Walking to Metro Stations

In the morning the police man doesn't believe me. In fact, his first thought is that I'm from West Bengal. Go ahead, he says, tell me in Bengali. But then he starts laughing and I understand that he's joking. He looks at my kurta, my duppatta I can see it, he's so confused. And I hear my Hindi break down, because it inevitably gets worse when my heart starts thudding in my chest and palms start to feel slippery. When I have to ask people to repeat themselves it suddenly dawns on everybody that despite the silver bangles lined up on my wrist I'm not from around these parts.

I think about this a lot. Identity and blending into Delhi. On the metro it's not so strange, I see women from all walks of life. But I think about it anyway, if our clothes matter, if the way we wear our hair says anything about us. I'm not the girl in the heels or tights, but I wonder if I'm just playing the part of the girl in a salwar suit. An anachronism, maybe. Sometimes I feel like people know, and then I shrink under their stare. I shouldn't hunch my shoulders or pull my dupatta over my forehead, I know this. But I do anyway, because I forget how strange it was to walk around a city and feel like it's still not mine.

On my way to the metro I see a homeless man on the side of the street. He hasn't eaten, but I don't have any change. So I sit down next to him and give him my tiffin. I ask him a few questions, including asking where he's from. He replies that he's from Rajasthan. I'm not really sure how or why but somehow I just knew. Without even thinking I instantly reply that I'm from Rajasthan too. He smiles, and actual genuinely smiles like he's so happy to finally meet someone that he has a connection to in this city. He asks which district I'm from and I reply Jhalawar. As it turns out he's from around there too, which makes me glad and then breaks my heart a little at the same time. I could have known him, on his farm or in his village I suppose. But he just looks so happy, just for a split second before patting my head affectionately. 

When I walk away I can still feel the pressure of his fingers, gentle. It almost never happens. When I know exactly who I am in Delhi. But maybe it's reassuring that underneath it all, despite what I am or what I wear I'll have a place here.  

Fighting for Food Justice from an Office

All of us have unique reasons for choosing this fellowship. Some of us came from structured corporate jobs and felt like something was missing. Others felt like it was was time for a change. I didn’t come from either of these backgrounds; in fact quite the opposite. For the last year I was living in a small Rajasthani village teaching theater and music for social change. I had spent my year molding myself into the village life, learning how to solve problems with minimal resources and living as simply as possible.

While the transition to a more structured work environment seems pretty normal for people my age, I had worried with how different it would feel. In the village my days weren’t so structured, I barely used my computer, and I could spend hours talking to farmers about their lives. Now I spend a fair amount of time in front of my computer, outline my tasks for the day, and a develope a different sort of relationship with the farmers we work with. And while all these things are different, I’m learning that it’s not necessarily bad.

Many of my closest friends were surprised. I had greatly cherished my experience in the field, and I occasionally, all right, often express my desire to go back to the village and get milk fresh from the buffalo. As I thought about this, and the number of things that were difficult to adjust to in the city, I concluded that while I had perhaps compromised on time spent wandering the fields of India, I hadn’t compromised on my values or my passions.

In my ideal world, I see a space where farmers earn what they deserve, where they aren’t in debt from buying GM (genetically modified) seeds or synthetic chemical inputs. I see their families being healthier since they won’t have pesticides on their clothes, or under their fingernails. The farm is a hotspot of biodiversity, and technology is not to force nature to produce more but help nature produce better. But mostly, I see justice for the small farmer, for he or she is one that we rely most on and respect the least.

But it hasn’t been simple transitioning, or understanding my new role. On a trip to a village in Haryana, I thought about the changing dynamics in my interactions with the farmers. I thought of how it felt like I was creating business partnerships, because I wasn’t there long enough to create what I thought was a real relationship. However, on the ride home I realized it wasn’t so important that we became friends, but that the farmer trusted me- and that was a real relationship. He had to know I would do everything I could to ensure the successful sale of his organic produce and that I carefully understood his needs.

We have a lot of agency in how we choose to live, what we choose to do with our skills. I have a degree in econ and an obsession with food justice, and while those things might not mean much in the world it means I can still use my hands to add value to someone else’s life. And maybe I am far away from the farmers I serve, but that doesn’t mean I have to live with less intensity, integrity, or willingness to learn.

I suppose one thing about the village was that I could immediately see the fruits of my interactions, and I would go to bed after a day of seeing smiles on faces or being called “Didi” (older sister). Being far away makes that difficult. But I’m wondering if it’s not so much  where I am, but who I am being and what I do that is the most important. The memory of the the farmers from my previous village drives me. It is their stories I hold close as I write this blogpost, call paper bag suppliers, or finalize warehouse operations. The lessons I learned from my previous year, being fearless, trying new things, forcing myself out of my comfort zone has made the transition to sitting behind a computer easier. And when I am in the field, I will continue to want to hold babies, let the women tease me about my unmarried status, and not be afraid to get my hands in some cow dung.

I suppose the biggest thing for me right now is to constantly remind myself of the why behind it all. When I look at the big picture, and the end goal being poverty eradication it makes things much much simpler. Even transitioning from khadi kurtas to business suits, or from avoiding runaway buffalos to avoiding crazy rickshaw drivers. And spending hours under open sky to hours in an office. But in a sense it hasn’t been some cataclysmic event as I thought it would be. Maybe I’m not at the grassroots as often anymore, but I’m only slightly higher up the blade. Somewhere in the middle where I can keep learning, fighting for rights, and using business to create my vision for a better world.