The First Year: experiments with emergence

[zubinopenbook]

WHAT?? In an instant, countless calculations resulting in one word. Eyebrows sink in unison in a form that screams "cannot compute." Ears perk and suspend in the space between what was expected and what was said. This is the initial response I've received thus far in search of learning locally available skills. The two that I've targeted thus far are Urdu and bamboo making. Given that I look like an "angrez," or foreigner, people expect me to be rich and to have no interest in local skills. The thing is, there's little recognition in the villages I've been to that local skills, like bamboo or clay work, are actually of any value. They're denounced as "dehati," or "rural," and seen as "poor people skills." My own interest in learning these skills is purely intrinsic, and not in order to make a living. However, the ironic reality is that both skills are highly coveted and fetch a high price; a few months of intensive Urdu classes run a few thousand dollars, while a 20 day bamboo course in India at Auroville costs rightly ₹40,000, the same amount that my current, local teacher would earn in about 133 days. Why is there such a huge gap between what people can earn for the same skills? Why is there such a gap in the perceived value of these skills across geographies? Is it simply English and the ability to communicate with a group that's willing to pay for the skills? Is it branding and the ability to market one's skills? In a system that gives clear signals via dollar signs and rupees for what your skills are worth, it's hard to blame people for seeing lowly compensated skills as something that's not worth learning. And, in a practical sense, if your skills, in the current system, give little opportunity for you to even meet your own basic expenses, then it's not hard to understand why people also want to leave these professions behind. Yet, the thing is, many of these skills have intrinsic value -- bamboo as an environmentally friendly building material and Urdu as a store of cultural knowledge and diversity. Without looking at overly commodifying these skills, how do we make it easier for people to live off and share the skills they have with others? This is a major question that's currently occupying my mind, and I'm hoping that the process of learning these skills might help me figure out BEO to facilitate more exchange between curious minds looking to learn and share.

[zubinopenbook]

Day 6: To seek revenge or not? That is the question...

*Another story from the Pad Yatra:

We left Joginder’s (a local farmer) house around 5 pm; as we left, three guys in their early twenties on a bike stopped us; the first guy, with a shaved head, a thin moustache, a bright red t-shirt and a stomach asked, through a mouth of paan, “aray, aap log kya kar rahe hain?”  (What are you doing here?)  “We’re on a pad yatra...” we said, and then continued walking.  

Two minutes later, after reaching a small bridge, the same bike approaches us.  This time, sounding more impatient, the guy in the red shirt asked, “Hamen aur jankari chahiye aap logon ke bare mein...yeh pad yatra kya hai...?” (We need more information...what’s a pad yatra?)  Before we could even start explaining, a second bike arrived, and then a third. Within 3 minutes, at least 50 people showed up.  The quiet roar was growing, as more and more people continued to show up—all of whom were men.  

Things escalated when a man in a round man in a long, white kurta showed up; as soon as he got off the bike, the smell of alcohol came toward me like an incoming tidal wave. He started waddling like a penguin toward Rahul (not his real name); he began demanding ID and expressing anger and disbelief that we would consider entering the village without his permission. Rahul tried to explain to him what we were doing, but was unable to get much of a word in between the man’s inebriated egotistical pronouncements: “aray tum hamko nahin pahachante ho?  Main is gaon ka malik hoon.”  (What...you don’t know me!?  I’m the boss of this village.)  Rahul, who has little patience for such ego and disrespect said, “aapko pahachan karke, ham kya karenge?” (And even if I did know you, then so what?)

Immediately, the man’s hand rose up in the air to hit Rahul; you know when some kind of weight, like a phone charger, is attached to the end of a string and you flick the wire and the weighted part moves awkwardly through the air before striking down hard?  That’s what his drunken punch looked like.  With that kind of aim, he missed Rahul two or three times before finally connecting and hitting him.  Opportunistically, one of the man’s cronies, a skinny man in his 40’s with long, wiry hair, and down-slanting wrinkles above the eyes that seemed to indicate many years of anger and stress, also swooped in to slap Rahul as well.  There was a palpable fear that if Rahul were to do anything in self-defense, then a full out riot might break out, in which case the seven of us would stand no chance against the 100 plus people, who, by that time, had shown up.  

We quickly pulled him out from the spot, where the man and a bunch of bystanders had cornered him.  In the midst of that chaos and crowds, we weren’t able to coordinate as a team on what to do, but somehow we seemed to have this sixth-sense interconnectivity, through which we each figured out that we needed to divide the larger group into smaller groups in order to get our story across.  

So I took one group off the bridge, including the two girls and two of the boys as well, toward a field; Abodh took another crowd off to another side of the bridge; and Ganesh took another over to a different part of the bridge.  By some strike of luck, Ganesh had a distant relative in that village, so he was called in.  With that relative, we marched back to his house, with the entire crowd following us. Once we reached, the crowd continued to yell and throw things, making a huge commotion.  

By now, we understood the local dynamics at play; apparently the man who started all of the fighting to begin with was the brother of the local Mukhiya (elected mayor/leader), and with elections coming up, he was trying to show his muscle power to convince people to vote for his brother.  On the other hand, Ganesh’s relative from the village had many problems with this leader and instead, called the other candidate in to help control the crowd. He showed up with his own crew of strong men and supporters as well.  So, now, while we sat inside the house, we could hear insults, swears, and some physical altercation between the two parties.  At one point, in the midst of their fight, someone broke open one of the doors to the house, creating a large banging noise.  

Eventually the police came as well, though according to local people, even the police were dividing along the lines of these two leaders, with one of the local police chiefs in the favour of the man who had hit Rahul, and the other in the favour of the man who Ganesh’s uncle called.  To make a long story short, though, we finally got out of there, went to a different nearby town, where Ganesh and Abodh live, and then we stayed there.  

--

Now, the next question to arise was: what do we do next?  This is what we discussed today, 2 months after the incident; how did we deal with it?  And what are our reflections post-hoc?

Before directly answering the question, I want to share an important learning I’ve had through such situations.  While studying in university, I took a number of philosophy classes that dealt with issues like means versus ends, and in what cases the means justify the ends, and so on and so forth, especially as relates to the use of violence.  It’s good and fine to have these discussions, but NONE OF THESE CLASSES PREPARE YOU FOR REAL LIFE.  When someone you really care about or your own life is actually in eminent danger, then you don’t have time to philosophize about what the “right” thing to do is.  The process of laying out a logical moral argument is completely different from the emotions experienced in survival mode.  While there is a connection between how your philosophizing mind things and how you might naturally react in such a situation, the brain systems in play are completely different in the two situations.  

And the survival brain has no empathy for what life circumstances might have led that man to be behaving like that in the first place.  The survival brain says “so what” to “an eye-for-an-eye makes the whole world blind.” The survival brain wants to see perpetrators of harm punished.  The survival brain always seeks revenge.

Now, that doesn’t necessarily justify violence, but it provides perspective for what kinds of perspectives and possibilities begin to emerge in the group’s conversation. There’s a strong underlying assumption in all the points that get spoken that, no matter what, the man who harmed us should face a punishment that is at least equal to what he committed.  And the thing is, conversations are generally cumulative, meaning that people fRahule their points based on the previous points that were made.  So as we sat in a room in Ganesh’s relative’s house, our conversation intermittently interrupted by the sounds of people fighting outside, our opinions continued to narrow in more and more toward harsher and harsher punishment for the perpetrator; our common pain was manifest in our shared imaginations of him suffering in some way.  

But if you ask any of us during a normal / non-conflict time what we think about revenge, then we will say that we should avoid revenge at all costs.  Why the gap between what we supposedly believe, and what we actually want to do when the situation arises?  Given this gap, then, how do we save ourselves...from ourselves?

Well, I’m not really sure. But, after a lot of discussion, it took one conversation that went beyond normal punishments to get us into a new mindset.  Abodh suggested that, rather than seeking out some direct punishment for the leader, we could instead do a cultural program in the village to bring everyone together and change the nature of the conversation from combat to cooperation. So as we currently stand, the plan is to go back to the very same village, where we were threatened and attacked, to seek peace and understanding.  Stay tuned for updates on how it goes...!

[zubinopenbook]

Day 5: the poisonous fruit

We all know that we have to die someday (though some people want to deny it). Have you ever imagined how you might go? Doing some crazy action stunt? In the arms of your beloved?

I’ve asked this question to many people and I’ve never heard anyone say “I want to die young of some pedestrian, unexciting death” or “I want to die old and suffering.” Either it’s someone young dying doing something epic, like saving someone’s life, or someone old going peacefully. Yesterday I had an experience which could’ve put me in the non-epic death category.

Three of our teammates (Abodh, Charmi, and Nirala) and I were going to check out some land for the next phase of the university. We stopped somewhere to drink chai, as we were waiting for the brokers to come. Charmi doesn’t drink chai, so she was drawn to the coconut stand. The rest of us sat down and ordered chai.

When Charmi came back, she had a small, bright green fruit in her hand: it was four sided, with each side divided further into two parts. The bottom was indented, like an apple, and the top was beige, as if the fruit was wearing a small cap.

“Look! It’s a baby coconut,” Charmi said, extending her hand out.

I quickly snatched the fruit and ate half of it in one bite. It had a bit of the fibrous taste that an unripe banana has, with the texture of a soft guava. Immediately Nirala ji jolted up, his chair rearing from the speed – “aray! Kya khaye?! Mooh dho lijiye, mooh dho lijiye!” (Oh my god - what did you eat?! Wash your mouth out, wash your mouth out!)

I stood up, the whole chai shop and nearby pan and mechanic shops now staring at me. Something in how he was talking led me to believe that I had broken some taboo – “I’ve seen coconuts in pujas before, but I didn’t know that baby coconuts can’t be eaten. I’m an idiot.”

But he kept getting more and more frantic, so I asked, “aray, itna halla kyun kar rahe hain? Isko khane mein kya dikkat hai?” (Why are you freaking out so much? What’s wrong with eating this fruit?)

“Yeh to kanel hai - bahut jahareela hai! Mere gaon mein, bakri aur bachche donon isen khakar mar gaye!” (This is the kanel fruit - it's very poisonous! Goats and children in my village died after eating it!)

It’s a weird moment right after you realize you’ve eaten a poisonous fruit. You know how they always say we only use like 10% of our brains or whatever? Well, in the moment after you realize you’ve eaten a poisonous fruit, I think you use at least 75% of your brain. Part of my brain started playing the film reel of my life, preparing to go; another started considering what next steps I should take; another was wanting to finish my chai and relax; another part of me was angry at Charmi for giving me the fruit (even though it wasn’t her fault at all); and part of me wanted to joke about the absurdity. All simultaneously. The lesson being that if you want to activate your brain, then eat poisonous fruits.

I went to a field and tried sticking my fingers down my throat, but no luck. So we continued on to see the land as if nothing had happened – with the caveat that if I started to feel weird or started foaming at the mouth, then we could visit a doctor. A few times I started feeling a slightly weird, but then it went away - probably my mind playing tricks on me.

But 24 hours later, I’m writing this. So it seems I’ve made peace with the kanel, and can continue to dream about a more epic way of going out.

[zubinopenbook]

Day 4: Nobodies and somebodies

If you go to middle school, high school, or even college in the U.S. and want to be “cool,” then remember the following trick (and thank me later): if anyone ever asks you “if you studied” for the exam, then remember that the answer is always NO.  Depending on what kind of vibe you want to give off, though, there are different ways to phrase and intonate your NO:

OMG, I didn’t study at all…I’m totally going to fail –  This is perfect for when you actually did study, but you’re not feeling too confident about how you’ll do.  It’s like math exams for non-math people, who, no matter how much they study, are always slightly worried about the outcome.  The great part about this answer is that if you actually did poorly, then it’s because you didn’t study, but if you did well, it’s because you’re naturally smart – a win-win.  

I didn’t even study…I was out with friends all night –  this one is best done with a shoulder shrug. Its when you’re confident that you’re going to do well, and you can pass off your lack of studying for natural, raw intelligence.   The going out with friends part is thrown in to make it seem like you’ve got it all figured out.    

Pff…I..diiidn’t..eeeeven..stuuuudy..– all words are italicized and elongated, because each word is said with more sass than the previous one.  This versatile NO can work whether you studied or not, as if you do poorly, you can pass it off as not even caring.  But if you do well, you can indirectly show everyone what a natural genius you are, all the while pretending to be too cool to even care about how smart you are.  This is great if you want to show off how independent and rebellious you are.  

Everyone knows these stories, or at least knows the sentiment behind them, which is a fear of failure.  And as a result, there are many counter movements to make failure more acceptable; it seems like it’s become a prerequisite for every graduation speech to have at least one story of failure.  

When I hear these speeches these days, though, I feel like face palming; it seems like so many of these stories are about winning in other people’s competitions – become a champion athlete, getting signed to a record deal after a long struggle, finally getting a chance to act on a big stage.  I haven’t heard many such stories, which involve a person taking full ownership over the learning process – from setting the goal to trying out different iterations, some of which were unsuccessful, to evaluating each one, and then finally deciding that you’re happy enough with whatever it is you’re working on to decide to spend your time on something else.  Even for projects that are naturally more autonomous, like invention, I often feel like it’s the validation of others via awards and media coverage that makes it worthwhile.  As an asterisk – this is more complicated than I’m making it, because for things like entrepreneurship or invention, you’re creating something for people, so people liking it is naturally a measure of its success; but what I’m getting at is more the perception and publicity of being liked by many serving as a measure of success.

The second reason for the palm in the face is the idea of “making it.”  It has this kind of end of history feel to it; you work and work and work, and then you’re successful.  Once you’re successful, then you no longer need to fail.  While I’m sure someone has told such a story, I’ve never heard a story of someone who failed and then succeeded, then moved onto a different project, and then failed and succeeded.  A friend of mine once said to me that “you’re nobody until you’re somebody.” I don’t know if he believes it himself or if it was an expression of our society, which consists of two bodies: “nobodies” and “somebodies.”

It’s in a society with only nobodies or somebodies, especially where being a somebody relies on other people validating you that it makes sense to always say NO when people ask you if you studied.  You must study (i.e., work hard) silently and not get caught; you must study on your own and not work with others (which would require acknowledging that you study); and you must pretend to be apathetic, no matter how much you care about whatever it is that you’re working on.  It’s in a society with only nobodies or somebodies that life ceases to be a constant journey of learning, and instead, turns into a mine, where you must dig from one side of the earth until the other, at which point the digging stops.

But what if we just allowed everybody to be a somebody from the start?

How might people think differently about their success? Would there be such a stark gap between nobodies and somebodies? How would these affect human relationships? How would this change in thinking change how resources are distributed? These are some of the questions we want to explore in the university, where everybody is a somebody from day one.

[zubinopenbook]

Day 3: Time in the University

I did a Pad Yatra (walking tour) across several villages in a part of Bihar called Araria District in April with 6 local friends.  The idea came to me during a conversation with a friend about the importance of money for travel; I wondered if it’s a ‘fact’ that you need money to travel, or if meaningful travel can be done without any money.  By meaning travel, I mean -- building relationships with local people, experiencing local culture, including art, food, and music, and having a chance to reflect and connect these experiences to my own life.  The answer is yes -- but that’s a post for another time. 

I also wanted to dance with uncertainty -- to see what would happen if I set out without any money, food, cell phone, pre-determined destination or accommodation, or any plan at all, for that matter.  That, too, in Bihar -- a state, which has a reputation for being “lawless” and “backward,” and in which a simple google search never fails to yield at least a few stories with the words “scandal,” “crime,” or “corruption.”

Our ability to reflect on past experience in order to predict future outcomes is incredible as a survival technique, as it provides us with crucial information that we can use to avoid harm; however, the problem is that, while survival is a pre-requisite for living a meaningful life, it is not equal to living a meaningful life.  And I’m quite sure that, at least in my own life, our human ability to see into and create expectations for the future is one of my biggest sources of discontent and unhappiness.  

I find that when my expectations are fulfilled, I don’t generally feel particularly joyful; but when they aren’t fulfilled, I feel deeply dissatisfied with my life and myself.  I also think that having expectations, especially particularly focused ones, narrows my ability to see interconnections and relationships between different people and things in my life -- a blinding mechanism that turns me into one of the blind men mistaking the elephant’s legs for a pillar, or tail for a brush.  As a result, I may spent an exorbitant amount of time on particular activities, related to the goal, at the expense of my relationships and other interests.  

And yet, expectations never cease to creep back in; they’re like the rodents and insects that somehow slowly, but surely, find their way through the cracks in the ripped screen or through the space between the floor and the door.  In spite of our intention to not plan the yatra, we were already planning before we left.  I heard Ganesh and Abodh (two of my fellow yatris/travelers) discussing which direction we could go in--toward Supaul District--and this affected how we initially traveled and the ultimate direction we went in, albeit in a more roundabout way.  True, there were moments in which really moved in a present fashion -- for example, when the wind blew right and we moved with the wind until it stopped, where we ended up sitting down.  But for the most part, we continually followed the road, and goals and expectations continued to set in -- like how far we should travel, after how long we should stop, and so on and so forth.

A life without any goals or expectations is something that I think only two extreme kinds of people can achieve -- the sadhu (or sadhvi--using male sadhu out of laziness of not having to write both over and over), who has renounced the world and all possessions, and a really rich person, who has no need for further material resources.  Both, too, are ironically archetypes of freedom -- the sadhu is completely free from the worldly worries and rat race that cause us so much stress, while the billionaire has so many resources that they can spend their time doing whatever they want, if they so choose to. 

Even though our university is an act, expression, and movement toward freedom, it doesn’t fit into either category, though it has elements of both.  The Sadhu is free to spend his time however he pleases, because he has unlearned and liberated himself from the expectations placed on him from society -- a particular education, job, family, children, and so on and so forth. We want to spend much of our own time unearthing and questioning the expectations that have been placed on each of us as a first step in taking ownership over our own lives and decisions.  

On the other hand, both curiosity and creativity are emergent phenomena that often times require resources -- not as many as we are told/sold we need, but nonetheless, they are often times required.  A major question I’m struggling with right now is how one can live a life of emergence through learning and self-awareness, while also requiring resources to then respond to one’s own learning needs. For example, in our university experiences a lot of discomfort traveling and then feels a strong urge to improve transportation technology, how will they get the resources to do so?  And how can they access them in a timely manner -- not in a “I will try to find funding and maybe get it in 6 months,” by which time there may be a new question occupying his/her mind; that new question maybe wouldn’t have come if he/she had had the resources to pursue his/her curiosity in the first place.  

So as a larger community, that’s where we currently stand -- at a place of uncertainty and discovery, at the center of the Sadhu + the crorepatti (millionaire), seeking the unlearning and courage of the sadhu with the resources access of the crorepatti.

[zubinopenbook]

Day 2: What?

Although the name of this post is ‘what?,’ it could have just as well been ‘why.’ Why are we, Project Potential, starting a university?  What’s the purpose?  Why is this institution needed?  Why are some of the shared reasons that we are coming together as a community to live and learn? How is this world different from what currently exists?

In answering this question, I am reminded of a talk I gave in Bombay back in February.  The premise of the talk was: how can we free ourselves from the checkboxes that are foisted upon us by society?  I started the talk by reading the marriage classifieds in an Indian newspaper, where people are shamelessly advertised according their skin color, caste, height, and educational qualifications -- not unlike how cattle are sold.  These invisible forces are everywhere, in every society, telling us who is valuable and pressuring us to become that way, alienating us further and further from our selves -- in the spaces between the letters in our newspapers, in the silences that fill our conversations, in the cement between the bricks.

And yet, as my friend Michelle reminded me, the irony is that the fact that I was even invited to give the talk in the first places is precisely because I check many boxes:

I imagine you're aware of the irony of you presenting this and leading Project Potential. You're in a position to spur a master's from Penn because you've already checked so many of the checkboxes society has asked. I'm not saying this to discount you or any changemaker with credentials. It just makes the equation much harder to grapple with.

This irony that my privilege is allowing me to make many of these statements is not lost on me; and yet, I’m deeply bothered by it, because I see the impact of it in my daily life on those around me.  For example, being a foreigner in Bihar, I’m often times dealt with in really extreme ways; during Janta Darbar (a chance for the public to meet the District Magistrate), I am shuffled to the front of the line, passed countless local citizens of the district.  The treatment that I am given is sometimes not extended to the friends and colleagues who I am with, who sometimes are told to wait outside while I meet the DM for no apparent reason, other than how they are judged at first glance.  In another situation, my friend Abodh was threatened by an employee of the Foreign Registration Office in Purnea, who threatened to arrest Abodh for not bringing me to his office -- even though it’s not required via my visa, and even if it was, I would be responsible, not him.  

This idea that people can be treated differently based on their class -- basically, how educated they are and how much money they have -- is produced by our educational and economic system, both winner-takes-all systems, in which those who “win” are given everything, including resources and status, and those who lose are branded as losers and given nothing.  Just think about it rationally -- if one person is considered better according to these systems, then why wouldn’t you treat them differently? 

This means that the problem, at least partially, lies in how these systems shape our value judgments of people.  So one of the focal points of the university is to, first and foremost, try to move from judgment to listening and understanding; the only person who should have the power to judge is oneself. Given the challenges in not forming judgments, a second focal point is to celebrate diversity; people have different goals, motivations, paths, and ways of expressing themselves, so rather than using one lens to judge everyone, we have to try to broaden the number of lenses we have for understanding.

Beyond thinking, the question becomes what kind of systems perpetuate tolerance, diversity, autonomy, and ownership.  Right now, I think the “answer” lies in creating communities of learning, where people are able to self-design their own paths.  By learning, I don’t mean the learning of subjects or the accumulation of degrees -- but rather, an orientation, an orientation towards life -- the idea that every single moment in life is significant and a chance for learning -- whether you’re on a walk, observing the different species along the way; having discussions with different people throughout the day; or learning to build something new.  Moving beyond judgments and toward deeper understanding of the world and others requires an awareness of the self as it moves through time and space and enters into different interactions.  

The last important point (at least for now, I think) is the idea of co-creation and emergence, for which this blog was named.  If we’re building a community that we want to function in accordance with the needs of its members, then we need to be able to create and disband structures as required.  Again, remember that every detail is significant, so everything from what we eat and the impact it has on the entire supply chain (including the environment) to who gets to facilitates conversations to how conflict is handled to how decisions are made is dynamic; a structure that works at one time might be utterly unfit for another time, so we need to recognize that and be flexible as a group.  We love fixed structures and rules, because they give the illusion of control, but if we really want to be free, then we need to be able to shed our rules like a snake sheds its skin.  

[zubinopenbook]

Day 1: Why?

I had a conversation with my friend Siddhi a few days back in which we both lamented the fact that our entire lives as quote-on-quote social entrepreneurs had started to become a performance for those who somehow have the power, money, and status to validate our dreams.  We have to learn to tell stories that people will be awed by or that we know will get particular reactions. In the process, it’s easy to lose track of what the real story or reality is.  What is it that we really want?  What do our communities want?  What do we need?  

Right now, I’m working on my third initiative in the last four years, and this time, I refuse to get disconnected from myself or from my community.  This open book is about reclaiming my own story and journey more than anything else.  This time, I refuse to be a masquerading purveyor of stories entrapped in a rat race towards status and funds.  

The thing is, the world I want to live in functions on a different logic -- one based on meaningful relationships and co-creation, not on competition between people. One of the main problems with competition is that in order for someone to win, everyone else has to lose. As a result, winners become those of status, while losers naturally are those of low status.  These notions get woven into social norms, invisible, yet omnipresent, like gravity, weighing down on all of the value judgments we make of others.  These seemingly simple underlying assumptions cast a long shadow, as they justify the continuing of an education system based on the idea that all people fight and compete in their convergence toward one “right” answer, one “right” way of being.  

In contrast, this open book and its underlying experience is based on a different set of assumptions -- that all human beings are unique and have something to contribute to the world if they are simply given a chance. A chance means tolerance towards difference, not scathing value judgments by others; a chance means an open platform for hearing and sharing new ideas, not a machine-like box, with fixed rules; a chance means a chance to fail without fear.   

With this idea in mind, we are building a university - a space for higher learning and research. However, we don’t know exactly what we’ll build, because, well, that depends on what our members see as necessary in accordance with their own beings, the community, and the environment.  The idea of this open book is to document how this community emerges -- the individual journeys and transformations; the structures, co-creation, and conflicts at the group level; and the larger changes in the group’s shared thinking and assumptions.  You can think of it like recording the ebbs, flows, colors, and shapes formed in a lava lamp over time.  

With these two goals in mind, I’ll be writing and uploading something each and everyday for the next 365 days. I don’t know what exactly I’ll be writing, as I want that to be emergent as well.  But at the very least, I’m hoping that the stories, experiences, and overall journey might lead to conversations with others who are experimenting with how they live and learn.