A Strange Indian in India @nainathota-blog - Tumblr Blog

Women’s March 2018, NYC and some neat stuff I saw.

In a Nutshell

“I wish I had some eggs to throw at the building!” “Naina! Don’t say things like that.” “Why can’t they be reasonable to pressing circumstances?! Absolutely useless. I should have started sobbing in front of them.” “Ok do you want to turn back then?” “...sigh, no”

It was mid July and my mother and I had just left the India Consulate in NYC. I had failed to convince them to expedite my visa. The worst had come and I needed to cancel and rebook my flights to India.

“I know there is nothing I can do because it is out of my control but I just don’t want to seem irresponsible to Gram Vikas and Union” I stated.

My mother calmly replied, “Relax. Breathe. Like you said, it is out of your control and you did everything you could by traveling all the way to New York, they will admire your determination.”

The grey sky began to gently rain and frizz my hair. (How many times have I mentioned my hair in this blog, feel free to create a drinking game).

“Gah I just wanna be India!!!! I just want to proceed with my destiny!!!”

My mother ignored me and held my hand.

The rain began to pour and neither of us wore rain jackets or had umbrellas. We were unprepared for the day.

“What train do you think we can catch home?” “What’s the rush...we never come to NYC without an actual plan….let’s visit that church, I always wanted to see inside,” My mother squealed. I looked at her, and fell for her petite cuteness. “Sure.”

We walked through the side entrance of the church and sat down. Besides a few elderly people, a security guard, and a young man, we were the only ones inside. “The architecture is incredible. Look at that stained glass, look at the ceiling, are you looking?...oh Naina, smile for a minute,” my mother said as she aimed her camera at me. “Omg, amalu.” I forced a smile and posed.

We then sat down and my mother let her finger graze the bible. She then closed her eyes and put her palms together.

“Are you praying? In church? We are Hindu.”

“Does it matter Naina? It is a holy place where people have faith come together. Maybe the God is different, but the hope is all the same.” She whispered and fell into a hindu chant.

I looked around. I felt out of place. I started getting Life of Pi vibes, and the quote

“Hindus, in their capacity for love, are indeed hairless Christians, just as Muslims, in the way they see God in everything, are bearded Hindus, and Christians, in their devotion to God, are hat wearing Muslims.” -Yann Martel

danced in my head.

I looked around for my tiger, but just saw my mother and I proceeded to close my eyes and say to myself,

“Hey Vishnu, Shiva, Lakshmi, and uhh Jesus...I gathered you all here today to thank you for everything you have given to me. Great parents, great brother, solid life. Please continue to bless them while I am gone. And please let me make a great difference in India. Let me find a way to impact the people and them impact me. Please. I wanted this soo badly, and I am thankful that I got it, please just let it be magnificent. Oh, and speed up the visa. PLEASE.”

We finished praying and made our way out. In the foyer, I observed the elaborate paintings and tried to figure out which images depicted what in the bible. Until suddenly,

“Uhh Amalu, I think that we are in a black church.” “What makes you say that?” I pointed and stated “Because ya boy Jesus be black in the pics.”

We bursted out laughing and made our way to TWO more churches. To admire the architecture, take pictures, and pray to some higher power for a good future.

I look back at this day often. I was foolish. I believed that plans always go as planned. For goodness sake, that day in New York didn’t go as planned, how did I expect a whole 8 months to run smoothly? Smh.

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“Do you worry how Dharma will carry out after years once you step away from the company or once the scale increases?” I recently asked Anu.

“Actually, I hope the company will organically dissolve as the community becomes self reliant and gains confidence in their abilities through a fair system. The company is just a tool to help get the poor a seat at the table.”

I have been in the US for about 3.5 months. A lot has happened. I walked with some cool people at the Women’s March. I have spoiled myself with hot showers and Chipotle. I surprised myself by the not freaking out over a centipede in my basement. And I have been working with Anu, the founder of Dharma Endeavours.

What is Dharma Endeavours?

Dharma Endeavours (DE) is a for profit social enterprise that officially registered in 2016. It is located in the world heritage site of Hampi, Karnataka, India. Yes, this is a very new and young business but the way it thinks is something of the old, wise man. Like a Morgan Freeman.

It is a BUSINESS THAT EXISTS FOR ITS PEOPLE. Yes, all caps.

It is a forward thinking business that strives to better the community it serves.

I know. AHMAZING.

You see, DE isn’t giving something free to the poor. It isn’t in the poverty or charity business. It is a business that alleviates poverty. Let’s break it down.

It hopes to alleviate poverty by partnering with local families and providing them supplementary income to support themselves and increase their quality of life.

It partners together visitors and local NGOs to give back to the rural communities.

Ok, so what is it?

Think AirBnB for those craving an authentic, rural experience. Many local and world travelers are beginning to learn about this incredible heritage site hidden in Hampi. However, when they Google places to stay, not much shows up...because it is a rural area. SO, DE provides homes and rooms for visitors by partnering with willing families in the community. These families rent out spaces in their house to host travelers. DE makes sure it is clean, comfortable, safe, and modernized for guests. Not only does DE provide reliable housing, food, and transportation, it delivers a colorful Hampi experience. Whether it is an adventurous day on the shepherds’ hike, or visiting historical ruins, or making pottery with local artisans, DE shapes your experience to your interests. But more importantly, it advocates responsible tourism. Integrated into the visitors’ trip is working with a NGO that gives back in agriculture, waste management, education, etc. Only over a year old, DE has worked with traveling couples, families, school groups, book clubs, and boy scouts from around the globe.

Now, DE is finally creating revenue which will be distributed to all families who join Anu. Anu has truly found a way to make business personal again by not neglecting nor exploiting its community. DE has responsibly integrated within its society.

Alright, alright, alright. So what do I do?

Because Anu has given me the opportunity to work from abroad, I focus on community outreach and find clients. I look over the social media sites and reach out to travel influencers that can spread the word about DE. More importantly, I try to find international clients, specifically educational institutions to book a visit with DE in collaboration with their study abroad programs. Through weekly calls with Anu, I am updated about her activity in Hampi and am taught something about social enterprise. She informs me of the challenges she faces, strategies for the future, and more. Yes, living in different time zones is challenging and I admit, I get hints of regret of not moving to Hampi with her, but after every conversation I have with Anu, I leave mesmerized... And a little bit more woke (I had to say it).

I leave thinking, look at this incredible woman who is running an operation by herself in a developing world. I think, why aren’t ALL businesses doing good for their community? Why aren’t consumers demanding more from their businesses? And more importantly, why has the poverty business created a donor/recipient model in which one is inferior to the other?

DE and Gram Vikas do not look at the poor as the poor. But as partners. As people.

And aren’t we all just that? People.

Yeah some of us are gay or black or muslim or have a disability. Some of us like pineapple on their pizza and some of us have their words silenced. But we are people right?

I majored in biology, and I know we all have the same biological components and our hearts are the built same. All our hearts feel love, pain, anger, and sadness.

So why is that people have managed to draw lines and build walls and create a hierarchy of who is better, who is superior. Why are you better than me, why am I better than them? Why can’t people create partnerships with people like DE/GV, and treat each other equally? Why can’t we create opportunities that are win/win for all parties? Why can’t people just stop screaming for once and just listen to those that are different from?

Why can’t people of different beliefs come together and pray with each other like my mom and I did that rainy Friday last summer?

Don’t tell me to “chill” for getting worked up. Equality and the way we respect each other is something to always get worked up about.

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So in a nutshell,

my fellowship was unconventional. But I learned from Gram Vikas. I learned from Dharma Endeavours. And I learned from India.

I learned that no matter where you are on the world, people are people. And we our responsible for raising one another up to our full potential.

See you all at church, or temple, or the mosque.

“The world isn't just the way it is. It is how we understand it, no? And in understanding something, we bring something to it, no? Doesn't that make life a story?” -Yann Martel

Cheers for one final time, Naina 4/11/18

Before I signed up to work with Anu (founder of Dharma Endeavours), I was so fortunate to experience this heritage site first hand. I found my inner spiritualist here. To learn more OR book your next vacation in Hampi, India by going to dharmaendeavours.com

Director: NABIL (NABIL.com) Producer: Jill Hammer Production Company: NE Direction Editor: Isaac Hagy DOP: Larkin Sieple boniver.org jagjaguwar.com

Read my Where’s Waldo blog and follow up with watching this.

Rishikesh.

Where’s Waldo?

Naina has great hair. Naina returned home. Naina ended her fellowship.

While two of those are true, let the source herself (me) begin to clarify. Yes, indeed I do. I have great hair, you can’t deny that. Yes, I did come home. No, I did NOT end my fellowship.

I know I have been laying low for the past couple of months. But mmm, how should I carefully say it... “It’s Britney bitch...and I’m back”- Michael Scott.

Let me start off with this. The hardest thing I have ever done-no, the hardest thing I have ever done that no millennial can dare to try, was flying across the world with no cell phone. I am not gonna sugar coat it, it was a pain in my ass.

It was a pain when I couldn’t listen to my Spotify playlist to fall asleep on the plane. It was pain when I couldn’t Snapchat my first everything bagel with veggie cream cheese when I arrived at Heathrow. It was a pain when my flight was delayed in London. It was a pain when I couldn’t call my my parents to tell them my flight landed in North Carolina and not JFK. And it was exceptionally painful when I had to ask a snooty pre-teen girl to borrow her phone to make a call..she looked at me like the barbarian I was.

If I survived 48 hrs without a phone in my hand, I can survive anything.

The second hardest thing I had to do, was to come to terms with my small role in this universe. If you ever talked to a narcissist, they will tell you this is the hardest thing to do.

It began in Rishikesh when Tom Mcevoy and I sat by the Ganges River on these pearlescent, white marble steps. The river, to my surprise, was extremely blue. So blue that it almost felt fake. I felt like I was in tourism ad, Tom was the flamboyant western tourist and I was his reliable Indian sidekick.

It wasn’t long in our conversation until I began to cry. I won’t reveal all that was confessed because the conversation I had with Tom was a gift. It’s not something to share with any of you. But I will tell you this.

“Naina going home isn’t the end of the world.” “Tom. It’ll be the end of my world. Nothing is waiting for me there. Nothing.” “Then create something, have people help you, I will help you.” “No one can help me! I can’t even help me. As a Minerva Fellow I NEED to be the one to help. I’m not leaving.”

We talked for an hour. By the end, I ran out of tissues and Tom ran out of sunscreen.

The introduction of this conversation eventually led to the introduction of a song. Holocene by Bon Iver. Ever heard of it? It’s ok, if you haven’t, I’ve kindly attached it to this blog. Tom mentioned it to me as we prayed for our lives on an auto ride home in Agra.

As we swerved through traffic, people, cows, and people on cows he turned to me and said, “Have you ever seen the music video for Holocene?” “Can’t say that I have. I might throw up.” “Don’t throw up, we’re almost home. Watch it. It’ll give you perspective.” “Ok.” I said, not sure whether I was answering his request to not throw up or watch the video.

I threw up, but I made it to the toilet. And I watched that video. Yeah I cried. I cried as the boy played with the stick, a rock, when he threw the rock. When he effortlessly walked through changing landscapes, their beauty so extraordinary that it was impossible to believe they were real. It was impossible to picture that I thought I could outlive the mountain ranges or be stronger than the rushing waters. I blushed because I believed that my sole being impacted the way the earth turned. That time would stop if I failed. That it all doesn’t really matter. I don’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. I only mattered to me because I shaped myself to be the hero of my own life. And heroes never go home.

Ok, before you think I am depressed, or being overly existential, I’m not. I’m just trying to figure it out. I watched that video relentlessly. Every time I watched, I felt smaller and smaller. And even to date, when I’ve got my head in the clouds, I watch the video so I can touch the ground again.

In Goa, Mason and I would do this thing where we surfed the waves with our bodies because at heart, we are 12 years old.

Although I was the swimmer, he was much better at it. In between runs, we would give up control and float on the salty indian ocean while the sun beamed over us.

From a bird’s eye view, we must have looked like little specks on your Iphone, the kind that you rub away with the end of your shirt.

But in that moment, we didn’t mind. I didn’t mind. I didn’t need to feel big.

“Miles?” “Nina?” “I’m going home.”

We continued on with our goofy back and forth banter until we ran back to shore and wiped the salt from our eyes and then did it all over again.

SO folks, I’m home. And let me reiterate that I HAVE NOT ended the Minerva fellowship.

I kindly have said my goodbyes to Gram Vikas. Shout out to Lauren. I still think of you getting excited to see some poop and toilets in the field. I’ve said goodbye to my extended family who cared for me as if the physical separation between us never existed for all these years.

I’m not sure if you will get it...if you will ever get what I felt/feel. And I probably did a poor job painting that feeling for you. But it doesn’t matter, because at the end of the day, I get it.

I now wake up at 5am to lift (because swimming never ends). I’ve gotten the flu shot. I kick box now (because swimming has to end). I’ve been diagnosed by a psychiatrist with PTSD. I am not employed. And my roommates are my parents.

I am continuing my fellowship with a new social enterprise that will join the Minerva Family. Dharma Endeavors based in Hampi, India. I am working from home and I couldn’t be happier. More on this to come and shout out to Anu the super woman behind it all.

I’m back. *pop the champagne*

PS:

Grover-Our friendship is special and I can’t wait to be on the 30 under 30 list with you one day.

Mason- You were the familiarity I needed when I became unfamiliar with everything including myself.

Tom- I can proudly say, you are one my oldest and dearest friend. Emphasis on the old :)

Minerva Fellows 10- We are the Hunger Game champs forever and always.

Doors Open at 1 AM

A few days ago, I had a bad dream.

The start of the night was hot, quiet, and heavy with languor. The whirring of the fan dominated the room. Ants silently traced the borders of the floor. And the chirping lizards filled the night.

Girl had fallen asleep on the hopes of tomorrow and the accomplishments of the previous day. She rolled over and arranged her body into fetal position. Her breathing steady and her mind sound.

Knock, knock.

Ignoring the disturbance, Girl slipped her head under the pillow.

Knock, knock, KNOCK.

Girl opened her eyes and reached for her phone.

1 AM. 0 bars of cell service.

Girl wondered why someone wanted to bother her at this hour. She waited for knocking to cease, but to her dismay, it continued to become louder. The door was shaking.

An emergency?

“Ek minute…ek minute” She mumbled and stumbled out of bed. She reached for her glasses. The banging persisted.

A male voice broke through the door.

“Alright, alright I’m coming.”

Girl opened the door and invited the terror in.

Man began to ask questions. Girl didn’t understand. Girl felt confused. Girl felt uneasy. Man looked at her beaten shoes outside the room.

Girl paused. She looked into his eye. Left eye was red. She stood up straighter and broadened her shoulders.

Girl firmly stated, “Many people live here…many, many people. I-I-I I think you have the wrong room Sir.”

Man smiled. He knew she was lying.

Girl stepped back. Man stepped forward.

Time froze. The night stopped singing. And Girl’s heart stopped beating and went cold. Girl felt stupid.

Mistake. Girl made a mistake.

Man gave Girl a look. A look that made a tall Girl feel small. A look that stripped Girl of her ego. A look that violated Girl’s mind. A look that made Girl’s skin crawl and the hairs on the back of her neck stand.

Girl knew she was going to get raped. Or killed. Or robbed. Or all of the above.

Run.

Girl pushed man and ran toward the door. Man grabbed girl by the waist and jerked her back into the room. Girl gripped her hands on his arms and struggled to pull them off. Man tried to pin her to her knees. Girl begged her knees to not bend.

Man began hitting Girl. Girl felt her cheeks become wet.

Girl wrestled man and tried to reach to the door. She dragged her weight along with his to the foyer. Man grabbed Girl from the back and repeatedly slammed her body and head into the brick wall.

Girl knew the moment her head would hit, she would be done. She resisted back, feeling the strain on her neck.

Girl screamed. Girl screamed. Girl screamed. Girl screamed.

No one heard. No one replied. No one was coming to save Girl. Girl was alone.

Man covered Girl’s mouth and placed other hand around her neck. She felt his unwelcomed touch on her face. She felt his warm breath behind her neck. Girl closed her weak eyes.

Strong. Be strong. Strong for life.

I am strong.

Girl bit Man’s hand and violently punched his head. Girl kicked his lower body. Man wouldn’t let go. Man hit Girl back.

Girl punched. Punched. Punched.

Man lost his balance and knocked Girl’s glasses off. Girl caught glasses and ran out into the jungle.

The night air became cold and tickled her skin. Her bare feet felt each stone, vine, twig, and thorn.

She ran. She screamed. She pleaded for help. No answer. Alone.

Man chased Girl. Girl chased life.

Girl saw Mom. Girl saw Dad. Family. Friends. Love.

Door.

Girl was at the gate. She pounded on the door. Girl begged for help. Woman opened the door.

Girl rushed in. Fell onto her knees as her face fell into her hands.Girl went numb.

Shitty dream, huh? I can’t wake up from this dream. I can’t turn this dream off. I wish I could hug Girl. I cry for Girl. And Girl cries for me.

But I remind her, as she reminds me, we all face adversity.

And when the hardships hit us deep, we ask a million questions that have no answers. But 6 months ago we accepted our incredible opportunity without any doubts, and without a doubt now we don’t plan on giving it up.

Yes. We do feel lonely in our struggles. But we are never alone when our army of family and friends stand behind us. Cheers, Naina 11/08/17

Lucky

I ripped open my bag of spicy peanuts and poured a handful into my mouth. As I wiped the crumbs off my lips I scanned my train cabin. To my left sat an elderly woman humming to what I swear by was Naughty Girl by Beyonce. Opposite of her were two girls taking selfies. Next to them was a young man who seemed to take himself too seriously with his button up shirt and over gelled hair. And to finally join the party, a middle aged man, who was violently texting (probably his mom), sat between me and the elderly woman.

Our cabin was poppin. And because I am an American, ~I’m dead inside~, so I immediately plugged in my earphones and listened to my Spotify playlist. The most meaningful interaction I was willing to offer was a “Hi, how are you? Don’t talk to me.”

The train slowly began to move and the families waving outside became colorful blurs. “Pani! PANI! Mineral bottles!”

One man shouted as he walked down the narrow aisle. Few minutes later another man shouted,

“Biryani? BIRYANI! VEG! EGG! CHICKEN!”

I ignored each one with a glazed, sleepy expression and continued to chow down the peanuts. I was eager to return to Bhubaneswar but couldn’t stop thinking about my visit to the Mahuda GV project office.

My thoughts were interrupted as two transvestites walked into our cabin in a saucy manner. They approached the hair gel guy. I couldn’t help but notice their dusty saris and the 10 rupee bills folded as a paper fan that they held. The man took out his wallet and gave them some money. He looked bored but not reluctant.

I found out later that these people are known as Aravani and do not identify with a particular sex. They are poor but are a good omen. If they approached you and you gave them money, you would be blessed.

Was I, Naina the ferocious peanut eater, not worthy enough?

I guess no luck for me. I looked out the window and tried not to focus on my cramping legs. The air smelled sour and the noise of the people drowned out the train engine. I cracked a soft smile as my mind scrolled back to “simpler” times.

I closed my eyes. ---

It was an ordinary, stressful sunday for 5th grade Naina.

I had finally finished my homework and was ready to kick back and crack open some cold ones (apple juice boxes) with the boys (my brother, Rohit). We situated ourselves in the den and prepared to watch The Mummy that was airing on FX.

Ah, we had the house to ourself and we felt as alive as a 10 and 7 year old could feel. I know what you’re thinking, how could my parents leave us alone at such a young age? Please, we are Indian children...the worst we could have done was do EXTRA math problems on our homework. Gasp!

Commercial break came and I went to my bathroom to pee.

I pulled my pants down. pause. I pulled them back up. pause. I slowly pulled them back down. My heart stopped. Was my mind playing games from chugging too much apple juice? I pulled up my pants, hesitated, and brashly pulled them down to confirm what I saw.

Blood. Blood everywhere.

Tears began to well up in my eyes. Ww-wh-what was happening? Is this even possible?? Oh god was it the toilet paper?? I knew Nana should have bought Charmin Ultra 4 ply, store brand 2 ply was simply too rough!! Oh GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING?!?

I ripped off my soiled pants and underwear and looked around the bathroom. Blood was dropping on the floor. The last thing I needed was my mother to scold me at my own funeral for staining her rugs. I quickly jumped into the bathtub and sat down.

I waited.

A small pool of blood formed around me. I accepted my own disgust and calmed down. The good always die young.

Rohit interrupted my death scene as he pounded the door. “Akka you’re missing the movie, what’s taking so long?? Hurry up!!”

God Rohit. Like the drama queen I am, I hollered “LET ME DIE IN PEACE!!” “Whatever” Rohit replied and walked away.

What felt like an eternity later, I heard more knocking on the door. “Go away Rohit!!” “It’s Amma, what are you doing in the bathroom for so long?” Before I could answer, she walked in. “Oh my” she gasped.

“I’M DYING MOMMY!!”

Still surprised, she answered, “No, no Naina, you just got your first period.” And the rest was history.

I don’t know what the worst part of that night was...the thought of dying or being bathed my mom in turmeric powder and water.

Actually no, I’ll tell you the worst part. The worst was hearing my mom tell me that this bleeding out the vagina thing would happen every month till around the age of 50.

I felt my adolescent soul leave my body and whisper “Catch ya on the flipside loser.” My soul, till this day, haunts the McDonald's on Post Road.

Days turned into months and I never told anyone that I got my period. I was so embarrassed that I was the only 10 year old in the history of ever to be menstruating (if any doctors are reading this, please let me know if this a medical concern for the future).

As each new cycle approached, I dreaded having to deal with it. I was repulsed by own blood. I became paranoid of staining my pants. I wasn’t allowed to go to temple (but as if any young kid was sad about missing out on their favorite religious institution). I missed swim practices as I struggled to accept tampons. I even passed out one day because I was not eating enough during the menstruation periods.

Woe is me! I was ashamed and convinced myself this was a curse. How unlucky.

---

I opened my eyes.

Here I am, 12 years later, on a train coming back from my meeting with the founder of Gram Vikas, Joe Madiath (this guy is a pretty big deal...he has his own Wikipedia page).

In the past couple of days I discussed my project proposal for menstrual hygiene management in the resident schools of GV. Joe was very open to my idea and encouraged me to pursue the taboo topic. I am beyond elated and have already jumped to the conclusion that Joe and I will become besties.

For those unaware, menstruation is not talked about freely in India.

Women are discouraged to do many things when they are menstruating. For example, if they touch a plant during their period, the plant is said to die. GURL, touch the damn plant and let’s see. Of course if it was that simple, I wouldn’t be pursuing this project.

“It’s time we address this issue” Joe had stated. “What? You mean the fact that your son went to RPI and therefore is my mortal enemy? I think I can manage to get past this in order for me to do my job” He released a loud chuckle and sipped his tea, “Yes, exactly.”

It was time. It has always been the time. Menstruation isn’t gross. It isn’t a curse. It isn’t a disease. It isn’t shameful. And it isn’t something that should be locked up in a box and hidden away.

The fact that just this past summer, upon my arrival to India, a young girl in Tamil Nadu killed herself because her teacher scolded her for soiling her clothes during her period is unacceptable. It’s time we educate people about menstruation and begin to desensitize it. So, as I sit on this crowded train, I can only think how far I have come from my episode in the bath tub. And how far I would like the girls and boys to come when I to move to the Kankia school and begin the menstruation movement.

It won’t be easy. But yah know, I feel lucky.

Cheers, Naina 10/23/17

“Friendship never ends” -Spicegirls

Round 2- Gram Vikas Project Office- Rudhapadar At the Gram Vikas Vidya Vihar Resident school, I celebrated International Girl Child’s Day with students (grades 3-7). Presentations of famous women with troubled childhoods were given, kids participated in team building activities, a Malala video was shown, and the Disney movie, Moana, was viewed in the evening. Shout out to all the teachers, Roopa, Shrusti, and the SBI fellows, Sonal and Zeenat, who all helped make this a great day!

Gram Vikas Project Ofiice-Rudhapadar

Bhubaneswar: With Durga puja festivities gripping the city, the 41st edition of Ekamra heritage walk today revolved round the Shakthi shrine. The participants in the heritage walk today went round the temples, shakthi shrines which carried the evolution of the different forms of the Shakti. While they first saw the seven forms of Mother Goddess (Shakti) on the ceiling of Mukteswar Temple and on the walls of Parsurameswar Temple, during the walk along other monuments and important places of tourism attraction the guide also explained about how, the seven forms of Mother Goddess gradually got to the present form of 108. Explaining in details during the visit near 7th Century Parsurameswar Temple, Ekamra Walks official guide Satyaswarup Mishra said ``previously people thought that Gods are the epicenter of divine power, but later the focus changed to Goddess and by the time the Parsurameswar Temple came up the forms like Chamunda, Indrani, Brahmani, Varahi, Vaishnavi, Maheswari and Kumari . Later the forms were increased to 64 as shown in the 64 Yogini Temple during the Tantric influence and after that again it has gone up to 108. For this reason during religious procession of ``Kalash sobhayatra’’ we see 108 holy pitchers being carried with water from a holy waterbody nearby.’’ Santosh Kumar Gahan, Chief Construction Engineer at Upper Indravati Hydroelectric Project, who came all the way from Nabrangpur district, said ``during our engineering days at UCE Burla we had a study tour to Delhi and from there I had bought two books on monuments of Bhubaneswar and Delhi and as I was very much interested in them, I still have those books published by the Archaeological Survey of India. Today, while seeing those monuments with explanation from the guide, I was remembering my old engineering college days.’’ Gati Narvekar, a pass out from National Institute of Design, Ahmedabad, who is working as a designer at an international consulting agency in Delhi, said ``every time I visited the city in the past, my work ended on Friday and I was going back on Saturday. However, after hearing a lot about Ekamra Walks, I stayed back this time only to take part in it and I am really happy to see so many beautiful monuments starting from as early as 7th Century.’’ Naina Thota, from New York USA, who is on a Odisha tour for six months to work for rural health projects of Gram Vikash, said ``I am really happy to see so many old monuments in this historic city and also the rich traditions which are still there since ages.’’ It can be mentioned here that last week during the 40th Ekamra Walks Naina’s friend Lauren Hafford, from Colorado USA participated in the heritage tour in the city. Lauren is also working for Gram Vikash for the sanitation issues in rural Odisha. More than 60 visitors today came for the guided heritage tour in the Old Town area and touched the temples like Muteswar, Parsurameswar, Swarnajaleswar, Kotitirtheswar, Ananta Vasudev, Lingaraj, Chitrakarini, Sari, Mohini and Vaitaal. They also visited Bindusagar, Old Dudhwala Dharmashala and the medicinal plant garden Ekamra Van, which has collection of more than 200 medicinal plants.

Naina Thota, from New York USA, who is on a Odisha tour for six months to work for rural health projects of Gram Vikash, said ``I am really happy to see so many old monuments in this historic city and also the rich traditions which are still there since ages.’’

Lingaraj Temple is the biggest temple in Buhubaneswar. Only practicing hindus may enter the temple (fun fact: I am a practicing Hindu).

More pictures from the temple tour. Did you know that in most Kalinga temples that figures of a lion conquering an elephant is depicted. This has 1 of 2 meanings determined by scholars. 1) The image demonstrates that someone is always more powerful than you, and when you are in the presence of God, you should drop your ego. 2) The lion represents hinduism and the elephant represents buddhism aka hinduism prevails over buddhism (I respect all religions, this is just what the tour guide told me).

The city of Bhubaneswar is known for temples. Did you know there used to be 7,000 temples? This was because of a temple building school located in the city. Well, now you know.

Small Beds and Tall People

Admit it, we all wonder what it is like to be a celebrity. A life where you have millions of Instagram followers, live in a fancy house, eat fancy food, talk only to fancy people. Sure there may be challenges to fame but the perks must outweigh the burdens. Ha, to think, to be rich and famous is a burden…Stepping out of that Benz in only expensive attire with the paparazzi flashing their cameras at you, a burden indeed.

Well, I hopped out of the jeep in a cotton kurta that stuck to my sweaty body. I clumsily landed in a pile of cow dung. I stepped out of the cow dung only to find myself stepping in goat poop. I wiped the beads of sweat off my forehead and looked around. We were in our first village that seemed to be haphazardly put in the middle of rice paddy field. A bunch of women un-interestingly stared at what was going on. Quickly their heads turned back to their own conversations.

I walked toward the dug well and found a frail, elderly man in a cotton cloth wrapped around his waist standing by it. He was holding a stick. What does this stick mean? He began to quickly talk in Oriya to the man who accompanied me. He then looked at me. I stopped thinking about the stick and abruptly said, “Hello my name is Naina, nice to meet you”. Oh crap. Immediately everyone turned to stare back at me.

You know, most people describe my figure as thin but my American accent was definitely thick.

I felt myself sinking into myself. People were really looking now. I then proceeded to have an out of body experience because the next hour was pretty hazy. I didn’t remember performing the tests to examine water quality, I didn’t remember the steps on how to execute a sanitation survey (which I had drilled into my head before), and I didn’t remember the responses of the man with stick about how the water tasted...what was that stick for?

I did remember a bunch of young people, maybe around my age, staring at my every movement. I remembered how they laughed when I looked confused as they spoke to me. I remember them casually taking photos of me on their cell phones...hey it’s not everyday some outsider comes to town.

Before I could find myself daydreaming about that stick, I was swept into following some men for a village tour. Shit. No actually, animal shit was everywhere. The small clay houses, or I guess shacks, looked unimaginable to live in. I looked at the people and was mesmerized by their thin bodies. Suddenly, a frantic conversation was happening amongst the men and they looked at me. I looked at them in timid confusion. I didn’t realize I was agreeing to anything but found myself pulled into their dinner time.

I tried my hardest to say “No, no I have already eaten but thank you so much for your hospitality, my American immune system is fragile and I don’t want to be rude by declining but I am afraid I might get ill consuming your food. Not that there is anything wrong with your food, it’s just my stupid stomach.” How many of you believe they understood all that? Yeah, that’s what I thought too, so I ended up frantically shaking my head with an apologetic smile.

I ended up sitting down next to a line of women. They served me hot rice and hot vegetable curry on leaves sewn together to create a plate. I hesitantly ate the food. Each bite was hard to swallow as I was afraid I was putting something contaminated in my mouth ( I know, I hate me, as much as you hate me reading this). I didn’t finish what I was offered and slowly got ready to leave.

Everyone waved goodbye. I sadly waved back and walked to the jeep. An elderly woman followed me and said things that I didn’t understand and grabbed my hand and held it. I looked at her with a weak smile and sat in the jeep.

Pathetic. I was pathetic. I was such an American. Hey look at me coming to your small village. Let me tell you what to do and how to do it and make you feel bad that you don’t have good water like I have. Let me make you feel uneducated and unworthy of my presence. Let me make you feel that I can’t even bare to eat your food because it’s not good enough for me.

Maybe they recognized all this and were making fun of me. Ha, Ha look at this American girl, she thinks she is Indian...she can’t even speak to us!

I felt hot. I felt irritated. I was so cold to people who were only generous to me. Who was I out there, that wasn’t me, that was someone awkward and shy. Why wasn’t I friendlier, you are friendly, people.like.you.That wasn’t Naina. Ugh disappointed. And itchy. Really itchy. I looked down at my foot to see bite marks everywhere. I sunk into my seat, feeling like an American.

After dinner at the mess hall, I slowly walked back to the guest rooms at the field office. This day was a big L, I felt defeated. Everything was so unfamiliar, the people, the culture, and the language. I wish I understood what was going on in their heads. I wish they knew what was going on in my head... I wasn’t some westerner coming in to tell them how to live their life, I just wanted to help. Gah.

Suddenly I found myself surrounded by children. At night? They were walking out of a computer class that was in the same building as my room. They looked at me. I looked back. They smiled. I smiled back. A young girl with two braids said in passing “Good evening didi”. Her eyes warm and voice clear. I looked at her like I never looked at anyone before, with genuine gratitude.

I replied, “Good night.”

Finally back in my room, I realized the power was out. I turned on a flashlight and stripped my clothes off. I generously rubbed tiger balm on my raw, bitten foot. I quickly crawled into my mosquito net and bent my legs. The bed was too small for me. Or maybe I was just too tall? I closed my eyes, my body bent like a pretzel.

This bed wasn’t designed for me because it wasn’t meant for me.

“Didi” I said out loud. I found myself smiling. Didi. I recognized that word. I understood what didi meant. It meant elder sister.

For the first time all day, I felt comfortable.

I rolled over and stretched my legs out only to bang them violently into bed frame.

“OWWW, god dammit!”

I didn’t fall asleep that night. Actually, it was the worst sleep of my life. So I stayed awake thinking about the children, that mysterious stick the man held, and celebrities.

Cheers, Naina 09/21/17

hey naina - enjoying reading through you blog so far. Aap kaise hain? Rohit kaun hain? I am sure you are super busy but I would love to catch up with you sometime and hear how things are going!

Thank you! I am doing well! I am no expert in Hindi but I am getting there. Everyone speaks Oriya where I am so trying to learn that too. Rohit is my younger brother, he will be a sophomore this year at Union. Glad you are enjoying the blog :)

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