The last few weeks: some concluding thoughts

After the MUWCI camp, the last couple of weeks of my internship seemed to rush by like a speeding bus. Suddenly, there were a dozen procrastinated projects to wrap up and I plunged into work like never before.
There’s another reason for this sudden intensification of work – I was also avoiding the deep thinking that should come with the conclusion of what’s been billed as a life-changing experience. Has my life changed? If so, how? What am I taking home? Do I even want to go home? Will my tick bites ever heal? These are some of the questions that have been swarming around in my head.
My internship with Vanastree officially ended with the month of November, and my plan had been to take off for a whirlwind tour of India before flying home on December 18th. As the end of November neared, however, I did do enough reflection to realize that I was probably happiest and more at peace than I’ve ever been in my life at Sunita’s farm and was in no hurry to leave. After a short trip to the ancient ruins surrounding the city of Hampi to the North, I came back in early December to pack my bags and participate in a Vanastree picnic.
Because Vanastree’s collective base is so scattered among the countless villages in Uttara Kannada district, many of the women don’t know members outside their own seed groups. Also, because domestic life is so labor intensive here, most don’t take even a day’s holiday very often. This “field trip” was an opportunity to air everyone out and give them a chance to get to know one another. It was also my opportunity to see the women I’ve gotten to know over the last few weeks one last time, and be introduced to many others I hadn’t met yet.
On the day of the picnic, the eighty or so women met up in Sirsi and piled into two busses. I sat in front of the first one, perched on the engine box between the driver and the two front seat passengers (the idea of a seat is often a very loose one here). Looking behind me, I saw for the first time the visible range of people my little NGO includes. Women close to my age sat next to wizened grandmothers. A few had come in crisp silk saris, while others’ saris were a little threadbare but still scrubbed meticulously clean. Some wore the more casual kurta (long shirt) and baggy pants as I did. All were chatting happily, the scent of coconut oil and jasmine flowers from their hair wafting around the bus.
The first stop was an apiary (bee farm) close to Sirsi. Keeping bees is an easy way to ensure good crop pollination while of course harvesting delicious honey, and we were hoping that by showing the women this place a few more of them would put bee boxes in their home gardens. We all stood in a huge circle, introduced ourselves, and then watched in awe as the beekeeper dismantled one of his bee boxes, containing a very active colony of rock bees, one of several native bee species here. The workers are the only ones with stingers, and they were all out gathering pollen, so we were able to examine the perfect octagonal cells in peace. Some contained tiny bee larvae.
After the demo, we sampled some honey and bombarded the beekeeper with questions. Then it was back to the bus and a short drive to the picnic site.
We pulled up to a beautiful spot by the river, shaded by huge trees. Everybody went down to the water to cool their feet. Out in the water near the opposite shore, there was a little shrine on a circular cement platform, and it didn’t take long for everyone to hike up their saris and wade out to it. One by one, they circled the Shiva linga counterclockwise, bowed down, and sat in the shade of the thatched roof, water rushing all around.
Before lunch we gathered under one of the trees and Manorama addressed a few words to the crowd. Then there was an unexpected “Word from the Intern”. She turned the floor over to me.
I paused an awkwardly long time. What could I say? There was too much to express, a large amount of it difficult to put into words. Despite the unstructured nature of the collective, I felt like they were all my overseers, the heart and soul of the organization that I had tried hard to be of service to. Had I accomplished what I came to do? Sunita had said that it had been helpful to have me around, but there are so many things outside of our control. If I had learned anything, it was the value of the self-sustaining, food secure system in place here. And it’s the small farmers and home gardeners, not interns, who are responsible for that.
After a deep breath, the words that came to my mouth were of thanks. Each of the stories of these women has been more inspiring than the rest, the final touch being that now they were here relaxing by the water as if none of their difficulties had ever transpired. And here I was, a complete outsider, as much a part of the group as someone from the other side of the planet could hope to be.
I’m sure I didn’t put all that too elegantly as a I stammered in front of eighty sets of expectant eyes, but I hope the message came through. Then came the Q&A. How did you like the food? (Delicious.) Did we try to feed you too much? (Yes, but I liked it.) What’s the biggest difference between the US and India?
Uhhh.
Stuck again. The constant noise, I wanted to say. The unimaginably huge population. The complete absence of Wal-Mart and overweight families. These are not useful comparisons. I tried to think bigger picture. Finally, I had it.
“A little thing known as ‘adjust’,” I said. Shortly into my stay, Sunita and I had been walking to the office, recovering from a harrowingly crowded tempo (private bus) ride when she explained “adjust” to me. Imagine you have one orange and there are twelve people. Indian politeness says that you should share the orange, and everybody will get a piece, no matter how small. You adjust. Same with the seats on the tempo or any other problem arising from the conflict between too many people and too few resources. “We’ll adjust” might as well be India’s unofficial slogan, the way people here take into stride situations that I find awkward or downright uncomfortable.
I think this idea is more than just a response to an allocation problem. It’s a way of approaching life that many from Eastern cultures share. Though it might be a gross generalization, people in the west are characteristically individualistic. It’s hard to solve problems or get much done because there’s always somebody’s ego in the way, some need that has to be taken into account. “We’ll adjust” smoothes over all those issues. It’s the opposite of “me first”. It’s the reason collectives like Vanastree work so well – everybody sharing what they have. I doubt things would run so well back home, where everything is personal property and seed companies place top priority on patenting effective seeds.

I enjoyed the rest of my stay a bit easier after that, having put into words the fascination with this Indian cultural aspect that had been forming in my head over the past three months. I went to Kerala, which was beautiful and fascinating, and stopped back at Sirsi on my way to Mumbai to catch my plane home. Mushtaq drove me to the train station in Hubli, recreating backwards the journey I’d made on my very first day in India.
As we left Sirsi behind us, I tried to think more on the way about what has changed about my approach to the country. Maybe I’d grown accustomed to a few things – the potholed road, for instance, and the monkeys scampering just out of reach of the van’s tires. I started to think I’d gotten used to the way things look here. But as we headed north, out of the jungley lushness of the Malnad and into the drier Deccan, where ox-drawn carts are commonplace and the locals wear colorful clothes and jewelry quite different from anything found in Sirsi, I found myself staring just as I did in September. India is full of surprises, I thought for the thousandth time since arriving. I could probably spend years here and still not get enough of the brilliant green rice paddies, the chaotic streets, the temples like islands of serenity in the sea of constantly active people. I leaned back in my seat, read again the pink-lettered “SMILE” on Mushtaq’s side mirror, and grinned as I stared at the scenery whizzing past.

Field Notes blog

My fame and recognition as a blogger continues to grow: Here's a post I wrote for IE3's blog Field Notes. IE3 is the organization that coordinated my internship with Vanastree.

http://ie3global.ous.edu/blog/ (Go to Dec 8)

Next: National Geographic.

Really though, I have to give credit to IE3 for putting me in touch with Vanastree and making this whole adventure possible. IE3 is really an awesome organization for getting students to spend time abroad for worthwhile causes. Thanks especially to Natanya Desai for seeing me through the entire process, from application to getting home again.

Oregon Voice essay published!

Due to my excellent connections at the prestigious Oregon Voice magazine, I managed to get an article published in their first issue this year. "Development versus disorder in the land of holy cows" is about losing my way and re-affirming my affection for developing nations on the winding and thoroughly confusing roads of Sirsi town.
Check it out: oregonvoice.com

Favorite posts?

As a writer, sometimes the most difficult part of the job is knowing what parts of your work suck and which are actually interesting and/or entertaining. I’ve been scrolling fruitlessly through my 45-page word document of blog posts from the past three months, looking for some choice bits to evolve into essays to submit to Glimpse. Progress is slow: My eyes tend to glaze over in the sea of words and I start wondering if there’s anything to eat. It all looks the same to me.
So I’m asking for your help, if you happen to have kept up with my rambling stories here: leave a comment or send me an email with a little feedback regarding which posts you enjoyed and which allowed your stomach to distract you. I’ll take three or four “good” ones and polish them up for some potential clips. Thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think there are some overripe bananas in the kitchen.