The most interesting experiences I have here are those when I enter someone's home in the slum. In Ramapir no Tekro, I never really know what to expect. The living conditions of the community vary between the poorest extreme of no electricity and no solid roof, and the upper extreme including cable TV in addition to all the basic necessities.
I clearly remember the shock of entering the battered home of a family of six, and hearing the dramatic music of an Indian television serial playing in the corner.
But for the most part, the community here survives on the bare minimum. Comparatively, the modest volunteer home I live in is borderline extravagant, with a refrigerator and western-style bathroom. Besides the occasional cockroach or lizard (which I've learned to take care of without much harm), the house is sturdy, comfortable and lovely. But what have I done to deserve this beautiful home?
This week I met an old woman who was widowed 25 years ago. Since then, she has lived on an income of 45 rupees a day from her laborious job as a ragpicker. She can barely pay the rent on her shoddy one-room home each month, let alone pay back the loans she has taken out from several neighbors.
While thousands of impoverished individuals live in crowded and questionably built structures, I have the luxury of the Manav Sadhna volunteer home because I have devoted three and a half months to their service- all because of my status as "volunteer".
For a while now, this misalignment has been bothering me. While volunteerism is linked to the ideas of selflessness and service for the greater good, more and more am I realizing that it is also linked to privilege. I was privileged enough to be able to leave my life in America behind for a short time and come to Manav Sadhna in the name of service. I am privileged enough to survive for three months without any income and focus solely on the seva (service) for the poor, because I can withdraw money from my Indian bank account without worrying that the balance will run out.
Along with privilege and the concept of volunteerism comes a certain detachment from my experiences. I am in the unique position of being able to witness life in the slum firsthand, but with the understanding that this is not my life and never will be. I can visit the tekro one afternoon and play with children whose parents make barely 50 rupees after a hard day's work, and then in the evening go to a fancy mall in Ahmedabad and spend 60 rupees on the rickshaw ride.
This detachment is not limited to my experiences in the slum. Even on weekends when I spend time with my upper-middle class family, I manage to remain an observer. Their household is run so differently than the one I was raised in, that as I go through the motions of their daily routine sometimes I feel like I'm an actor in a play that runs until December, rather than a participant in their Indian way of life.
Post some pictures!
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