though, we were moving through the streets without the safety of the car window. Suddenly the stares, smiles, smells, sounds, and sights, were no longer guarded by a glass shield. We were experiencing India in a whole new way. It was the stares that I felt most penetratingly though. I was ready to see all this new place had to offer but I wasn’t entirely ready for it to see me back. People stared not in an unfriendly or aggressive way necessarily, but they no doubt stared. Sometimes my friends would ask if I could feel the weight of the eyes on me and I most definitely could.

The stares made me intensely alert to my otherness in this new space. I could pull my scarf tight to cover my fair skin and freckles, but my blue eyes still were impossible to shield. My time in India was intended to be an intellectual journey and I had begun to internalize the stares that questioned my belonging in the space and distracted me from acting as a camouflaged participant observer.

From my courses, I was keenly aware of India’s dark history of colonialism. Furthermore, I feared my presence only propagated the often-shadowy roots of international aid and investment, anthropology’s colonial histories, the missionary conquests and white savior complexes that have brought so many here from “the West,” and the many other toxic power dynamics that seek to exotify and exploit the Global South. I knew there were limits and barriers to my understanding of this place due to these histories and structural dynamics that have developed over time.

When eyes from every street bore down on me, I feared these limits and my own ability to conceptualize this experience. Though not explicitly hostile, they felt haunting, daring and intense. Somehow the stares both broke the ice and continued to keep a barrier between myself and whomever was with me on the street. They were unrelenting and left me feeling exposed. It was as if the person doing the stare was seeing through me. In the coming weeks, I tried to let go of these worries and the guilt that followed these interactions. I found that a simple smile allowed for a break in the tension. Young girls were especially eager to smile back at me. Though I still secretly worried they saw me the same way that young girls in the U.S. see the slim, fair models that are plastered all over billboards and tabloids. Even India the preference for fairness is reflected in advertisements. And here I was a billboard for a neoliberal, colonial aesthetic.

My unique appearance or the experience of being stared at might not have had anything to do with the histories and dynamics that I felt the weight and guilt of. My professor advised me to suspend my own judgments or concerns about what the staring means to me or how it makes me feel. The interaction she said might have much less to do with my presence and myself as a representation of these structures than I assumed it did.

It was the babies’ and children’s’ stares that never failed to jar me though. Their eyes were often painted with thick black Kajal (or kanmashi in Malayalam). I assumed for most of my time in India that this was purely cosmetic. Along with its cosmetic history though, there was another history I was completely unaware of. As I dug deeper into the meaning of Kajal, I discovered that mothers applied it to their children’s eyes to strengthen them and protect them against the evil eye.

The evil eye (typically understood to be a blue eye) is a curse believed to be cast by a malevolent glare, usually given to a person when they are unaware. Many cultures believe that receiving the evil eye will cause misfortune or injury. Reading this immediately complicated my initial impressions and experiences of feeling I was being stared at. I was not only being stared at but I was also doing the staring. I felt suddenly all the instances of looking into people’s’ homes and lives and communities could echo this idea of “harm from the eye” or produce a “maleficent influence.” My stare did have the potential to cast a malevolent curse and to cause harm to those who were unaware of my gaze. But the tiny babies that stared back at me with Kajal lined eyes had their own sources of strength and ferocity that I wasn’t even previously aware of. The experience served as a greater reminder of the limitations and histories of my individual understandings- the ones that I was creating while in India and the ones I brought with me.

I had never realized the histories that the color of my own eyes held or any of these connotations to people in other parts of the world. This is not to say that it was the reason that I was experiencing the feeling of being stared at or that anyone looking at me was necessarily connoting it to the evil eye, but it serves as a reminder of the complexities of cultural exchange and the histories that influence them. I wish I had spent more time recognizing that those looking back at me had their own history and fierce forms of protection against my potentially “malevolent gaze,” instead of being overwhelmed by my foreign aesthetic and my own self-consciousness.

For the rest of my time in India, I was told to “look out” every time I crossed the street. I dodged buses and auto-rickshaws adorned with talismans warding off the evil eye, a reminder of my foreign gaze. Paradoxically India taught me to “look within” myself to examine my own limitations and biases in my understanding. Of course, my own understandings and perceptions played a huge role in the way that I am experienced India. The perspectives, histories, assertions, and cultures of those observing me and my own perspectives were somehow being exchanged and examined in these small interactions that required us to look, see, and stare.

Lucille Ausman ’17 is a senior at Smith College studying Cultural Anthropology and International Politics. She participated in a Global Engagement Seminar in Southern India during the summer of 2015 with Professor Charles Staelin and Professor Nalini Bhushan. This traveling seminar was title “India in Transition” and it examined the contrasts between India’s rapid modernization and it’s ancient philosophical histories. The course also attempted to question how we define modernity and traditionalism. During her time in India, Lucille interned at Madura Microfinance in the city of Chennai and did research on the financial habits of female entrepreneurs in rural villages.

Fall 2016 Issue VIII: Notes from the Field

Trash Talk

October 26, 2016 agupta

Trash isn’t sexy. No one wants to hear about it, look at it, smell it, and certainly not touch it. Well, this summer I did all of those things, and it changed the way I look at the world. As an Environmental Science and Psychology double major, I have always had a keen interest in behavioral psychology, specifically the challenging relationship humans have with the environment.

That was why this summer, I was excited to be accepted as a research analyst at Thinkphi, a sustainable design company aiming to create a smart waste management system. I was to conduct research on behavioral changes within existing systems of segregation in Mumbai, India. I manually audited wet and dry trash all over Mumbai by creating surveys and interviewing home owners about their knowledge and methods of disposing waste.

Mumbai, known as “the city of dreams,” is largely represented as the epicenter of India’s modern economic boom. However, it is also home to Dharavi, Asia’s largest slum. In this respect, I personally like to refer to Mumbai as “my beautiful city of paradoxes.”

Having experienced exponential growth, Mumbai is currently in a dire struggle to manage its waste effectively. That waste is collected but left unsorted and is now overflowing, causing severe repercussions for both the environment and human health. It was important during my internship to carefully examine the management of waste, but more importantly, our relationship with waste.

I decided to roll up my sleeves and get my hands dirty.

I ventured out to the regional dumping ground to interview the people who really know trash: the rag-pickers and waste segregators, the unsung heroes of my city. On visiting their dumping ground I saw heaps of unsegregated waste, the stench of which reached me before I had even arrived at the site. Stray animals roamed around in search of edible bits; birds of prey circled the area in search of the same. The pile of trash was too high to be covered and sealed by the soil. I was appalled by the lack of infrastructure and equipment; by seeing workers sort trash with their bare hands. Nonetheless, they sorted the mountains of unsegregated waste to perfection. I was amazed by their dedication, efficiency and speed.

I couldn’t help but ask them whether they found their job difficult, especially because finding recyclable materials requires them to scavenge through all sorts of contaminated foul matter. The rag-pickers admitted that although they’ve explained the importance of waste segregation, most people complain about how they don’t have the time or space to do it. In my position of privilege, I felt uncomfortable snooping around and observing them as they worked, but I wanted to know whether they were being adequately compensated for the nature of their work. To my disbelief, they revealed that the Municipal Corporation does not pay them an official salary, and that their livelihood depends on whatever dry material they are able to scavenge and sell from the waste site. Upon inquiring what the most problematic part of their work was, they explained:

“We have no problem doing our job. The most frustrating part is that in some rich communities, we have spent months telling them to separate their waste. They still don’t separate it. They tell us to fine them however much money, but they will not separate it.”

This resistance reflects the social inequality Mumbai is plagued with. Regulations don’t apply to the upper classes, whose privilege affords them apathy. Witnessing this disparity was eye opening.

Pushing myself out of my comfort zone gave me the opportunity to become more attuned to and critically engage with my surroundings. I was humbled by the rag-pickers’ commitment to their profession despite the adversity they face. Trash isn’t something anyone wants to attend to; neither is the wellbeing of the workers in the industry. I hope to change that. We must value the laborers behind the scenes, as without them my beautiful city of paradoxes just wouldn’t be as beautiful.

Akansha Gupta is a Psychology and Environmental Science and Policy student and a proud second generation Smithie. She grew up in Mumbai for the most part, but spent a few years in London and New York; living in these cities has given her a broad and diverse range of experiences that has shaped her unique identity. She considers herself a global citizen (even though she has a soft spot for Mumbai because it is the most special place). She is a people’s person and is always intrigued by the psychology behind different cultures. She loves to travel. She enjoys theatre, dance and Justin Trudeau. She feels passionately about saving our environment, and caring for it, just as it cares for us. Spicy is how she likes her food, and the ocean is her happy place.

Spring 2016 Issue VI: Cultural Encounters

Selections from Global Encounters: Smith College’s Annual International Photo Exhibit

February 26, 2016 ifitzpatrick

Have you ever wanted a peek into someone else’s study abroad experience? It’s hard to predict which aspects of a foreign country will be most memorable. Sometimes, an architectural masterpiece becomes emblematic of time spent in a country. Or maybe it’s a simple moment that sticks out, something experienced in passing: a crowded commute on the Tokyo subway or a woman and child seen every day on the walk to school. Whether it’s Prague, Tokyo, or anywhere in between that’s pulled at your heartstrings from afar, we invite you to live vicariously through Smith students who have captured some of these exquisite moments from their time abroad s on camera, and been generous enough to share them with us.

For Yuka Oiwa, class of 2016, it was the majestic beauty of Floating Gate, a Shinto shrine, that stayed with her after leaving Kyoto, Japan. “During a weekend trip, my study abroad group spent a night on the holy island of Miyajima,” Oiwa recalls. The day she visited, tshe tide was low and she was free to walk through the orange gates that were usually waist-deep in water. “As the sun started to set I took this shot looking out to the mountains and at the last ferry boat coming towards the island.”

Anna Carroll, class of 2016, was studying abroad in Denmark when she took this photograph in the Danish Royal family’s private stables. Carroll was mesmerized by the centuries-old, marble-adorned stables of Christiansborg Palace. A self-described equestrian with a passion for horses, she treasured this grand stable, which she could stop by on her way to class. Rich in history, it’s the last remnant of an entire castle that was burned to the ground. In all the grandeur surrounding her, what struck her was the contrast of seeing this little boy and horse communing with one another. “Inside the stables’ chilly and impressive walls, I spotted this simple moment between an equally curious young Danish boy and a royal steed,” Carroll remembers fondly.

Tziona Breitbart, class of 2016, spent a semester in Prague, the capital of the Czech Republic. In this photo, she captured Cesky Krumlov, “a medieval town in the Czech Republic that survived multiple wars and communism.” The peaceful appearance of the town that is expressed in this photo doesn’t hint at its tumultuous history. “It represents where the identity of the country comes from, as it was one of the only cities that had Jews living in peace with Czechs during the 13th century.”

Sometimes it is the simple, human moments that linger with us. Elana Brooks, class of 2016, took this photo while studying abroad in India. “I frequently passed this family while leaving my host family’s home for school. The blue and orange colored walls, with the embellishments of gold chains on the child and woman, complimented with the touch of the woman’s hand on the child, was an emblematic tableau of daily life.

Chloe Beckman, class of 2017, shared with us a similar snapshot of one of the more quotidian parts of life: her commute from the Saitama prefecture on her way to school in Tokyo, Japan. Most memorable was the intimacy of spending so much of her day in such close quarters. “Taken on the train into Tokyo on my daily commute, this photo reminds me of the feeling you get when the train is so packed that you don’t need to hold onto anything but your bag. But more than that, it reminds me of that moment when you finally push out of the crowd and onto the platform, knowing all the while that at the end of the day, the ritual will repeat.” The journey especially made her reflect on time.

Travelling means something different to every individual. For some, it will be the intimacy of a subway ride that will linger on in our memories and for others, it will be the satisfaction of witnessing a historical monument up close. Regardless of how going abroad affects you, the most important aspect is how it expands your mind and your perception of the world . Seeing a woman and child on your walk to school every day, even if you never speak to them, or walking beneath the colorful gates of a shrine, offer insights into a culture that only being there in the country can expose you to. Whether you have had the good fortune to spend much time abroad, we hope that in reading this issue, you can get a glimpse of the vastness and complexity of the world through photos, and through essays about those photos.

Isabelle Fitzpatrick is a sophomore currently majoring in Mathematics and Statistics as well as French Studies. A lifelong world traveller and binational of France and the United States, she spends her summers and winter breaks visiting her parents and younger brother in Shanghai, China. She aspires to combine her love of languages and travel with her studies in math to eventually work for an international organization as a statistician.

Summer 2015 Issue IV: Activism, Uncategorized

The Koyal’s Cage

April 27, 2015 Afreen Gandhi

Editors’ note: The following are the final scenes of Afreen Seher Gandhi’s adaptation of Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House, set in modern-day Islamic India, which she presented as her honors thesis in the Theatre Department. The play recounts how eight years ago, Maha borrowed money from and signed a promissory note with Khizir, a friend and rival of her husband’s, forging her dying father’s signature, to pay for an operation to save her husband’s eyesight. Maha’s loving but overprotective and conservative husband, Ali, believes that the money was a gift from Maha’s father.

Characters

Ali – 30 years old
Maha – 26 years old
Asha Baji – Maha’s longtime servant
Noor – Maha’s and Ali’s young daughter

SCENE 18 – The Big Reveal

Ali storms in the living room from the main door and puts his letters away in the bureau. Maha enters behind him. They have just returned from the Eid party.

Ali: You shouldn’t have danced at the party with Dr. Sharma.

Maha: How could I have refused, Ali? It would have looked so rude.

Ali: I don’t care. Don’t give me your silly excuses.

Maha: So I should have said no? Told him to get away from me? Ali, he is such a close family friend. How would he feel?

Ali: He is still na-mehram for you, and you should not be seen in the arms of another man, let alone in public! So what if he’d feel bad?

Maha: He and Sara are the only dependable friends we have in Mumbai and so I am concerned about how he feels.

Ali: And since when have Doctor Sharma’s feelings become so important to you?

Maha: Now you are just being ridiculous, Ali. (Waves hand in denial.)

Ali: Ridiculous? Don’t forget that Allah has made me your protector, and, so, I have every right to stop you from making a fool of yourself and shaming me. If anything unfortunate were to happen to you, I’m the one who will be affected the most!

Maha: Ali, it was just a five minute dance. Why are you getting so insecure?

Ali: Insecure? (Scoffs.) Everyone was looking at me as if I was the most senseless husband ever! For God’s sake, Maha, (grips her) I didn’t think you were so immature. Did you once think about my honor and image in society?

Maha pulls away from him.

Ali: Stop pulling away from me! Look at me when I’m talking to you.

Maha tries to leave.

Ali: Stay here and finish this with me–

Maha: Ali, I’m not feeling too well.

Ali: (Calms down a bit.) Maha, are you expecting again?

Maha: (Irritated.) No, Ali, please let go, I’m really tired.

Ali: (Sarcastically.) Yes, the dance must have been really, really tiring.

Maha: Don’t forget to read your letters.

Maha exits towards her bedroom. Ali sits on the sofa and tears open the first letter. The letter paper is colored light blue. He reads it twice to believe what is written.

Ali: Maha! Maha!

Maha hurries in, a red shawl wrapped around her (the one gifted by Ali).

Ali: Maha! Is this true?

Maha: Yes.

Ali is shocked. Beat.

Maha: It’s true that I have loved you more than anything else in the world.

Ali: Rubbish!

Maha: It’s alright, Ali. You won’t have to save me! I’ll take the blame!

Ali: Oh, you’ll take the blame?! Oh, oh, then what am I worried about?! (With fake delight.) Everything will be just fine! My God, you’re just like a child – you have no i-dee-a what you’ve done!

Maha: Yes, I do.

Ali: No you don’t! You couldn’t! Eight years of our Nikaah – you who were my pride, izzat, my joy – now a hypocrite – liar – and worse! A criminal! Ugh! I can’t bear to think how you will rot in hell after what you’ve done, and you are acting like you broke a dish. (Beat.) I should have seen this coming. (Beat.) You’re just like your father – no morals, religion, or sense of duty! And this is how you reward me for protecting you all these years?

Maha: You? Protected me?

Ali: Don’t change the subject! You’ve ruined my future! Khizir can do whatever he pleases with me, and I will have to take it – all because of you! Our family has been shamed because of a ruthless, senseless woman.

Maha: When I am no longer in your life, you will be free.

Ali: Oh, more of your fine phrases. What good would it do to me if you were gone? Khizir can publish your story all over if he pleases. I might even be suspected of corruption! People will think that Ali Omar Shah was behind all of this and used you as a scapegoat! All thanks to you – you whom I have done nothing but pet and spoil all our married life! But of course (mocking) when you are no longer in my life, I will be free! Really, Maha, show yourself to a doctor!

Long moment of silence. Maha stares at Ali and he notices something new about her.

Ali: Take this shawl off! You don’t deserve it. Take it off! (Snatches it from her.) I didn’t buy this priceless gift for someone like you. I must make things right with Khizir. One way or the other, this must be kept a secret. As for us, we must live as we have always, but of course only in the eyes of the world. You can live here, in some corner of the house, but Noor will be kept far away from you. You are no longer fit to raise my child. I do not trust you anymore.

The doorbell rings.

Ali: Hide yourself Maha, perhaps it is Khizir. I don’t want him to see you.

Maha wipes a single tear.

Maha: Asha Baji! Asha Baji!

Asha Baji enters and Maha whispers something to her. Ali receives another letter at the door and tears it open.

Ali: (With fake delight.) Oh look, another love letter from Khizir! How wonderful! Maha, just leave my sight. I do not want to open this letter in front of you.

Maha exits towards the bedroom upstairs and Asha follows. Ali reads the second letter that he has just received from Khizir. He is happily relieved at the end of it.

Ali: Maha! Maha! Look what Khizir wrote! I’m saved!

Maha enters. She is shabbily dressed: with no make:up, and wearing a plain nightgown.

Ali: Maha, look! Khizir writes that he will not tell our secret to anyone; he regrets and apologizes for everything, and he even returned this wretched promissory note with the forged signature on it! Let’s just get rid of it first! (Tears the note.) There! Nothing can harm me now, I mean, nothing can harm the both of us now!

Maha: I’ve been fighting a hard fight these past few days.

Ali: Don’t get stuck on the negative Maha? It’s over, it’s all over! Our miseries have come to an end! Why that harsh look on your face? I have forgiven you. And I understand now that you did everything out of love for me and to protect me.

Ali tries to hug her tightly, but she does not return it.

Maha: Oh? You realize that now?

Ali: Yes! You loved me like a dutiful wife. You just took the wrong path to save me. But now I will counsel and guide you at all times. I’ve forgiven you, Maha, I really have!

Maha: I thank you for your forgiveness; that’s indeed very generous of you.

Maha tries to exit right. Ali holds her back.

Ali: Where are you going, Maha? Oh. You are upset because I asked you to take off the shawl, (Picks up shawl and hands it to her.) isn’t it?

Maha: (Refusing to take it.) Oh, Ali… Let’s just forget about this? I’m going to bed now. We can talk about this tomorrow.

Maha exits into the bedroom. Ali follows.

Scene 20 Nikaah

The next morning. Ali waltzes in the dining room happy and relieved. He sits on the table to read the morning news paper. There are two bags packed and kept in the living room area.

Ali: Maha! Maha! Please bring me some chai! I’ll get late for work.

Maha enters. She is dressed in her nightgown. She hasn’t slept all night.

Maha: When I was at my Abba’s place, he would impose his opinions on me all the time. About everything! Even if I disagreed with him, I hid my feelings, because he’d get very upset.

Ali: (Busy reading newspaper.) …hmmmmm… (Looks up.) Good morning. Let’s have chai, please?

Maha: He used to call me his songbird. It’s so funny… but I realized that I’m still just a songbird. But now I’m your songbird instead of Abba’s.

Ali: What…what are you talking about, Maha?

Maha: You always keep telling me that I’m like my father, but guess what? You’re the one who is just like my father. You decide everything for me, and I am forced to go along with it. When I look back at all these years of our marriage, I realized I’ve been living like a beggar, and I lived by performing tricks for you, Ali!

Ali: (Stands.) What nonsense, Maha? Aren’t you happy here?

Maha: No. I thought I was, but I’ve been lying to myself.

Ali: You’re not happy? (Scoffs.)

Maha: No, I just deceived myself into believing that I was content and happy with whatever made you happy and that you have always been so kind to me. But our house, it was nothing more than a cage. And I was the little birdie that you and Abba played with. At home, I was Abba’s songbird and here I was your little Koel. And as a result, our daughter has become my songbird. This has been our marriage, Ali.

Ali: Well maybe there might be some truth to this, but now it will be completely different. Play time is over, Maha, and now comes the time for education.

Maha: Whose education? Mine or Noor’s?

Ali: Both, Maha.

Maha: Oh, Ali, you cannot teach me how to be a fit wife to you.

Ali: And why do you say that?

Maha: Am I even fit to educate our daughter?

Ali: Maha —

Maha: Did you not say two minutes ago that you don’t trust me at all? I am not even fit to raise Noor!

Ali: I just said that in that heated moment. Why are you harping upon that one sentence?

Maha: Well, because you were wrong! The problem is not that I am not a good wife or mother, the problem is that I still need to be liberated. I need to open my eyes and enlighten myself. I realize that you are not the man who will help me solve this problem. I must set out to do this alone. And that is why—

Ali: That is why what, Maha, what?

Maha: That is why, Ali, we must separate. Our marriage must end for now. We can no longer stay under the same roof. Asha Baaji, Asha Baaji! Please bring all the stuff that I asked you to pack.

Ali: You’ve gone mad, Maha! You’ve lost your mind!

Maha: I have just come to my senses, Ali.

Ali: You mean to say that you are leaving me?

Maha: Yes.

Asha Baji brings a duffle bag and a carry-on and lays it next to the two bags near Ali.

Ali: You are leaving me, this house, and our daughter?

Maha: No, who said I was going to do abandon my house and child? I would never do that, not in a million years.

Ali: Oh, thank God, Maha, I am so relieved to hear that.

Maha: This doesn’t mean are marriage is still going to continue.

Ali: What? What do you mean Maha–

Maha: If someone will leave this house and Noor – it will have to be you, Ali. You, not me.

Ali: What?

Maha: Yes. Have you forgotten that father willed this house to me? Ali, this property is under my name. It is I who has been sheltering you, protecting you all this while.

Ali: You can’t be serious when you say that, Maha! I am proud of who I am- I am the bread winner of this house. I am a self-made man who has never turned to corrupt means to make a living.

Maha: (Gently) Ali, you would have no vision if it weren’t for me who scraped the money and had you operated on in time! (Beat) Yes, can you imagine your self-made self blind and miserable? Not being able to see Noor’s face when you hold her in your arms?

Ali: So, so, so you are ending this marriage because you think I was unfit for the sacrifice you made? Because I couldn’t repay you in the same way?

Maha: All I am saying is that this marriage isn’t going to work. I can’t live with you under the same roof anymore.

Ali: Maha, what are you saying? You’re turning me out of my own house? Have you forgotten the laws of our religion? Is this what Islam teaches women? To treat their husbands like shit and throw them out of the house after a small fight?

Maha: This is not one of our small fights, Ali, it just my sacred duty towards myself.

Ali: What rubbish? What duties are you talking about?

Maha: Am I not a human being, Ali, just as much you are? Don’t I have a will of my own? I know that your version of Islam is just what you think is right and proper and suits your needs. But from now on I shall not be satisfied with what you think, say, and believe. I will think things out for myself and try to be clear about them.

Ali: Are you not clear about your position in your own home? Do you not fear Allah? Have you no insight as to what your religion bids and forbids you to do?

Maha: Without you, I will look into all this as well. For now, my thoughts and beliefs have been clouded by your words. I will see if our religion is true for me, and what rights Islam gives women.

Ali: Maha, even if you fail to believe in our religion, let me appeal to your conscience- for I do suppose the woman I have been married to for eight years has some moral feelings, some ethics? Or answer me- do you have none?

Maha: It’s very easy for you to say these things now, Ali, according to you a moment ago, a woman had no right to spare her dying father or save her husband’s life. I don’t believe you anymore.

Ali: Maha, you’re talking like a child! Don’t you understand our society?

Maha: No, I don’t! But I shall try to, and make up my mind – which is right, society, religion or me. Leave, Ali, just go.

Lights fade as Ali picks up his bags and walks out of the door. Noor enters the room with Asha, and Maha (center-stage) lovingly picks her up in her arms.

Fade Out.

Glossary

Nikaah: The Islamic Marriage contract
koyal: a member of the cuckoo order of birds
haraam: an act forbidden by Islamic law
chai: tea made with milk, sugar and cardamom
nikah: a Muslim marriage
izzat: honor

GHANDI.Cast of Koyal's Cage.IMG_0936 - Copy — Cast of the play

Afreen Seher Gandhi is a theater major with a South Asia Concentration who is focusing on Directing and Playwriting. Afreen has acted in and directed plays in India, and this is her seventh direction piece at Smith. She wrote and directed Smith’s first South Asian play, ‘Family Duty,’ based on a short story by Nighat M. Gandhi. Her work also includes her direction of the first Indian main stage play for the theater department in Spring 2014 and her adaptation of Vijay Tendulkar’s ‘Kamala,’ based on journalism and human trafficking in 20th century India. Afreen would like to pursue an MFA in directing after Smith.

Fall 2014 Issue II: Adapting

A Scientific Theory of Adapting

November 12, 2014 Krithika Venkataraman

Prologue: propose your theory

I begin at carbon.

Time goes by and I wonder what parts of me are like the rings of a tree that I can come back to count.

I begin at the earth’s orbit.

Time goes by and I cannot decide if I would rather dance through the monsoon, watch marigolds bloom, or pounce on a pile of sugar maple leaves.

I begin at evolution.

Time goes by and I wonder what I have inherited to escape extinction and what will become of me next.

Memoir: perform your experiments

In India, community is a way of life. Tradition dictates co-existence in large “joint families,” and this is where I began. Until the age of six, I did not leave this world.

At the age of six, my family moved to Belgium, where I spent the next eight years at a British school. Here, I escaped bullies by playing with bugs instead and fended off the freezing weather with the excitement of first snowfalls. I learnt to hike the Black Forest Mountains and orienteer in the woods surrounding a former Belgian palace. Most importantly, it was in Belgium that I found the taste buds in me dedicated to odorous cheese.

XIV

At the age of fourteen, moving back to India did not feel like moving back home. Joint families were being dismissed as impractical and careers swallowed us. While we still fussed fondly over each other in the family, we now often had to let Skype be our proxy. I found new comforts in watching monsoon showers and learnt to keep windows closed, lest a monkey should stroll in and help itself to the bananas I’d saved for myself.

XVIII

At the age of eighteen, I took off once again, but this time alone, to the United States for four years of college. In this journey, first year’s excitement countered second year’s homesickness, while third year’s adventurous spirit clashed with fourth year’s unyielding demands to deliver a relentless work ethic. I learnt over potlucks and poetry readings that my new sisters would be from every continent and I wouldn’t try to hide the tears when alumnae came back with touching stories of how their best friends decades on were the Smithies they grew up with.

XXI

At the age of twenty-one, I returned to Europe for a semester in London. This city grew to be the melting pot that merged my childhood and adolescent homes, churning out a savoury mélange. While I let myself revel here in the British slang I had grown up with, I puzzled over how unbelievably at home I felt in this city I had never before lived in. Yet, I yearned for the sisterhood I had at Smith and the sense of community I had with my family in India.

Epilogue: analyze your results

What changes during each move is not the skeleton from which I am composed, the species to which I belong, or the axis on which my world rotates. Instead, what living abroad – although I could not tell you where abroad is anymore – has taught me is to embrace. Travel has the transformative power to breed new tongues, new friendships, and new outlooks. But travel also turns the lights on stark truths and uncomfortable realizations. Chapter XVIII was my greatest challenge despite it being lived in my first home. What stood in the way of my re-assimilation was an unfair expectation that time and evolution had paused in the eight years that I had lived away. However, during my recent return to Europe, to my second home, what played in my favor was a faith in the place to offer me what it had, rather than demand of it what I thought it ought to have. And it was thus that we lived in a state of symbiosis.

If there’s one thing I carry with me, it’s the habit to never say goodbye when I leave each new place I’ve imbibed. There is only ever “I will leave and be back,”for in Tamil, my mother tongue, that is what we say when parting. We will not leave people or places behind, but rather take them along and revisit them when we are miles away and desperately in need of a slice of home.

Krithika Venkataraman considers herself a modern nomad, pausing to think each time when asked where home is. Home, for her, spans three continents and her assimilation and re-assimilation across these has been purely organic, much like the molecules she studies as a student of biochemistry and neuroscience. As a citizen of the 21st century, she is witnessing a beautiful move towards a global culture, and it is to this culture that she belongs.

Spring 2014 Issue I: International Photo Contest

A Family Affair

April 7, 2014 Jessica Sarno

For many students, going away to college is the first time they are away from their families for a significant duration; for me it was traveling to India. As an Ada Comstock scholar, a wife, a mother of three, and a transfer student, I thought I would not have the opportunity for international study; I was wrong. Smith College not only provided the opportunity but challenged me to take the risk and go for it. The Tibetan Studies in India program over J-term was the perfect fit for me.

Attending Smith has been something my whole family has undertaken. We all live on campus; we do homework together. They see me stressed out over a paper and suffer through endless nights of ramen dinners. So, when I learned that I had been accepted into the Tibetan Studies in India program, it was all of us who were accepted. Immediately my acceptance became a family event, as they watched me make the lists of supplies, get the vaccinations, do the readings. I felt a great responsibility to my family to make the most out of the opportunity. In an effort to include them in my travels, I wanted to capture momentary glimpses of my intercultural experience in photos not only of the extraordinary but also of the everyday interactions that I would encounter.

The Central University of Tibetan Studies is in a small town named Sarnath, in the Uttar Pradesh region of India. Varanasi, one of the oldest cities in the world, quickly became my favorite place to go. It took approximately 20 minutes via auto rickshaw to travel from Sarnath to Varanasi, and the ride to and from was definitely part of the adventure! Horns sounded in a completely different manner, the beep more of a heads up while passing than a warning accompanied by a hand gesture. Passing included pedestrians, other rickshaws (sometimes head on), and any animals in the street. In a city where thousands of people are coming and going daily the beeping was almost continuous, but not a sign of aggression as it often is in a New York City context.

A predisposition for the hustle and bustle of city life helped to prepare me for the overwhelming stimuli of Varanasi, but my first time there I found myself fighting panic. The noise level was intense with the sounds of the rickshaws, shoppers, storekeepers, the moo of cows, and music all filling the air. Add to that my conditioned response to horns that New York had generated, and my inexperience of being in such close proximity to large cows, and I found myself poised on the curb, trying to find the perfect time to cross the street, long enough to be shooed away by a frustrated shopkeeper more times than I can count. By my last day in Varanasi I came to realize that there’s never a perfect time to cross the street, or alternatively, it is always the perfect time to cross.

Shopping was a stimulating and socially bonding experience in Varanasi; it did not center solely on the exchange of money. Shop owners offered tea and sweets and a conversation would begin, which then would often lead to many different products being brought out and finally a negotiation of price. At first the art of price negotiation was uncomfortable for me for a complexity of reasons, but on my last night in Varanasi, in the twists of the alleys, I realized how far I had come. Having found a great little shop and entered into the negotiation process, I was surprised to feel relaxed and smiling easily while still remaining true to the process. At the end the young man behind the counter smiled and asked “are you happy?” to which I replied “very.” He responded “good, I’m glad” and he slid a bracelet, that at one point I had considered adding to my purchase, onto my wrist. It is by far my favorite keepsake from India. But I brought home more than trinkets and souvenirs. Just recently, I quite unexpectedly found myself offering an alternative price to a shopkeeper in Northampton.

The photos I took while in India were an effort to capture a piece of these experiences so that I could share them with the rest of my family. The risk I took in first applying to the program and then by participating in it has prompted me to take even greater risks. I am graduating in May, and as part of my accelerated graduate program in public policy, I have applied to several international internship positions and plan to pursue a career in international policy. Perhaps the next time I travel to India, my family will have the opportunity to take photos of their own.

Jessica Sarno is currently enrolled in an accelerated graduate program in public policy at UMASS. Her academic interests and career goals center on the intersection of religion with public policy and how this intersections effects the lives of women. She is particularly interested in transnational comparative policy.