Visuals

Sarojini Nagar

I think my favourite image of Ruby was seeing her walking around Sarojini Market. Determinedly marching with a dirty clear plastic bag wrapped around her foot. She moved forward, completely oblivious of this litter attaching itself to her body. Slowly charging, taking each step purposefully, hips shaking, pushing past the masses. Tall men shift towards her, looking down to their hands as they pull out white diamante Calvin Klein watches.  Ruby grabs the watch, turns it over, bring it close to her face 'Kitna?' she asks, without even looking at the man's face '300 ruppees'. She thrusts the watch back into his hand and continues to charge on. These men fall after her, shouting much more reasonable offers to her. 'Nahi bhia' she wafts them away and strides onwards.

'I'm bat shit. You're crazy' said a small man holding an enormous red balloon he tried to sell to me at an extortionate price. Ruby continued to lead us forward; despite her short height, her stance and movement meant she was impossible to lose in the massive crowd. 'People in India are fools, buying so much, when they don't need. People will come to the market in India because there is nothing else for them to do. They buy buy buy. They go crazy for sales. They are such fools'.She says this all as she leads me into one of the shops off the market, the window display filled with balloons and signs rejoicing in the 70% OFF they are offering. And where she eventually buys two pairs of jeans which only have 10% off their normal price. What I find extraordinary about Ruby is that she has an awareness of the goings-on in her country, often denouncing cultural habits and the 'idiocy' of the masses. But then a second later she will perform the exact action she had criticised or condemned.  She moves between 'them' and 'us' when talking about social issues, depending on whether she considers her Punjabi identity of Indian identity being the major force.

In the shop as we wait for Chandhi to try on her jeans, Ruby gets talking to a young fair woman, asking her about what her husband does, turns out he is a customs officer. Ruby is impressed and continues to talk at the woman. Then five minutes later, the girls reveals that she is actually a doctor. The way this conversation occured is interesting in itself; the fact that Ruby sought out information about this woman's man before even finding out about her really says something. Ruby then goes up to the husband and asks for his telephone number, since 'customs officers have a very good job, they often have many electrical items and sell them'.

Chandhi complains of hunger, they march surrounding me and head to a pani puri stall. A form of street food that successfully manages to offend every taste bud your tongue is blessed to posses. Tiny greasy balls of bread, inflated like balls, are filled with a green sewer coloured liquid which prides itself on being simultaneously sweet and salty.The final product is disgusting. You are obliged to eat it in one, which I did quickly and painfully, spilling the green water all over my hands and top. 'You like?' they ask me. 'No. No. I really do not like', but before I finish my statement, Ruby has turned and passed me another plastic plate filled with the stuff. 'No Ruby, I really, really think it is gross and never want to eat it again'. This is not sufficient, no does not mean no right not. She insists that I eat it and I do. Then she turns around again and hands me a plate filled just with the liquidised demon juice and urges me to drink it. That is too far  'I am not doing that. Ever. Sorry' and finally have the strength to refuse to accept the greasy plastic plate which was in fact my third lunch of the day.

De-Notified Tribes

Exclusion, deprivation and discrimination are endemic experiences amongst de-notified tribes (DNTs) of India. Since British Colonialism institutionalised and 'notified' a group as Criminal Tribes, this social group has been forced to deal with harassment at every level of society. Before Independence, those individuals and groups who opposed British rule and rejected their ideals of daily wages and fixed settlements were seen as problematic in the eyes of the colonialists. Accordingly, British colonialists established a way for them to try to control this mixed nomadic social group by explicitly criminalising them, forcing them to check in with local officials and police three times a night. By 1871, British rule had constructed a list of these Criminal Tribes and passed the Criminal Tribes Act which desperately attempted to control these groups, and force them to stay in one settlement and work in low paying schemes. Ultimately, this act created a new class of citizens out of nowhere, who were born with the status of criminals.

Soon after Independence, the communities notified as Criminal Tribals were 'de-notified' by the Government. However, this Act was basically replaced by a range of alternative, less conspicuous Acts, specifically including  the Habitual Offenders Act, which simply preserved most of the provisions of the CT Acts. 'Denotifying' this social group, failed to make any  improvement to the lives of these groups. Police training academies still teach the that certain communities are habitually and 'naturally' criminal. This concept of naturalised caste is common in so many discussions in India; you can talk to anyone and they will assign traits, personalities and habits to someone depending on which state they are born, whether they are Muslim and their caste. My Indian family that I'm staying with are Punjabis, which according to them, makes them 'naturally friendly'.

However, if a petty theft occurs in a community, local DNTs are always the first suspects. The onus of proving innocence rests with them. Today, it is rare that government schemes for economic uplift to reach them, particularly since illiteracy rates among the DNTs are higher than among even Scheduled Castes or Tribes meaning it is basically impossible for them to complete forms which would allow for them to benefit. 

Over the years with the CT Act and the HO Act, these groups were obliged to settle down in one place and were consequently separated from their 'traditional' forms of livelihoods (As an anthropologist, I hate the term 'traditional', but have fallen into the trap of using it so much when trying to make proposals emotive), such as working as entertainers, and travelling traders. On the one hand, women who were singers and performers were made to suffer economically as a result of this discrimination and many were forced to enter into prostitution, which went onto in many cases to become intergenerational prostitution between families. On the other hand, men were put under substantial pressure, as part of their responsibility to check into police stations three times each night. Many became pimps in order to counter act this financial and institutional discrimination, which also went onto become an intergenerational process.

This is what I learnt from the talk I attended at Apne Aap's offices.

However, when I went back to my Indian family home that evening, I asked the family whether they had ever heard of DNTs, and they looked back quizzically. 'Deyenties? No. I do not know of what you are talking'. This forced me to challenge whether DNTs even identify themselves in such a way. Are NGOs drawing on redundant terminologies and labels in an attempt to create a USP for themselves, a niche in the crazy competition of grant proposals? Perhaps people from DNT backgrounds have managed to shed this identity so successfully that the urban middle classes are unaware of the term in the first place? Or maybe, they are so extremely marginalised and forgotten that they are unmentioned by the masses?

The term 'de-notifed tribes' is obviously problematic, it haphazardly reinforces the false notion that these individuals were once criminals. It's hard to ascertain whether this term could ever be reclaimed and used in an empowering way. Nevertheless these social groups involved, who are thought to make up 8-10% of India's population, must be offered more sufficient support. Currently, those who make up the DNTs are barely incorporated by censuses, and as a result fail to benefit from India's countless government schemes (All of which are elaborate acronyms that I can never remember, or get right when under pressure). These groups are stigmatised by birth and forgotten by their government. Those who make up the DNTs must be helped to feel empowered, beyond this restrictive, constructed social category.  

In the Underbelly/Delhi

So far, every dream I have had whilst I've been here has involved dogs and cars. This is because every night I go to sleep to the sound of rabid dogs barking and auto's honking their horns. Honestly, my dreams have just been variations on the stories of dog is run over by car, dog drives car, dog becomes car (or vice versa). Whilst this is quite hilarious, I would appreciate a bit more diversity.

I'm finally settled into a place, where I can comfortably sleep and dream of pooches and Peugeots at the Saini household in South Delhi. Apne Aap, all credit to them, helped me find my place to stay within a few days of starting out with them. To be fair, they probably appreciated having one less aimless wanderer in the office asking them long winded questions about the history of prostitution in south Asia, or where exactl the programmes department had disappeared to.

I was showed one other place which was basically a building site off a main road. So when the Saini family welcomed me into their apartment, offered me chai and said they could make their already cheap rent even cheaper for me, it didn't take me long to agree to their offer (being a sucker for chai and bargains, I couldn't refuse).

I will always remember my first night with the Saini family (Ruby, the mother - a round small person, quick to describe the wonders of her last foreign guest, Chandhi the 20 year old daughter, and Hyatt, the 18 year old son) . After awkwardly trying to work out the house vibe and ascertain how much I should leave my door open when I wanted alone time and conceding to the fact that  I was to do no washing up throughout the duration of my stay; I waited for dinner to be served.  At 10 o'clock. At night (for those who know me well, 10 o'clock is the sort of time that I go to sleep).

When 10 o'clock came I was invited to sit in Ruby's bedroom, on her bed and eat my food with the family. We all sat on Ruby's bed, eating chapattis and chutney, watching The Hangover. It was surreal, but I loved it. I had gone from being homeless to snuggling up with everyone in a bed, munching away, watching a rubbish Hollywood film. A classic example of the unexpected extremities of life in this culture.

However, when this happened the following night, I had predictably fallen asleep at 9pm. Ruby, audibly filled with panic knocked continuously on my door at 9.30, despite the fact that I had pre-warned Hyatt I wouldn't be taking dinner that evening.

'Hello, hello, Flo, hello?' came her Punjabi accent through my door. I got out of bed, in the dark and opened the door. 'Yes?' I mumbled back in reply. 'You take your dinner now.'  she insisted. I explained how my exhaustion had overtaken my hunger and that I wasn't up to eating dinner that evening. Ruby sheepishly reversed and I could tell I had committed a great sin by shunning her food that evening.

The next day I woke to her knock and I instantly apologised for last night, she admitted that the incident had upset her, but turned and gave me a tray of stuffed parathas and paneer for breakfast and my lunchbox for the day. The incident was obviously forgotten but I definitely learnt that I should never miss a meal at the Saini household. I also asked whether my dinner could be served at a more human hour.

Early internship vibes

Since having had some experience working for NGOs and charities abroad, I had assumed I knew what to expect from my time with Apne Aap. But, I don't know why I have not conceded to the reality that when abroad, especially in India, you must always expect the unexpected. As a result, my first week at the charity has been a bit of a shock.

I had heard about the organisation a couple of years ago, as I sat writing my dissertation and listening to Radio 4. So when I realised they had a regular internship scheme I was desperate to be involved. Although, now I'm here, I realise this is definitely not an internship scheme. I'm not quite sure what it actually is yet, apart from being a test of my ability to use my own initiative and self management.

Anyway, more generally the organisation is really interesting and I do enormously value what they do. Their founder, Ruchira Gupta, started up as a journalist and found herself making a documentary about women who have been trafficked from rural villages into prostitution in Mumbai. The office has dozens of trophies and certificates up, celebrating their successes and progress. Apne Aap works to empower women, girls who are at-risk, prostitutes in red light areas, and the survivors who have managed to pull themselves out of this situation. They have a  Three L's approach to how they can support these women - Legal empowerment, Learning & Livelihoods; a positive, typically holistic way of trying to attack the multitude of problems related to human trafficking.

Alongside myself, there are five other people who don't really know what they are meant to be doing (read  as: interns); A range of interesting women from Australia and the US, all sharing a liberal feminist view point (At least three read Jezebel.com). Unfortunately, I was the last to start with the organisation, and also the last to find out that the Programmes department I was supposed to be working for had closed. That's right, all the staff have left, the entire department no longer exists; leaving me with no official manager and no genuine purpose. 

Over the last few days of being in the Apne Aap office, my head has been filled with theoretical issues, philosophical debates and anthropological questions about the situation of trafficking and prostitution in Delhi and India more broadly. Whilst I haven't been given any actual work to do as an intern, I have had the chance to discuss and learn so much about a situation I knew very little about before (some of which I will write proper blog posts about in the future).  

My First Delhi Weekend

My experience of India so far has been filled with a lot of feelings. Maybe, all of the feelings a human can possibly feel? And I've been here for less than a week. So I suppose that is an achievement, if nothing else really has been.

There has been no other period in my life where I have felt such extreme highs and lows in such a short period of time. But I suppose that is what I should expect from this great nation.

On arrival to Delhi, I was anxious and uncomfortable about what my time here would consist of. I had  no idea who would collect me from the airport, where my hotel actually was and what I was to do for my first weekend. Fortunately, I was met outside the airport with a sign and a smile by my friendly hotel driver (this was the second time I have arrived in an air port and seen a sign with my name held up, and I have to admit I love it each and every time. It makes me feel like an international jet setter with meetings established across the world).

Once I arrived to Grand Godwin Hotel, in Para Ganj ( a horrific touristy part of the capital) I collapsed into my bed (in a room with no windows) and simultaneously released all of the emotions in my body. Most of them were negative, like anxiety, fear and loneliness all collectively seeping out of my eyes, nose and mouth. I called everyone I possibly could over Skype, multiple times every hour, and vented my regrets and disappointment with my decision at them.

This happened for approximately 48 hours. In fact, I can't be sure whether it was actually 48 hours, due to the lack of natural sunlight entering my room which inevitably confused my body even more.  I'm ashamed to say I only left the hotel once in the weekend, due to my ridiculous hyper sensitivity and proneness to welling up every 15 seconds. But as I left the hotel and wandered down the road, I was able to witness some of the sights that reminded me of why I do love this country so much. A dog sitting on top of a car. Men with scarves elaborately wrapped around their heads and necks, sipping their chai briskly in the cold. I also saw a man get run over. Really slowly. Without reacting in any way.

By the third day, my emotions had internalised. I was no longer spurting snot or tears, and instead had a steady (yet unnaturally fast) heart beat. It was my first day of my internship with Apne Aap.

Kenya 2K13

My trip to Kenya in audio and visual form.

Kenya in Photos

A few photos from my recent month in Nairobi. Highlights include - mountain climbing, filming, beaching, tasting the local 'delicacy' Ugali & beans, and a surprising discovery of Gor Soudan's artist space where he and The Jolly Guys of Kibera come together. 

Film - It's The Eye Of The Society

Here is a short film that I made about the work of Hot Sun Foundation, an organisation based in Kibera Nairobi, the largest slum in Africa. Hot Sun Foundation draws on the imagination, creativity and passion of young people from marginalised backgrounds in East Africa to promote and express key social issues.

Their emphasis of citizen and community journalism reminds us of the thousands of stories which go unheard everyday. Mass media consistently forgoes depicting realities, especially when it comes to life in African slums. Indeed, instead of portraying the hard work, entrepreneurship of the slums, media often falls into the trap of sepia, slow motion images of emaciated infants with flies buzzing around them.

The kind of film making and journalism, such as the kind that occurs within Hot Sun Foundation, reminds us of the agency, ingenuity and humour that exists within Kibera and slums everywhere.

Kenya's Passion for the Political

When I first arrived in Kenya, I knew I was going to be staying in a bubble. Anna's family apartment is beautiful and just a stone's throw from an upmarket mall. Getting to know her parents, and watching the news gave me enormous insight into the ongoing and eternal political dramas of the country; the issue of President Uhuru facing the ICC, increased media censorship, and strict regulation and moderation over the work of NGOs were just some of the headlines that I was growing wise to. However, in the first week or so, I believed that I gained this awareness simply because of the company I keep, well educated, well off and able to access the latest news at the touch of a touch screen.

But I was proved wrong. Kenya, as a whole, is a country obsessed by politics.

Here politicians embody the celebrity culture we are so familiar with in the West. They can be seen, necks laden with bling, riding around in black tinted window cars and evading as many rules as they can. Indeed, these very MPs are often referred to as MPigs.  In every Matatu I get into, there is at least one face embedded fully into one of the daily newspapers and I can always hear ongoing radio discussions about political issues.

One of the most notable things I found about Kenya's love of politics was when I was driving through central Nairobi in the early hours. On street corners, under some trees in the park, were different groups of men crowded and huddled together like penguins on ice. I assumed these guys were snuggling together to warm up before the sun's heat reached their skin, but when I enquired as to what was actually going on I was fascinated. Every day, groups of men come together to listen to the news; for each group, one man will have purchased a paper or acquired the latest current affairs on his radio and takes it upon himself to distribute this to his peers who circle him desperate to hear his version of the story. I found this concept charming (despite the lack of women in sight) since it evoked old stories of coffee shops in the UK, where historically men would distribute important news and discuss current issues.