A full day

This morning waking up was almost impossible. I let the alarm on my cell phone play through twice then followed that with snoozing twice as well. When I reset the alarm time to 8:15 I knew I would be paranoid lying in bed waiting for Fr. Arockinatham to climb the stairs to my room and call for me to come down for breakfast. I pondered thinking to ask to eat late today, but what's the point of eating alone? As the thoughts meandered through my sleepy head my name was surely echoing in the stairwell and I was half tripping, half sleepwalking to the door. I hurried to get dressed and join the two priests caring for me at St. Joseph's Branch School where I have been staying since last Thursday. We ate breakfast chatting casually about my itinerary, theology thesis's, and hiring teachers. The dosai were crispy and fresh before they absorbed the coconut tomato chutney and sambar with big yellow dal. There were noodles flash fried with curry leaves, tomato, chili peppers and spices. Everything was churned in my stomach by a tea cup of coffee, something in size resembling the tea parties of my childhood, but being India it was white fine porcelain with blue tulips and lillies (they make many ceramics and porcelain here) and not a pink plastic set. The instant coffee powder combines with rock sugar and hot milk fills my cup dissolving the two as the tiny metal spoon revolves in circles. I arranged to go visit the Primary Matriculation School in the morning at 10:00 to see whose English skills were boss and what was really being taught in the classes. After eating I went back to sleep. I gathered all my energy to eat breakfast and make conversation just to lay back on my palm tree beach front printed polyester bed cover. Once again struggling with the alarm I rose with 10 minutes to get ready. Being 10 minutes late is like being early as I checked the clock and walked across the sunny campus to the Primary School. I attended 3 early learning classes (UKG, and LKG standards) and then took a break with the students playing tag, called lock and key here, in the playground. Private English schools have the funds for a playground. I raced with the students running so fast in a labryinth pattern across the sandy plot. My speed got ahead of my feet around the fifth child I tagged and before you knew it me and one boy student tumbled to the earth landing on our knees. I brushed myself off, looked at the hole in my jeans and proceeded to run after another victim. After the bell rang and I was feeling grimy with sand I realized I was not only sweating profusely, as playing tag in 90degree heat will do that to someone, but I was also bleeding. I drank about half a liter of water and excused myself to change and cool off. Sure enough I had a gorgeous battle wound on my left knee, but I returned shortly to see another UKG rhyming spectacular and 3rd standard science class. Lunch followed a short conversation about the government posting certain sexes to certain jobs and more explanation about why all the Primary School teachers are all women. We ate rice with greens, similar to a goulash of spinach and green beans, plantains fried in their vegetable state before they ripen to become a fruit, vadai which are fried donut shaped dough bits with onions, curry leaves and other surprises cooked inside, tomato chutney and sweet shredded beets. After the lunch I was dying to see the resource library which only the teachers have access to. It was a mildewed time warp into physics, English literature, India history, mathematics and more. I managed to borrow Krishnamurti The Impossible Question so I can become more of the philosopher since my mind tends to resort there naturally. "We never put the impossible question- we are always putting the question of what is possible. If you put an impossible question, your mind then has to find the answer in terms of the impossible not what is possible." Should be interesting. I watched a 10th std matriculation class English lesson have review for the government exam, smelled some righteous body odor and followed that with a short Q&A with some students. Before the day was over I attended a matriculation math lesson for 6th std. I graded and corrected the students graphs trying tune their ears to my accent. Both fathers and I reconvened over coffee and lassi's and then the homeopathy began. As the puss oozed from my lock and key wound I scratched my mosquito bites vigorously. Fr. Arul taught me his grandmothers homeopathic remedy for healing wounds by rolling the leaves of a pundu chapati plant in my hands I generously applied the extracted green juice from my calves to my toes. I sure looked authentic with hairy legs that were now green, mosquito bite relics, and a juicy wound adorning my knee. Laughing somehow inspired father to show me a magic trick using my bangle bracelets,. Now I can surely impress all the youngsters I meet in the future. I napped, wrote in my diary, ate dinner and took a bath before a last minute Hindu adventure began. Today is Shiva Maharatri, a devotion to Shiva in all his many forms. It is celebrated by staying up all night and of course dancing, lighting ghee in clay pots and eating. Around 10:00 we left on motorcycle to a temple close by, of course previously a secret to me. The temple had a festival going on for Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev who runs an Ashram in Coimbatore. There was streaming live video in English where Sadhguru enlightened the listeners with his philosophies. I ate sweet pongol and tomato rice from a betel tree plate... the most natural way! Then we went roaming the temple. There were so many people I was sweating and taking photos, holding my purse tightly as instructed, security guards and women passing me by purposely brushed up against me or stared unabashedly, gods were in statue or mural form all around me and the heat from the burning ghee turned my face red with the heat as I walked by. I was holding a 3rd graders hand for protection, trying to take in the frankincense filled dwelling. There were people picnicking, decorating statues with flowers, beggars calling out to me, gurus in orange looking important it was a sense engulfing maze. One temple led to another through a path past generators and chili peppers littering the floor, I was completely lost. We ended at the Baradanotiam dance event and the accordion pleated brightly colored rich silks were as culturally unique as the heavy make up outlining the lady dancers eyes, lips and brows. It was a feast for the eyes as the Karnata music played booming into the night.

Dalits Ostracised

The New Indian Express
Friday, February 20, 2009/ Chennai

M Rafi Ahmed/ENS
Coimbatore, February 19

Discriminations against Arunthathiayrs at Nambiyampalayam village in Avinashi taluk has reached its nadir with upper caste people declaring a social boycott against them by closing down shops, preventing basic access even to basic consumer items like milk, grocery, and vegetables.
It all started when Jagannathan, an Arunthathiyar, scolded a teenaged boy, son of Nambiyapalayam village panchayat president N M Muthusamy, a Hindu, for throwing a stone at him.
Later, fighting broke out between the two groups with the dalits being severely outnumbered. The police had to intervene and tried to pacify the group. Cases were booked against both groups and Muthusamy's arrest sparked off a series of protests by the upper caste people with shops being closed and power looms coming to a halt.
Dalit Viduthalai Katchi general secretary M P Sengottaiyyan told Express that shops were still closed in Nambiyampalayam village and the shops in 12 other villages situated adjacent to Nambiyampalayam were denying essential commodities to dalits.
He added the government was hesitant to take action against upper caste people as they were keeping an eye on the forthcoming elections.
The district administration, whom the Aurnthathiyars approached a couple of days ago seeking help, failed to solve their problems. Instead the dalit people were arrested at the collectorate. District Revenue Officer Prabhakran however, assured that he would sort out the issue.
Speaking to Express Prabhakaran said that mini buses would be diverted to the village and arrangement would me made for the supply of milk through Aavin. Meanwhile, a strong contingent of police has been deployed at the village.

Reply to Mr. Peter Karpf... a short history

To Mr. Peter Karpf:
Currently I am eating a yellow watermelon candy... that's a first! I'm glad you're enjoying my blog, I don't want to forget a minute of my exciting volunteer work here, I am also keeping a hand written diary. It's always fun when a group of students gather around me and try to read my writing and then giggle over the fact that I am left handed. I'm sure you know what the left hand is used for in a country without toilet paper that eats with their right. But for some reason they believe that scholars are left handed and in encounters with older groups they remark on Obama being left handed too. Ahhhh the optimism that a people who feel oppressed by their identity as much as their black skin exude. I used to work for a bridal designer (Janell Berte) and then after that a 6-month job with the Utah Shakespearean Festival. During that time I worked on my savings and I lived with my parents for the first job and the second offered free kibbutz type housing with no utilities fees. I studied fashion design so that's where those jobs came from, but I did it with an international flair in Italy and Hong Kong traveling as much as my bank account allowed probably helping me to end up in India today. That and my mothers (Gail's sister) mild obsession with the country and her relations to the non-profit i'm volunteering with as another board member. Their legal expertise to boot.
I'm obsessed with art, detail and color and am always on the lookout for inspiration. In a country like India the surplus is endless. From a school girls uniform to the Tamil script on a red and white government bus, i've been seen sketching or reading in my spare time. Also reading is a quaint hobby of mine. I just ordered four books about Dalit Movements and Women's Issues in India. Really excited for their arrival!
I am a student of India as I have been renamed Kalayersi (in pure tamil meaning fashion/art queen/princess, of course multiple meaning for each word) by one of the more inspiring students in the Lead Forward program. I am here to be an ambassador between the US Board of Directors and the India Board of Directors making facilitation between the two groups easier from everything like reporting, translation, communication improvement, incorporating ideas and suggesting new ones, to working with our students and graduates while at the same time studying their successes and failures. I am trying to gain an understanding about Indian culture, economy, society, religion, art, village life, education, politics and history. Through this vast goal I am building a fascinating network of NGO's, leaders, students, headmasters, priests, writers, teachers and everything in between. I am working on a scholarship proposal and promoting ideas about the future of education in India to various trusts and financial beneficiaries in the US, I am enjoying my career transformation from a fashion designer to a social worker and hope to create some sustainability and success for Lead Forward from my growing knowledge and exposure. I've always been inspired to help those less fortunate or teach someone something new and that is where I am getting the most satisfaction from. That and a respect for humanity that is pulsing in the state of Tamil Nadu. The media portrays the negative and controversial to all those who are engrossed in its fascinating storytelling manner, but in my personal encounters I see the pure good still trickling out into society and it refreshes my psyche and helps me reach my full potential in my volunteering quest. I will be posting the previous thought process on my blog. Thanks for your interest I just want more exposure to the Dalit condition in India.
Mango wishes cause mangoes are delicious,
Jessye

Toll Bus Stop

This morning I took a refreshing bath before the water magically shut off... I had just enough water to get the conditioner out of my hair and the soapy suds off my toes. Then it was a quick steel tumbler of black tea, which means no milk (paal) and serious sugar complimented by a steel bowl of oats with a sliced banana. I had packed my bag the night before when Mathew informed me I had been scheduled to stay at St. Joseph's Branch school the next day. Preem arrived to discuss a few important matters and then take me to pick up my new Lead Forward business cards, then to the bus station. Traveling by bus is always the cheapest and most interesting way I travel, though I can't do it alone because the Tamil alphabet still boggles me. So the business card pick up was scheduled for 10:00a.m., and I think we must have finished around 11, not bad. I left the printing shop with 100 business cards, custom designed for me in color at a total cost of $6. Off to the bus station, or so I thought. When we passed the road leading back to Mathews away from the bus stand I figured there was another stand on the other side of the city. I casually asked Preem where we were catching the bus as we prepared to merge onto the highway, my vintage Kelty blue suitcase ripping into my fleshy shoulders as I tried to balance on the back of his Honda motorcycle. Preem said the direct buses to Cuddalore, my destination, were only passing through the toll plaza and not entering Chengelpattu town. 1km to Toll the highway sign read as we coasted at a casual 40km/hr. It is not required by law to wear a helmet unless you are in Chennai, and as with the rest of India, rules are meant to be broken. We crossed four lanes of traffic in a smooth swoop and parked on the rocky dirt embankment next to the toll booths. I followed Preem weaving between passing cars, lorrys, bikes and motorcycles to the dividing barrier between two lanes going south through the plaza. Most of the commissioned agents took notice. A white curly haired girl in something other than a saree definitely requires gawking. The buses passed frequently, Trichy, Villapuram, Tambaram, Chengelpattu, Madurai, but none for Cuddalore. We waited and sooner than later an official approached asking Preem our purpose. As soon as he explained they told me to put down my bag, stand with them, and they would hail the bus for me. How hospitable! I stood separated still avoiding the common slew of questions I would soon encounter and continued to watch the variety of people staring at me when they drove through the toll. Another operator approached this time with cucumber slices covered with salt and chili powder, Preem and I munched as he noted that this experience would not be had by any local person. I began to listen to life stories, a military man, now aged 62, who had a humanitarian spirit and a inquisitive attitude. A bachelor who finished his physics degree living in Villapuram and commuting 1 1/2 hours one way to the toll booth daily appreciated my fashion sense and told me about his three brothers, as he his their annan(eldest brother) I jokingly commented on his status as a role model for them to become bachelors too. So about 5 toll booth operators were working to help me and Preem find a Cuddalore bus. I witnessed a heated argument where a motorcyclist hopped off his bike, strategically placed it infront of a bus, and began to vehemently explain his piece of mind to the equally expressive bus driver. I saw some white foreigners questioningly stare me down as they passed in a black SUV. I got the sweetest smile from a woman with a window seat wearing a red and yellow saree. Needless to say after planning alternates in options of a taxi or hitchhiking a private bus going to Cuddalore finally came and I boarded with a small family. I took my seat on the floor above the third step where I had boarded the bus and began to read The Kite Runner as the breeze instructed my beaded pants to jingle toward the open door infront of me and coax my eyes to dance between the words on each page and the cows littering the grassy banks along the highway shoulder.

Top 6 Saree Uses

1. Wiping sweat off of your brow and upper lip
2. Wrapping your infant into a sling so you wrangle the three or four others with your free hand
3. Wiping your children's faces and having a place to put their boogers at the same time
4. Sticking your kerchief, rupees, or wallet into it so you can multitask without holding any posessions
5. Always having something to sit on whether in sand, grass, or dirt that is wildly patterned to conceal any impurities
6. Being able to create and instant shawl, hat, scarf or sweater when you have a chill in the cool night air

An exerpt from my journal

I'm walking beneath the hot Indian sun, its rays pulsing through the back of my neck while my sandals push down beneath the weight of my white body. Coming to think of yourself as a color is so dirty and backwards. The students all place their browned arms and hands next to mine and state how black they are. Their dark brown and black eyes show me way to their troubled thoughts and scattered emotions. Why have I been born as a Dalit and what does that even mean? Why has society selected me to be oppressed and poor while the high caste people aren't living with any heart of sense of reality, but they have nice food and a concrete roof over their heads. I'm walking to school it's about 8:30.m., the students have been awake since 4:30 or 5. They have already practiced yoga they have learned from a visiting guru, washed to be the most pure a human has potential to be, and eaten breakfast, the breakfast of everyday rice and sambar. A few radishes, some dal, and the spice of a green chili should make their bellies full and their bodies energized to take on their class schedule and let their voices flutter the national anthem and morning prayers. The huge power lines that rage over my head pass current I can hear whizzing through them. I imagine if the line would snap it would burst into flames or how the electricity could be causing cancer in those who surround it and use its energy when available to gain knowledge from their lessons with computers or see because of fluorescent lights that are bright penetrating the darkness of evening. I pass the women in printed saree making lunch for the students. Chopping onion and preparing at least 20 gallon pots full of white fluffy rice which in some instances has been given to the school by donation. They carry these pots in groups of four or five with the students, or the smaller ones they place on their heads walking ever so perfectly and waving at me in a military salute welcome as I pass them by. Learning about their past, I'm sure would be a struggle. To be a farmer or a cook and work hard for 1000 rs. a month ($10)... would you be an alcoholic with a bloated belly or liver disease? I would, you aren't left with much choice. But not the women, they are not allowed to partake in such activities. A nightcap to relax before your nightly slumber is unheard of the women are the ones who are constantly working. They sleep after their family has, they eat after their family has and they rise before their family has to nurture and feed those they serve. They suffer from goiters the size of softballs suspended on their necks, their feet are fungal and dry without shoes, their backs are bent as they mix and prepare, and their stomach is muscular as their saree sweeps to the side and exposes their dark flesh. The pillar of strength as Phil always states won't forever be subjected to the patriarchy of this country, they will be educated and their plight will be exposed as they strive for equality with the untouchables.

Success for the Right Brain

I have had the most spectacular knowledge enhanced heartwarming 2 weeks. I have spent the past 10 days at the Dr. Arullappa School of Fashion and Embroidery Design witnessing creativity being an influence in Indian education. I have seen our students express leadership through design initiative and organizing dance and drumming sessions that are inspired from traditional Tamil dance and art. The rich culture and strength of the people here make Tamil Nadu a special state. Out of the entire country they have more Community Colleges than anyplace, an idea adopted from the US. Will this school, with correspondent Fr. Suresh, be an example for others in the future? Will the Indian government be able to see the students life smarts and creative thinking skills increase and adopt these measures in their own curriculum? Art in education is definitely linked to progress in developing Dalit students. As an optimist: Could this change the Indian policy for education? I surely hope so. Specifically our one LF student Madhan who failed 10th std has enrolled for 1 year in the Techincal Training Institute of Fashion at Dr. Arullappa. He has blossomed through freedom of expression and creative options into a determined, hard working, driven young man. He is the lead drummer in the local school group some of whose talents are taking them to Singapore and Malaysia for a competition. He involves great detail in his sketching and is a dedicated note taker. I think by having art as a hobby he will succeed when he is matriculated back into 11th standard for his final two years of High School. Our other students are also studying hard as the older ones especially are demonstrating obedience and organizational skills to their younger classmates. Hostel life is full for them and the smiles on their faces exhibit how lucky they are. Though they still struggle to escape their uneducated parents bad choices like bringing them dirty food or not knowing when to ask for medical help if they are sick, the pure and loving Raji, the 22 year old hostel warden gives everything to them from life advice to clothing and knickers, she is their mentor and role model. As an daughter of a divorced man who remarried a woman who kicked Raji out of the house at 4 years old for no apparent reason she has been raised in hostels her entire life. Her wisdom and experience from hard earned life lessons makes her such a great role model for the hostel girls. Before I left I told them all to take advantage of everything Raji's huge heart and wonderful soul has to offer them. I said don't be afraid to ask for help from any topic or necessity. People like Raji inspire me to continue what sometimes feels like an uphill battle. These great learning experiences full with bouts of success and misfortune keep my spirits high and my actions prepared for the unexpected.

The Irony of it all

"Isn't it ironic... don't you think? A little too ironic, and I really do think. It's like rain on your wedding day, it's a free ride when you've already paid. It's the good advice that you just didn't take, who would have thought... it figures. It's a traffic jam, when you're already late. A no-smoking sign on your cigarette break, it's like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife. It's meeting the man of your dreams and then meeting his beautiful wife. Isn't it Ironic..." ~ Alanis Morissette

As I sit here alone in Mathews' apartment scratching at least 25 mosquito bites and singing off key to the 90's femme rocker Alanis Morissette I can clearly identify how something thought to be a fault in one country can really be a blessing in another. Did I forget to mention thus far that I am grammatically challenged. I have a known history to make up words and substitute words that I think sound great with ones that really make sense. (If you haven't read the first blog, now would be a good time to reference it). It seems though, ironically, in India that I have become a grammar and spoken English expert. I have been teaching English classes to students in 4th standard through 12th standard and have been making up entertaining exercises for the students to practice basic conversation, especially in Tamil Medium schools. Even on occasion I have corrected an English teacher or two.
For years I have struggled to "sound smart" and I have fond memories of my mother laughing when I make up some new word, joking about how we should start using it instead. Or, on the other hand her forlorn and saddened face when I speak improperly. How have my random explosions of words in these blogs become so inspiring for so many people. I have a couple theories which I'm sure could instigate some intellectual discussion. When you have an extreme language barrier your choice words and multiple explanations of the same subject are extremely important to clarify any point. I have been in long discussions with broken English and Tamil fragments and I have needed to employ this speaking tactic often. Even if I make up a word here for some reason it is usually understood. Maybe that is because everyone is making up words or putting their accent on the wrong syllable. Other times I need to explain something for comprehensions sake. Maybe to a group of students that I am reading an English story to, maybe to a shop keeper to specify the type of pen I want. I not only need to depend on my words in these situations, but also my actions. I may twist my arm around a chair to demonstrate a vine, or have everyone pick up their backpacks in a 2nd standard class so they are sure what the item I am referring to is. These new actions and ways of expression are surely having some impact on my English skills or lack of. My new favorite Indian English word is fully. I have been noticing myself saying "In order for them to understand fully", which I would have never said before arriving in Chennai after that 5 hour delay on Dec 31, 2008. There are many phrases that Indian English uses as a standard that are incorrect, and I still try to correct people when they want my help for improvement in their English skills. Maybe this is the karmic experience that will make or break my future career. Remember the days when I wanted to be a fashion journalist! National Geographic if you're reading let's set up an interview. The new growth and understanding I have about religion and practice in India is developing into its own paradox. Maybe I'll keep away from the Karma that conversations and National Geographic television specials on Hindu religious history are schooling me on and just let my path take a more holistic approach in congruence with the Dalit herbal medicines that the Brahmins stole and proclaimed as Ayurveda. Did I mention that the Hindu religion is also a one of many reasons that caste system has extended such deep roots in India. I guess in the next week or two we'll see where my English skills lead me to next!
If you haven't joined my blog as a follower please do so asap it is important for a prospective scholarship. Vanakkam Makkal!

Say Yeah for Tamil Nadu

I get to experience some great events daily while living in Tamil Nadu and even though there are many frustrations too I thought it would be nice to reflect on some of the minute moments that make me smile.

Waking up in the morning sweaty and hot and being given a small steel cup filled with the milky sweet goodness of Indian black tea is excellent. Sometimes spiced with ginger or cardamom this sweet, spicy, creamy mixture, piping hot with frothy bubbles, slips down my throat and tickles my tastebuds. Knowing the milk is fresh that morning and hoping all the impurities have been boiled away only makes it more eventful.

Going to a fruit vendor who only sells about 10 varieties of fruit and seeing the small plantains hanging from the ceiling, the pomegranetes stacked into pyramids and the papayas with the green peel hiding the brightly colored orange inside sprinkled with small jet black moist seeds that look like peppercorns and knowing that this tropical produce was taken from local trees makes me happy.

Sitting around on the floor eating a delicious dinner of rice and dal (lentil) sambar (vegetable sauce) and having a power cut, being left in total darkness and hearing the buses drive by and the rooster crowing and the goats bleeting, knowing you are surrounded by people who care for you like one of their own is nice in an unexpected way.

Driving on a motorcycle through a busy city with cows coming into the road and horns honking incessantly and then turning right and all of a sudden you are in a beautiful agricultural paradise. The paddy fields line up squarely with the ground nut fields and they are cornered by tall stalks of sugar cane. Mountains made of huge quasi circular boulders line the skyline along with palm and banyan trees silhouetted against the sun outlining their long majestic fronds and wavy drooping branches like the curly locks of my sisters hair. The only movements are the wind flashing against your skin as the bike avoids the potholes, speed bumps, and rocks of the road and the women in saree's with sharp machetes slicing clusters of the vibrant green paddy stalks and gathering them into clusters.

Walking alone is always an adventure, but one time returning in the evening and stopping at a sweet shop I stood under a awning and just oogled at the display. Orange squiggly sugar molded into balls looking like thick spaghetti, cinnamon and clove spiced cake with a dollop of chocolate frosting, a white gelatinous rectangle with chunks of green pistachio, a pink jelly roll covered with shredded coconut and filed with a swirl of white icing. Having the help of 3 or 4 men all sitting outside eating sweets and drinking tea to tell me the costs I paid 10 cents for a small piece of spice cake given to me by a boy of about 10 years old who promptly placed it on a square of newspaper and onto my palm.

Being able to wash your own dishes and put them away when you are staying at a families home and suprising the housewife only to hear her sweet giggling when her daughter explains what you did.

Taking a bath in a bucket and pouring the first cupful of tapwater over your head when your sticky skin has been hot and sweating for the past few days. The cold feeling runs down your back as you instinctively arch and tip your head back to quickly do it again. The water flushes the floor and peeks between your toes and under your arches only to collect around the drain deciding whether or not it wants to enter.

Having a risky tamil-english coversation with a stranger and waiting for the question of my marriage to arise. Seeing the shock, suprise, and questioning all covering her face when I say I am unmarried and visiting India alone.

Plastic Bag Culture Bite

This blog is dedicated to my father who would rather use a plastic bag instead of a filing cabinet. He would rather use a plastic bag instead of a gym bag. He would rather use a plastic bag instead of a briefcase. He would rather use a plastic bag instead of a secure purse in a third world country holding his most precious wallet, hotel key, passport or writing instruments. So I am informing you that you would fit right in in India because the plastic bag is the only way to go.

I'm waiting for the bus with a small, green, sporty Diesel bag slung across my shoulder. I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt and some sandals (chappals in Tamil). The woman next to me is wearing a beautiful orange sari with orange flowers covering her body in pattern and she is holding a Sri Krishnan plastic bag. It is yellow with red and white lettering. It is holding her tools for the adventure she will be having today. The man next to her in western dress, some navy blue slacks and a man tailored shirt is clutching a white plastic back. His fist is clenched as he squeezes the plastic into a wrinkled form. He may be on his way to the bank to get money for the week, he maybe be going to work in Chennai, but as long as he has his plastic bag all of his merchandise will be safe by his side. I turn to my left away from the woman and there is a small hill sloping down away from us. There is a stream of trash and debris floating in the lull of the earth. The field behind us is growing paddy to be harvested and eaten as the basic food for all Indian people. Before the edge of the paddy field meets some trees and the stream there lies a slew of plastic bags. Clean bags, dirty bags, old bags, new bags, green bags, black bags, full bags, empty bags. All the bags line the street as many others do, that I have witnessed in placement like this. The bags of India. Slowly seeping into the earths' crust as does the water used to clean a shops floor dripping down the steps and into the spoiled aqueducts lining the streets. In the olden days, India used to be a completely organic culture. Eating off banana leaves, using coconut hairs to wash, and bartering goods for trade and progress were commonplace in everyday life. Now with materialism taking effect plastic is slowly polluting the entire country without a waste management system to organize this chaos. At least the locals know how to put a plastic bag too good use. Whether they are transporting sandy wet clothes from the beach or sorting and grinding some mint leaves and spinach, the plastic bag will be their accomplice. I hope there is a clean future for India in some of the countries leaders minds, but with all of the disease, poverty, capitalism and corruption to take up their brain space I think the pollution level will move from the Orange warning to the Red threat and the perpetual cough that many Indians suffer from will shorten their lifespan while inorganic western corruption also pollutes their minds and bodies. If this dust storm in Tamil Nadu ceases to inflict its terror on the people the caste system won't be the only thing currently on the Dalits minds.