Do poor people in America know how to speak English? At first the question struck me as silly and obvious.
On Friday afternoon, I was sitting in Gandhi's Prathna Bhumi or Prayer Ground with 18 boys and girls from the slums, and Nimeshbhai, a Manav Sadhna volunteer. Nimeshbhai is coordinating a dance and drama production starring these children, following the example of a show created by Manav Sadhna ten years ago. The theme of the production will be ekatva, meaning oneness.
After Nimeshbhai introduced me to the group, the children's hands popped up, eager to ask me questions.
Why did you want to come to India and work with poor people? I was impressed by the clarity of the question coming from a 12-year-old. It's a question I've been asking myself for a while now, and I'm not sure I've yet settled on an answer. I rattled off a trite response about wanting to experience life in a different country, and made a mental note to think more about it later.
Are there poor people where you come from? What are poor people in America like? Do they live in slums?
I tried my best to answer their questions in my broken Gujarati. But more than the language barrier, the difficult part was expressing myself honestly and sincerely. The subject of "poor people" is not one that comes up often in my conversations, and I felt a pressure to give somewhat diplomatic answers to these children.
But when 11-year-old Vicky asked me if poor people in America know English, I realized that my diplomacy was out of place with this audience. My discomfort was stemming from the fact that the children's questions acknowledged that they were poor, and also acknowledged that I knew that they were poor. But they were not embarrassed. They were simply trying to find something to relate to in the strange land of America, which became a little less foreign once they realized that poor people live there as well.
Vicky's question, which seemed simple at first, revealed how deep his understanding of ekatva really is. He assumed that poor people in America cannot be much different than poor people in India. And to a large extent, he's right. Regardless of where they live, people who live in poverty are disadvantaged, hungry, and unable to reach they're full potential because of the economic and social limitations they've been dealt.
Yes, for the most part, everyone in America knows English. The kids were stunned. In India, English is a mark of a good education, and often a good education is a mark of money. Rather than shattering their feeling of oneness with Americans, this revelation about English made the children more interested to find out about the foreign culture.
This sentiment - the feeling of being united despite differences- is one I'm familiar with. The current Manav Sadhna volunteers are residents of four different continents. This experience we have been drawn to by of our mutual passion and interest for service is enriched by our distinct backgrounds.
Yesterday, two Americans, two Brits, an Australian, a German, a Frenchman and a Spaniard all visited the "Old City" of Ahmedabad for dinner. We shared spicy pav bhaji and kulfi from the street vendors and silently prayed that we wouldn't be running for the bathroom in the morning. Afterward, we walked through the streets, trying to take in the subtle beauty of Ahmedabad at night.
The Old City really is beautiful, but the beauty is hidden under years of dust, litter and attempts at modernization. The building facades are covered by torn and yellowing posters of Bollywood film stars from an older generation; the peeling paint and rusty windows eclipse the striking architecture and design during the daytime.
But at night, as the crowds thin and the vegetable vendors pack up their goods, there's a calmness in the streets that drew my attention to the buildings. After the founding of Ahmedabad, a wall was built along the circumference of the city to protect it from invasion. Today, Ahmedabad has expanded far beyond the original "walled city", but many of the original gates (called darwaja in Gujarati) still stand. In the yellow light of the street lamps, the intricate carvings and elegant architecture of thron darwaja (three gates) were eye-catching.
We ended the night by packing our party of eight into an auto rickshaw (meant for three) and speeding back to the Ashram.
On Friday afternoon, I was sitting in Gandhi's Prathna Bhumi or Prayer Ground with 18 boys and girls from the slums, and Nimeshbhai, a Manav Sadhna volunteer. Nimeshbhai is coordinating a dance and drama production starring these children, following the example of a show created by Manav Sadhna ten years ago. The theme of the production will be ekatva, meaning oneness.
After Nimeshbhai introduced me to the group, the children's hands popped up, eager to ask me questions.
Why did you want to come to India and work with poor people? I was impressed by the clarity of the question coming from a 12-year-old. It's a question I've been asking myself for a while now, and I'm not sure I've yet settled on an answer. I rattled off a trite response about wanting to experience life in a different country, and made a mental note to think more about it later.
Are there poor people where you come from? What are poor people in America like? Do they live in slums?
I tried my best to answer their questions in my broken Gujarati. But more than the language barrier, the difficult part was expressing myself honestly and sincerely. The subject of "poor people" is not one that comes up often in my conversations, and I felt a pressure to give somewhat diplomatic answers to these children.
But when 11-year-old Vicky asked me if poor people in America know English, I realized that my diplomacy was out of place with this audience. My discomfort was stemming from the fact that the children's questions acknowledged that they were poor, and also acknowledged that I knew that they were poor. But they were not embarrassed. They were simply trying to find something to relate to in the strange land of America, which became a little less foreign once they realized that poor people live there as well.
Vicky's question, which seemed simple at first, revealed how deep his understanding of ekatva really is. He assumed that poor people in America cannot be much different than poor people in India. And to a large extent, he's right. Regardless of where they live, people who live in poverty are disadvantaged, hungry, and unable to reach they're full potential because of the economic and social limitations they've been dealt.
Yes, for the most part, everyone in America knows English. The kids were stunned. In India, English is a mark of a good education, and often a good education is a mark of money. Rather than shattering their feeling of oneness with Americans, this revelation about English made the children more interested to find out about the foreign culture.
This sentiment - the feeling of being united despite differences- is one I'm familiar with. The current Manav Sadhna volunteers are residents of four different continents. This experience we have been drawn to by of our mutual passion and interest for service is enriched by our distinct backgrounds.
Yesterday, two Americans, two Brits, an Australian, a German, a Frenchman and a Spaniard all visited the "Old City" of Ahmedabad for dinner. We shared spicy pav bhaji and kulfi from the street vendors and silently prayed that we wouldn't be running for the bathroom in the morning. Afterward, we walked through the streets, trying to take in the subtle beauty of Ahmedabad at night.
The Old City really is beautiful, but the beauty is hidden under years of dust, litter and attempts at modernization. The building facades are covered by torn and yellowing posters of Bollywood film stars from an older generation; the peeling paint and rusty windows eclipse the striking architecture and design during the daytime.
But at night, as the crowds thin and the vegetable vendors pack up their goods, there's a calmness in the streets that drew my attention to the buildings. After the founding of Ahmedabad, a wall was built along the circumference of the city to protect it from invasion. Today, Ahmedabad has expanded far beyond the original "walled city", but many of the original gates (called darwaja in Gujarati) still stand. In the yellow light of the street lamps, the intricate carvings and elegant architecture of thron darwaja (three gates) were eye-catching.
We ended the night by packing our party of eight into an auto rickshaw (meant for three) and speeding back to the Ashram.
 |
| Sidi Sayed Mosque in the Old City |
 |
| Manek Chowk |
No comments:
Post a Comment