On Thursday, when I was getting out of the rickshaw at my dance class, the driver told me the ride was 20 rupees. I looked at him. He looked back. I raised my eyebrows. He raised his back.
Everyday this ride costs me 15 rupees. Why is it 20 today? I asked, annoyed and with a little bit of attitude.
The rickshaw driver's face went blank. Oh behn (sister), I didn't realize you were from here. Okay okay, just give me fifteen.
I handed him the bills, gave him a smile as I turned to walk away, and did a celebration dance in my head. So maybe I still look like a foreigner - but at least my Gujarati is convincing enough to scare away cheating rickshaw drivers.
One month after arriving in India, I've graduated from "obvious NRI" to "possible foreigner with sloppy Gujarati". Along with this graduation, I've learned to let go of some of my western worries.
While I could tell Manav Sadhna was an amazing place from the beginning, over the past few weeks there have been some aspects of life here that have been frustrating and difficult for me to adapt to. The work day begins at 10:45 with prathna. By the time prayer and announcements for the day are done, it's nearly lunch time. Very few people have a schedule for the day or the week, and all plans are somewhat tentative. If a meeting is scheduled to start at 2 pm, it's a fair bet that all attendees won't be present until 2:30.
I come from a culture where keeping to a schedule, staying organized and being punctual are paramount values. I was given a planner in middle school to promote habits of "time management" and kids are constantly encouraged to think about the goals they want to achieve- by the end of the day, the end of the week, and for the future. So adjusting to a lifestyle where no one expects a list of accomplishments at the end of each day, has been pretty unnerving.
For the first several days, I would come home from a long day and feel exhausted and content. But then I would try to identify exactly what I had accomplished. I would analyze what progress had been made during the day, and what direct role I had in it. What labor did I put in? What ideas did I provide? And slowly, I would find my mind heating up, and my contentment would boil away only to be replaced with disappointment. I'd realize that I didn't really do much at all. I didn't move mountains, I didn't implement project ideas, I didn't relieve TB for the growing percentage of the slum afflicted with the disease. And because I didn't do any of these things, my mind decided that I had not done anything.
But even though the staff at Manav Sadhna always seems to have their watches set to IST (Indian Standard Time), and I can count on very few people having a plan for their day, they have been able to move mountains. They have created a presence in the slum, and have touched thousands of families with compassion and hope.
It's a very western idea that in order to feel content, you must have achieved something- that in order to be successful, you must have something to show at the end of a day's work. But why? On Wednesday, I spent the afternoon in the community center at the slum. I played with children for a few hours, made several new pint-sized friends, and even received a few kisses from one of the girls. As I left to go home that evening, Ramilaben, one of the community center workers who I have spent several hours talking to over the past week, took both my hands in hers and asked me to come visit her home. We walked to the edge of the slum where her son and daughter were playing at home. She made me chai and the four of us laughed and shared stories over tea and snacks. It felt like home.
At the end of that day, I had not made any progress on my growing list of ideas for projects with MS. But I felt so happy. In order to make the most of my time here, one has to embrace the ways of Manav Sadhna. I may not leave here with any great legacy, but if I can give (and receive) love even a little bit of love, then maybe I can convince myself that everything will be okay.
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