The Urban Wilderness

During our first weeks in India, we were unsure of many things.  Looking back, our early forays into the urban wilderness seem much tamer now than they felt at the time.  One of our first tasks was to find dish detergent.  There is a little kiosk in our neighborhood with a little of everything tucked away on the back shelves.  The procedure at kiosks like this is to ask the proprietor for the desired item, at which point it will be provided.  You may or may not have a choice in products.  Feeling bravely shy, we stepped up to the counter and requested dish detergent.  At which point we were presented with a bag of snacks.  Obviously the latest and freshest delivery, the bag contained an assortment of nuts, grains, shoestring potatoes and spices.  We purchased the snacks, but it was not what we wanted.  This was our first experience at intercultural communication, or lack thereof. 

For several weeks we pondered what it was the proprietor (who doesn’t speak English) heard when we made our request.  We even joked about the dish detergent (that we eventually did manage to purchase) being very delicious.  It wasn’t until our tea lady, and self-appointed Kannada teacher, told us the Kannada translation that we understood.  Apparently, the snacks are called “chipsu” (obviously a borrowed English word) which sounds much like “dish detergent,” especially when pronounced with a thick American accent. 

Where is the Grocery Store?

It goes without saying that as a foreigner, the development of intercultural communication skills is a matter of survival. We have to know how to interact appropriately here.  And so we make a conscious effort towards learning about the beliefs, values, and norms of the people we interact with.  Regardless of how hard we work at it, however, we will always view things through our own lens. 

This can be as simple as finding a grocery store, our second cultural learning experience.  As you read the word, “grocery store,” what comes to mind?  In the United States it most likely is a large box store with an even larger parking lot.  It will be strategically placed on a critical intersection, as a result of sophisticated marketing studies using data from US Census, a geographic information system, and the local road department’s vehicle counts.  In India, this is what we learned: the grocery store is actually the tire store, which we had passed several times without noticing.  More correctly, grocery store and the tire store share the same name, but the grocery business was one door over.  We had failed to see the grocery store because we quit looking once we saw the tires. 

When “No” Means “Yes”

The longer one stays in a foreign country, the more one assimilates into the culture.  Some of the assimilation occurs naturally, such as picking up hand gestures, or facial expressions to convey meaning.  A simple example of this is the ability to communicate the concept of “no,” especially when it applies to eager street vendors.  There are two principles underlying this form of communication.  The first is the relationship that is established (or not) between the vendor and the prospect.  The second is how the relationship is managed by the vendor and the prospect.  As an American, if I want to emphasize the “no” aspect of the communication, I will communicate this by first making eye contact.  That is, I will establish the conditions of the relationship and then communicate verbally.  In addition, I may reinforce the message by using appropriate body language: that is, I will move my head horizontally side-to-side. 

When I do this the Indian street vendor sees two things.  First, I have established a relationship as a result of looking the vendor in the eye.  This is, of course the first lesson in sales, right?  It is also the first glimmer of hope for the vendor and he begins to believe that he can offload some of those bangles.  Hope then turns into a sure thing when I then turn my head from side-to-side.  For this gesture can be construed to mean “yes.”  Since he feels surer that a sale is imminent, the vendor becomes more insistent, and I feel more irritated. He just doesn’t get it, I have been perfectly clear about my intentions. When I repeat my intitial response, the cycle begins over again. 

Almost, But Not Quite

Even though I now have techniques for getting through a tourist marketplace (think of us as honey and the vendors as honey bees), I still get caught up in situations that are intended to take advantage of my naivety.  The closest call came in the New Delhi railway station. 

First of all, for those of you who are train buffs, it isn’t Amtrak.  It isn’t even close.  The entry way to the station is blocked by taxis, auto rickshaws, and trucks.  People and goods are being unloaded and shuffled off to the portico in front of the station.  It appears that some people have been waiting there quite awhile–for what reason, I can’t imagine, unless the station entrance has become a permanent place of residence. 

My husband and I arrive at the station at about 5 am.  Since we have our internet confirmation, we go forward to the security scanner.  It is there that we are stopped by a young man in a blue uniform.  He looks convincing, anyway.

We show him our papers, hoping to get the go ahead to move onto the platform.  After a quick glance, he begins to babble at us.  It is something about the ticket, and the wait list, and not having a seat, and so on.  At least that is what I infer he was saying.  He grabs a ticket from a passing passenger.  Her ticket is not like ours, being small and printed in triplicate.  He says we need one “just like this.”  More babbling.  .  .  I am reminded of the “conversations” I would have with my daughter before she learned to talk.  I have the urge to laugh. 

In spite of the impending departure, he looks at me and says, “Just relax, there is plenty of time.”   Seconds later he whisks my husband’s bag from him and leads us from the station.  On the way out, we pass by two official windows labeled, “Tickets,” and “Enquiries.”  Things don’t seem to be adding up, and that is our first clue. But we go along with him because we are neophytes at train travel, not very effective in pushing our way to the front of a ticket window throng, and time is of the essence. 

We are now being led through the gridlocked station entry way, across a busy (also gridlocked) street, to a small official looking tourist office.  Our escort drops us off and leaves, but not before informing me that I must provide a tip for his efforts.  When I give him a small amount, he seems genuinely grateful and disappears.  That is, of course, the second clue. 

The ticket agent explains that we should have called five days ahead and that it looks like we are wait-listed and that we won’t have a seat on the train.  I was incredulous.  This is a trip that has been planned for more than a month.  The tickets were booked by a reputable travel agent. 

He makes a phone call.  The other ticket, the return one, is just fine and no other action is needed.  It was just this one, the one for the train that leaves in 30 minutes.  “Do you have the travel agent’s phone number?” The third clue rears its ugly head.  Possibly he is betting that I won’t be able to hold him accountable. 

We have been in India long enough to know that if we are supposed to call five days in advance, then it would be written down somewhere.  That is why the internet confirmation is so long.  Minutes are passing quickly now and we need to return to the station.  “Can you show me,” I said, “where on the five pages of documents we have given you does it say we need to call five days in advance?”

He doesn’t answer but remains on the phone.  Meanwhile, I have pulled out my cell phone and after a minute find the home phone number for the travel agent.  It was given to us the very first day we arrived.  Thank goodness I hadn’t deleted it!  “Here,” I say, handing him the phone, “call this number.”  Suddenly, everything is ok.  With a flick of the wrist, he initials the documents.  We are good to go. 

On our way back to the station we see other harried passengers being led into the office.  Interestingly, they look much like us.  I wonder how many of them made the train and, tangentially, how much money they had to pay to fix their tickets.  Back at the station, khaki-uniformed-guards-with-rifles are now manning the security scanner.  No one checks our documents.  The young man in the blue uniform is nowhere to be seen.

Acculturation

We have been in India long enough that we squirm when we hear American voices.  They seem so out of place, so loud, so not what we view ourselves to be.  While I am unable to put words to what American culture is, I do know it when I see it.  Specialists in intercultural communication define what we are experiencing as a three step process: stress-adaptation-growth.  As newcomers, we were stressed by the new environment, feeling culture shock, and wanted to avoid future dish detergent episodes (fortunately the bottle we purchased will run out at about the same time we do).  To feel comfortable here, we have had to acculturate (learn new things) and deculturate (discard unnecessary habits and thoughts).  Ultimately, this results in personal growth and, for me, explains why this journey has been profoundly rewarding.

It Happens at Home

But intercultural communication is not limited just to being in a foreign country.  It occurs in our own country as well.  Most of us are so comfortable in our own skins that we don’t really question why our interactions are generally limited to those few who “think like us.”   Since I am a 16^th generation American constructed out of a blend of Anglo Saxon European type genes, I have always struggled with my cultural identity.  If you ask me to come to a potluck with a dish that represents my ethnic identity, I will show up empty handed, or not come at all.  Sometimes I am judged for being “white,” just as other races are judged by their skin color, but I can’t describe what that really means.  I have learned to associate it with cultural guilt. 

In the end, I don’t think I can divorce myself from my biases.  But I find joy in understanding where they come from and how they make me who I am.  It is like figuring out a giant jigsaw puzzle, a process that results in those amazing “Aha!” experiences. 

I like to write about topics that show how change starts from within and, as a result, models the societal change I would like to see.  I wish that more people in American society understand the importance of learning how to communicate effectively, especially with those who think differently than them.  It is apparent that we have a long ways to go in this respect. 

So here is the starting point:

• Be respectful, every day in every way.
• Listen, watch, and understand before speaking.
• Seek to learn more about the other person, banish assumptions.
• Be empathetic.
• Be a role model for others. 
• Identify communication goals and interact so that you can achieve those goals.
• Accept ambiguity.

That particular journey, where we left the cultivated farmlands of Iowa for the Big Woods of the north, was my early introduction to the beauty of the wilderness.  It was perhaps at the same park that we watched a bear make its morning tour through our campground.  My experience of bears up until that time was the city zoo, which housed a bear in a 12 x 12 square foot cage that was next to another cage reserved for “Leo the Lion.”  This was the first time I had seen a bear wandering freely, doing what bears do so well: scavenging for food. 

On that same journey, I also learned about forests, how they grew and changed over time through a succession of phases from the point of disturbance (fire, lava flow, etc.) through a series of plant types, to a collection of trees that represent a point of stability or equilibrium in the forest.  When the equilibrium is disturbed, then the forest responds and changes.  This was my first introduction to the science of ecology, which recognizes that all life on earth is bound together by a self-organized complex hierarchy.  Sometimes, as we sit watching television in our comfortably heated homes, we forget that our activities and luxuries are also part of this complex interaction, including Woody the Woodpecker and Leo the Lion, may he rest in peace. 

“There’s bugs in that tree”

Twenty-five years later it is my first day on the job at the Kootenai Tribal headquarters in northern Idaho.  Outside my window is a huge Ponderosa Pine.  Judging from its size, it must be at least 200 years old.  Suddenly I see perched on the trunk, none other than the mythical woodpecker I had heard about as a child.  I run to the next office and ask one the council members to identify the bird.  “Hmm,” he says, and acknowledges that it is indeed a Pileated Woodpecker, “That is a sacred bird.”  At this point I think, “Wow! Something really important is about to be divulged.” After a minute of silence, he asks me if I know what that means.  Now I am sure that the reason for life, the universe, and everything will be revealed.  “No,” I say, dumbfoundedly. 

He watches the bird some more, as it hops about the trunk and then flies off.  “There’s bugs in that tree.” At which point the council member turns and leaves the room. 

“Humanity’s challenge is to live well, while living within the capacity of the planet”

Some people may wonder how bugs in a tree can mean anything other than bad news.  It might be bad news for the tree, but good news for the woodpecker.  If it should happen that the tree dies because of the bugs, or the woodpecker, then what remains is a perfect example of the self-organized hierarchy of functions we call an ecosystem; for the woodpeckers have created great nesting spots for other birds and the tree has become a home for other animals and insects.  At the same time, the tree is serving regular meals to the greatest recyclers of all time: fungi and molds.  The old trunk becomes food for future trees, and the cycle begins again.  If we take Woody out of his environment, then he is just a bird, albeit a beautiful bird and an amusing cartoon character.  But if we imagine Woody as part of an infinitely complex system of life, one that has a miraculously organized set of links and feedback loops, then the bird’s sacred nature becomes apparent. 

Woody the Woodpecker becomes a role model

Woody’s life is in simple terms a “Green Economy.”  The United Nations Environment Programme characterizes a green economy as one that “substantially increases investments in the economic sectors that build on and enhance the earth’s natural capital or reduce ecological scarcities and environmental risks.”   In this analogy, Woody’s economy depends on the bugs in the tree, and the bugs depend on a reliable source of trees to live in and that reliable source of trees depends on the ability of the ecosystem to recycle waste trees into a useable form.  All of this happens naturally without external economic investment.  Woody’s day-to-day existence does not leave him much time to ponder whether or not his behavior is adding to or decreasing his future supply of insects.  Fortunately for him his strategy is working.  The Pileated Woodpecker is a classified as a species threatened with extinction but its population appears to be increasing.

Unlike Woody, humans live a much different economic story. The earth is changing, and it is happening very rapidly.  In my lifetime alone, the demand on the Earth’s resources has undergone a radical shift.  According to The Global Footprint Network’s report, The Ecological Wealth of Nations, when I was born in 1957 (53 for those who are trying to do the math) the total global population was using up a little more than half of the Earth’s biocapacity.  In other words, back in those halcyon days of the ’60s, our lives on Earth (disparities in global distribution aside) were basically sustainable.  Sometime around 1980, a crossover happened. Global resources began to be consumed in amounts greater than the Earth can supply on a sustainable basis.  In the year 2006, the world consumed 44 percent more resources than the biocapacity of the Earth. 

If this trend sounds a lot like the history of your bank account in the past few years, then you are understanding the principle of what is happening.  Basically, we are drawing down the Earth’s bank account.  It doesn’t take much in the way of math skills to figure out that without radical changes in behaviors, the account will become empty.  It is estimated that if current trends continue then by the late 2030’s humanity will need the equivalent of two Earths to keep up with demand.  The consequences of Earth’s bankruptcy are ominous. Questions of resource allocation will become humanitarian issues.

What it really means to be sustainable

One look at the advertisements in the Sunday newspaper and we find that “sustainability” is now marketing’s latest buzzword.  While I will give major corporations credit for trying, many act as if the real meaning of the term “sustainable” refers to the economics of staying in business. There is an underlying reason for this. Today’s corporations are part of a system that is tied to the demands of the shareholders. If they can create supply and demand by flooding the market with new green products then we continue to consume without questioning the fundamental basis for our consumption. The corporation and the shareholders benefit, but does the Earth?

Businesses have a tough go at being truly green when measures of success, or sustainability, are limited to the same timeframe as the business’s quarterly or annual report.  Shareholders, for the most part are interested in short-term gain. Investing in a portfolio that can be cashed out at retirement is far more beneficial than waiting for a dividend that will pay out in 100 years. This is indeed narrow and short term thinking, but today’s economic systems make it a necessity. 

Woody, if he could do so, will be the first to tell you this: if his favorite tree is providing quick profits for him today, it is only because its seeds were sown a hundred years ago, perhaps as a result of the persistent efforts of one of his ancestors. 

It is not about Red States vs. Blue States

It is a known fact that more than half of the planet’s biological capacity is controlled by only eight countries. The United States is blessed with the largest biocapacity in the world but it also has the largest ecological footprint, and its use of resources is the most unsustainable. If we continue our current American lifestyle we will, if we have not already, be a catalyst for global unrest and tensions. To quote Wolfgang Sachs of the Wuppertal Institute, “The world will no longer be divided by the ideologies of ‘left’ and ‘right,’ but by those who accept ecological limits and those who don’t.”

I wish I could say there is a quick fix for this predicament.  But there is not.  There is a slow fix that starts with awareness.  For example, I was not aware in 1980 that by living my American dream I was actually driving the exponential curve towards unsustainability.  But now I understand.  And hopefully so do you.  If you are as uncomfortable as I am about it, so be it.  I actually find that to be a good thing.  Just like the dying tree, the process of transformation happens when as individuals we strip the old notions away, digest what is left, and replace our mindset with new thought. 

Let me leave you now with a set of new thoughts:

• Learn to think in Earth time.  Earth time is circular, not linear. The process of life gives way to decay which becomes the foundation for new life. This is a difficult concept for Westerners, who think within the boundaries of time that they personally control: their career, their lifetime, and maybe their children’s lifetime.  But forward thinking is essential if we want to understanding how our resources are used and renewed. 
• Rethink the meaning of a healthy economy.  We need to reframe our economic systems so they accurately reflect Earth’s model of consumption and supply.  If I remember my environmental economics class correctly, this also means “internalizing” the “externalities;” that is, ensuring that our businesses properly account for their real environmental costs and benefits. As Herman Daly, the ecological economist says, “We’ll have to take from the natural world resources at a rate at which the natural world can regenerate and we’ll have to throw back the wastes from using those natural resources at a rate the natural world can assimilate.”
• Advocate for change that supports a transition to a Green Economy.  This means supporting policies, regulations, tax incentives, and development that fosters methods of using and replacing natural resources in a sustainable manner.  For example, wind farms alone are not green technology. But they can be if considered in the context of replacing dirtier technologies. New energy supply projects, therefore, should have energy conservation goals as part of their permit conditions to mitigate their impacts and discourage rampant consumption.
• Seek change in your personal life.  Educate yourself about these topics and, if you can do nothing else, use less energy. As my husband says, on the count of three, post your last Facebook post, and then put your computer to sleep.

The stopping point at Agra is a dividing line of sorts.  The assorted tourists going to the Taj Mahal debark.  We are now the only people of European origin on the train.  As we press southward, our express train avoids the smaller stations.  The English language disappears.  We see only the curly Devanagari script of Hindi on the station signs.  It is unreadable to us. 

I am on a pilgrimage to the burning heart of India, the exact center of the country and the crossing point for the north/south and east/west railroads.  As a chemist by training, a hazardous materials manager by trade, and an environmental consultant by profession, I have come to see with my own eyes the site of the worst industrial accident in the history of mankind. 

Twenty six years ago, a generation’s worth in time and before my own children were born, 42 tons of methyl isocyanate and other toxic gases suffocated the city.  By some estimates 8000 people died a gruesome death on December 3-4, 1984 and 500,000 more people were affected by the gas.  Many people today suffer its lingering effects: lung problems, blindness, loss of stamina, loss of mobility, to name only a few.

The story of Bhopal and the Union Carbide pesticide plant has been told many times.  Engineers dissected it, attorneys parsed it, and writers recreated it.  Children study it in school, journalists make films about it, and artists depict it.  But only those who were there fully understand what happened.  Like all manmade tragedies, the reason for and consequences of the incident need to be told again and again.  For if what really happened in the burning heart of India is not understood by the modern world, it is bound to be repeated again, in one form or another. 

In the midst of death, life persists.

The signs on the fence of the Union Carbide plant voice the opinions of the voiceless: “25 Years Crime, Union Carbide and Dow Chemical”, “Union Carbide You Can’t Hide, We Charge You with Genocide,” “26^th Anniversary of the Bhopal Disaster, No More Bhopal, No More Dow Chemical,” and “25 Years Struggle, Justice and Dignity.” As we approach the guard gate, our host speculates on the possibility of a “gathering” should it be discovered that Americans are nearby.  A discussion at the gatehouse takes place. Our host convinces them that a 500 rupee “entrance fee” is not required. Finally the rifle-toting card-playing guards grant us access to the scene of the crime. 

The pesticide production plant is in a state of suspended animation.  Having been shut down since the incident, it is all but abandoned and is undergoing the natural process of decay.  Asbestos pipe lagging, no longer serving its purpose, dangles downward before disintegrating onto the ground.  The asphalt-coated methyl isocyanate tank and source of the toxic gas, removed from its underground location, sits under a small tree.  Vines hoist themselves up the rusty piping. The vegetation that is reclaiming the site reminds us of the persistence of life. 

In the midst of untruth, the truth persists.

The story of the Bhopal tragedy is complicated.  It involves a multinational corporation hoping to profit from a developing “Third World country.”  The story begins with a belief that use of pesticides will increase food production in India thus providing relief to the starving millions.  The production facility in Bhopal was established by Union Carbide to produce carbaryl, an insecticide that is still in common use today.  However, a series of judgment lapses (inaccurate predictions of demand, an inability to understand the real hazards of the chemicals used at the facility, the siting of the production plant in a valley, and its operation in a densely populated area) set the stage for the future disaster.  By 1984, the plant was proving to be unprofitable and operations were beginning to wind down. 

In my readings and conversations with residents of the city, law professors, attorneys, victims of the disaster, and members of the government, I encounter different stories.  The facts of the matter vary depending on the perspective of the source.  What is not disputed is that the incident had its greatest affect on those who are the least able to defend themselves: the poor in the slums adjacent to the facility.  It is clear that victims received minimal and delayed compensation for their injuries and losses: in most, if not all the cases, compensation was not enough to treat their injuries or put food on the table.  It is also clear that organizations and institutions intended for the benefit of the victims failed and continue to fail them at many levels: even today hundreds of tons of toxic waste remain on the property, yet to be removed. 

In every disaster there are stories of heroism, and Bhopal is no exception.  The most notable is the railway station master who by remaining at his post prevented trains from entering the city.  It is estimated that his heroism saved 16,000 lives, but at the expense of his own.  There are also the lesser but no less significant stories of ordinary people coming together, organizing, and “doing what was right,” because the need was there.  During the darkest hours, when the corporation and government were unable to provide assistance, neighbors became the heroes, helping the wounded and injured, assisting the children and orphans, identifying the bodies, if not by name then by heritage and laying the dead to rest in accordance with the proper traditions. 

In the midst of darkness, light persists.

While the environmental dimension of Bhopal tragedy was inexcusable, the legal dimension was even more so.  In the case of Bhopal, the failure of Union Carbide to plan, site, and safely operate a lethally risky facility, and the failure of the legal systems in both the United States and India to advocate for the victims, reinforced in many the belief that the accident was nothing less than genocide.  During the 26-year legal drama that followed the incident, many of those tasked with advocating for the victims failed them in one way or another.

The darkness that underlies this story is the process of moral disengagement that happened at all levels.  Unfortunately it still happens today in corporate boardrooms, governments, and even in our own psyches.  Moral disengagement refers to how people (individually) and organizations (collectively) frame actions to avoid negative consequences.  The famed psychologist Albert Bandura notes that under the right situations even people who are otherwise considerate sometimes participate within frameworks that perpetrate inhumane actions.  As someone who for almost 20 years was employed by a large corporation, I understand this perspective.  The corporate culture protects and rewards compliant employees while punishing those who speak out. 

It seems as if in our modern, attention-deficit, world where communications occur in the form of thoughtless blurbs on social networking sites and political action is slave to the media sound bites, moral disengagement is now an accepted norm.  The problem is that when we fail to question what others tell us, when we fail to act for a greater good, our minds and hearts become poisoned by the convincing rhetoric of others.  We react emotionally without evaluating the source of that reaction; we lash out at those who don’t think like us, replacing harmony and understanding with division and discord. 

So we are challenged, individually and collectively, to recognize the warning signs of moral disengagement in order to avoid perpetrating its existence:

• Portraying bad conduct as serving socially worthy or moral purposes.
• Substituting uncomfortable words with good ones in order to make the situation feel more tolerable.
• Using specific language in order to make the situation look better. 
• Viewing ones actions as being ordered by others.
• Establishing systems of deniability, particularly at a corporate level.
• Splitting up responsibilities between different parties so that no individual can be held accountable.
• Name calling, inferring sinister motives and dehumanization of the victims, a frequent tactic of talk show pundits.
• Blaming the victims for bringing the consequences of the harm upon themselves.
• Construing the harmful effects in such a way that the consequences are minimized, denied, or distorted.

One doesn’t have to look far to find examples of these mechanisms at play in the Bhopal tragedy, or the oil spill in the gulf, or the financial and health care crises in the US, or the scandals and scams of local government, or on television and radio programs, or even in the way we as individuals conduct our daily lives.  Now more than ever we need to change and eradicate this type of behavior, for our own personal benefit and for society as a whole. And it starts by establishing a personal sense of integrity. 

There is orderliness in the universe, there is an unalterable law governing everything.

As we approach the city of Bhopal the train conductor asks why we want to go there.  In fact, many people have asked us that question.  It is not a global city like Delhi, not a symbol of love like the Taj Mahal, not the land of spices like Kerala, nor the mountains of the Himalayas. 

We are, therefore, surprised to discover that modern Bhopal is a bustling community. It shares the ebullience and optimism that is so pervasive throughout India. The population now stands at 2 million, small by Indian standards, and more than double what it was in 1984.  The accident has been a catalyst for many things, including India’s most important environmental legislation. The state is proud of its progressive environmental programs.  The city is proud of its medical and educational institutions.  The citizens are thrilled that Walmart has arrived. Bhopal, nestled in the valleys of the low lying hills, is a city with a heart. As we watch the Indian sun disappear behind the hills we see the city lights reflecting off the lake like a string of pearls, a reminder of its royal past.

Before we leave, we visit a clinic in the railroad slum. I ask the ladies what the future of Bhopal looks like for them. Suddenly, it is obvious that they live the present moment.  Of course, shouldn’t we all?  For the essence of living in this timeless land, is the eternal return, the endless cycle of existence and knowledge; of birth, life, death, and rebirth. The orderliness of the universe is clear to them and life goes on.

Sankranti celebrates the end of the harvest and the Sun’s movement into a new season.  Sugar cane stalks line the market place, and the cows sport necklaces, colored horns or other decorations.  From this point forward the days will become sunnier and warmer.  At least that is the common wisdom. 

There are so many layers of life here that it is difficult to sort them out.  Languages, traditions, religions, and cultures flow and merge through time.  It is a randomly predictable ordered chaos:  pulsing, corpuscular, and governed by immutable truths.  We are outsiders and yet we are part of the multicolored fabric of India. 

Never does this become more evident than when we are on the streets, sharing space with others: pedestrians, dogs, cows, bicycles, push carts, two-wheelers, autorickshaws, lorries, and the dreaded buses.  We each have our station in life.  While the dogs are rulers of the night, the cows are rulers of the day.  While the auto rickshaws are the rulers of the tight squeeze, the buses have the final say in the matter.  Pedestrians have the power of the hand and eye, sometimes.  And our common bond is that we are travellers in space and time.  Street life is just one of the many silk threads that are woven into the fabric of India.  Silk, a fabric made possible by a caterpillar, made possible by the mulberry tree, made possible by the Sun, which is celebrated today as it has been for 6000 years.

January 15^th also marks the halfway point for our stay here.  Our project is coming along amazingly well.  We have been so blessed to be able to work with wonderful people who have a passion for the environment.  I have lost count of the number of people who have gone out of their way to help us feel welcome.  Paradoxically, I have moments of wistfulness for both my old home and this new home that I will be leaving soon, too soon. 

We climb the stairs to the roof garden restaurant.  The orange morning sun bathes the breakfast table with warm light.  We are given a serving of sweets (sesame seed, sugar crystals, roasted dal, coconut, peanuts, and sugar coated spices).  This is a special reminder of the sweetness of our friendships, a sweetness that should triumph in all our dealings.

Good words to live by for the next two months as we still have many more experiences yet to come.

Lest anyone think that life here is extremely primitive, it is not.  We actually have a shower that we can and sometimes do use.  But water in this city of 5.5 million (the third most populous city in India) water is precious.  The demand for water is 140 percent of the supply, a whopping 225 million liters of water per day above the available amount.  Needless to say, some parts of the city receive water only when it is delivered by tanker truck.  So I feel a responsibility to conserve, knowing at the same time my morning ritual is only a “drop in the bucket,” figuratively speaking, of the bigger problem. 

Like so many resource issues, the issue of global water supply is a classic example of the “Tragedy of the Commons.” This term, first coined in by Garrett Hardin in 1968, refers to the situation where multiple individuals acting independently and using a shared resource will deplete the resource to the detriment of all.  The specific example of this is a group of farmers sharing a grazing area, or Commons.  If a farmer adds an animal to the Commons, then that farmer receives a direct benefit, but the damage to the resource is shared by all.  Unless they cooperate, all farmers ultimately will suffer since overgrazing will ruin the pasture. 

The predictable cycles of nature (rain, snow, floods, and flow) lead us to mistakenly believe that an infinite amount of fresh water is available for us to use.  The reality is that the amount of useable water on this Earth is very limited.  For millennia surplus water has been stored in underground aquifers, percolating in from rain and snowmelt, flowing out through the seeps, springs, and rivers that support our life on Earth.  Just like the old joke, “I can’t be out of money, I still have checks in left in my checkbook,” if we turn on the tap and water trickles out, then we assume everything must be ok.

But because most of the Earth’s water (97 percent) is contained in the oceans, only 2.5 percent of our water is fresh, most of which is contained in glaciers or deep aquifers.  Of the total water supply, less than 1 percent is available for human use!  And access to this premium water is limited.  If the current global consumption patterns continue then 2/3 of the world’s population will live in water stressed conditions by 2025.  This makes water supply a true “Tragedy of the Commons.”  In Bangalore where we are living, not only is water scarce, the tap water is also unsafe to drink.  I count myself lucky to have the jug of filtered water sitting next to the sink and the geyser in the bathroom as a source of scalding water for the final rinse of the dishes. 

It is part of the American psyche to think that we have access to unlimited resources.  For the past 300 years we have cleared, chopped, and chomped our way westward across the North American landscape.   If we ran out of room or resources: not a problem, we simply moved into what we called the “undiscovered” territories, pushed the indigenous peoples onto smaller and smaller parcels of land, and took control.  There was always more to be had beyond the next frontier. 

Relatively speaking, my hometown of Spokane is a newcomer in the western history books.  Modern day Spokane is situated on what was once a gathering area for native Tribes.  The Tribes understand the connection between the environment and resource, the river providing renewable water and the fish that providing sustenance.  Their generational wisdom includes the importance of balance and managing food sources in order to avoid the Tragedy of the Commons. 

Spokane’s landscape changed quickly and dramatically after David Thompson wandered by in 1810 on his search for fur trading routes.  Within 60 years the indigenous peoples were removed to reservations and the water of the river served as the hub of industry.  Now, our growing population relies increasingly on the Spokane Aquifer to provide us with water.  Unfortunately for the aquifer, we can’t directly see what our population of 500,000 is doing to it.  But studies of the aquifer show that the cumulative rate of pumping by the water purveyors is approaching the amount of water available for sustainable supply.  Unless we use this awareness to modify our behaviors now, then our aquifer will begin to be depleted, affecting access, topography, and the ecology of the river. 

Specifically, what does this mean to those of us used to living with what we think is an open checkbook?  Here are some interesting statistics.  While India is the global leader in total amount of freshwater used, the United States is third on the global list, just behind China.  If we normalize this information on a per person basis, the average American uses almost three times more water than someone in India. 

The obvious message here is that each of us has a significant opportunity to evaluate how we use water and to change our own lifestyles.  Amazingly, it is the small things that add up.  For example, if every household in Washington State used low flow showerheads, more than 5 billion gallons of water a year could be saved.  This is the equivalent of $30 billion in avoided water bills and $60 billion on avoided energy costs.  Just imagine what using a bucket can do. 

It doesn’t take much effort to identify other aspects of our lives where water savings can be achieved:

• Eat a vegetarian meal
• Landscape with native plants
• Irrigate with storm water
• Fix leaks and drips

And the list goes on.

But these are the easy steps.  We also have the opportunity now, before there is a crisis, to rethink how water is used.  Although there is an abundance of water on the planet, there is a limit to the amount of water that is ecologically available (Don’t forget, the term ecology includes humans.).  Should current trends in climate change continue, our state will experience a substantial decrease in the amount of water available during the dry season, water that is used primarily for agriculture.  This suggests the need for a radical change in thinking, a paradigm shift. 

In the second chapter of the book The World’s Water 2008-2009, Meena Palapiappan and Peter Gleick provide some suggestions.  We can meet human needs the way we have been for the past 100 years with more dams, pipelines and infrastructure, or we can enable community discussions about how to address both human and ecological needs.  In this way we will be able to reassess our old ways of thinking about the sources of water (surface and groundwater, reclaimed, storm water) and the appropriate uses for those sources (domestic supply, irrigation, landscaping).  With the power of economics, we can then identify and develop appropriate infrastructure for meeting the demands of the future before it is too late.

I have learned many things since being here.  One of those lessons is that we can live more simply, in ways that will benefit others, and still feel satisfied.  That, of course is easy to say as I sit here at my computer on a quiet Sunday morning with the sun streaming through the kitchen window.  Unlike domestic life back in Spokane, my stay here in Bangalore is very focused with few conflicting demands on my time or attentions.  My real challenge will be to bring this new mindset home and implement it in my own backyard.

About the time I reached Creativity, a giant flow detour occurred.  Creativity, it seems, is linked to happiness.  Noted psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi uses the term “flow” to describe this link.  The flow condition is uniquely realized by each of us as a result of our culture, upbringing, and brain chemistry.  It happens when there is an alignment of interest, ability, challenge, and reward in our lives.  Flow experiences are characterized by a high degree of focus, purpose, energy, and success.  I was so fascinated by his book, Flow: the Psychology of Optimal Experience, that I never returned to the original New Year’s quest.  Trying to understanding Csikszentmihalyi’s message and how to make use of it occupied the better part of the year. 

Flowing With the Night

As one might expect, traveling is a major flow experience: it is a live-in-the-moment activity, challenging one’s purpose, perceptions, and abilities to adapt.  Just over two months ago my husband and I arrived at the New Delhi airport in the wee hours of the morning.  Our preparations for this trip took 6 months and for the past 36 hours we had been warping the passage of time as we sped to the other side of the world. 

India is notorious for many odors.  The one that told me we had arrived was that of moth balls emanating from a suitcase in the upper storage bin of our Boeing 747.  If you have ever visited India before, you would understand.  As we step onto the jet way the pungent night air reminds me of previous trips:  the smell of burning vegetation mixed with plastic.  Soon the crush of masses in immigration is another reminder that we are now far from home.  Two sweaty hours later we are released onto new but ancient soil.  Our first few tasks: locate the currency exchange and manhandle the now (slightly more) tattered suitcases from the rotating baggage dispenser. 

At 3 am we are in a taxi passing through airport checkpoints.  In our groggy yet excited state, the rifle-toting soldiers are a bit disquieting.  But we travel quickly through the streets of New Delhi where there are surprisingly few cars.  We see many wild city dogs: the rulers of the night.  The orange half-moon skims along the horizon as we pass industrial works, the airport runway, and residential areas.  I have the distinct impression that this moon is upside down.  Strings of bright lights hang vertically from the hotel roofs, luring weary travelers, and a small outdoor ceremony (wedding?) flashes by the car window.  We are bound for Vandana’s Bed and Breakfast at “Block 4/124, Safdarjung Enclave.”

Angels Watching Over Us

The Safdarjung Enclave in New Delhi is a series of “Blocks” numbered 1-8, arranged in what is best described as a random spiral formation.  In the final hour of the journey, we find ourselves in a maze of narrow, dark, unmarked streets, made narrower by cars parked 2 deep in front of “No Parking” signs.  The numerous dead end alleys require our driver to engage in carefully maneuvered turnarounds.  He is definitely lost.  Inquiries at local guard shacks result in an asymptotic approach to our destination. 

Finally, what we would call “civilization” begins to re-emerge at the guarded gate leading to Block 4.  Behind the gate the neighborhood seems almost familiar.  Apartments and homes surround a small park with a playground.  We pass a car decorated with a “Child on Board” sign.  Suddenly we are stopped at a dark, unmarked, unnumbered building on an unnamed street.  With no more formalities, we are tumbled out of the car.  Another man appears from the shadows.  He silently hoists our 50-pound suitcases onto his back and then disappears into an unlit hallway.  We follow as he and the driver carry our baggage up five flights of stairs to the rooftop.  In front of us: a clean, softly-lit bedroom is waiting for our weary bodies.  Without a word the two men disappear.  We are not completely sure this is the right establishment.  But with a flick of the deadbolt lock, it is not long before we are deeply asleep.  It becomes clear that angels are watching over us.

A Hearty “Yes!” to 2011

And that is how after a short five weeks, my 2010 New Year’s Resolution ended.  But perhaps I should say it transformed itself into a flow experience.  Here we are now on the opposite side of the world from our home.  We are still not sure where this journey is taking us.  But to quote Joseph Campbell, “The big question is whether you are going to be able to say a hearty yes to your adventure.”

With the New Year upon us, I find myself drawn back to the virtuous journey I embarked upon last year.  The virtue of Trust is the topic of the week.  We, of course, often find ourselves in positions where we must trust those who could easily take advantage of us.  In those times we have only one choice: to live unafraid and trust in the destiny that is uniquely ours. 

New Years Eve finds us on our rooftop watching 2011 unfold.  We stand in the darkness watching, feeling, and smelling the fireworks that are exploding in all directions.  Suddenly we are not alone: one of the hotel staff has appeared to wish us a Happy New Year.  While behind him a Muslim family, guests of the hotel, quietly files past to watch the display.  In the midst of the celebration, I feel the big divide that exists in our world today.  We all want the same thing: to raise our families in a healthy environment and to have the freedom to find meaning and purpose in life.   But for some reason we lack the trust to make it work out. 

In the Aravali Mountain range of northwestern India a community of Hindus and Muslims live peacefully together, as they have for centuries.  Their lives are not easy: only 40 percent of the community members are literate.  Without literacy, jobs are hard to get and 70 percent of the people live below the poverty line.  But they have found mutual meaning in each other’s rituals, even as the modern world attempts to create divisiveness. Their secret?  Trust.  They accept that the matters of faith are left to individuals, following and respecting the practices that their ancestors have handed down to them for generations. 

Little Voices of the Future

Rebuilding trust at any level is difficult to do, and it seems like building trust on a global level is now imperative.  We rely on the machinations of global governments to keep us safe but do we really trust them to do so?  As individuals we must release our fears and be open to taking risks.  When this happens, living unafraid becomes one’s own spiritual journey. 

This is the challenge, then, for 2011: to act in ways that transcend politics and rhetoric so that tomorrow’s world is better than today’s.  Mahatma Gandhi, in his pursuit of Truth often felt he was standing alone on his journey.  His words, seem like a fitting end for this blog: “Trust the little voice residing within your heart,” for “the most practical, the most dignified way of going on in the world is to take people at their word, when you have no positive reason to the contrary.”

This is my first Christmas in an ancient eastern land. A cool morning breeze filters through the open window peppered by the sounds of honking cars, squeaking brakes, and rhythmic drumming coming from the local temple. In the lobby below us the statue of Lord Ganesh is bedecked in flowers while the morning offering of incense wafts up the stairs and squeezes into our apartment through a crack under the door.

But it doesn’t feel much like Christmas. Our advent wreath is looking quite dessicated. It is constructed out of cedar boughs scavenged from bouquets we received when we first arrived here. Four votive candles left for us by our American friends provide the light. Two weeks ago the staff asked us if they could throw the wreath out.  It did look like a fire hazard. So today Christmas has arrived and the wreath is gone.  A stick of burning incense has been substituted for the Christ candle and the four votives glow in the wee hours of the morning. It is very quiet, and there is just the two of us to enjoy it.

Since we have arrived in India, there have been many times when I have experienced, what I call “cognitive dissonance.” It is an uncomfortable feeling; what I am seeing does not make sense with what I believe. This is one of those times. Normally at home the Christmas meaning is overshadowed by Macy’s advertisements on TV, big box stores, and oversized trees at the local mall. There is too much to do, not enough time to do it, and huge expectations. We have snow, party invitations, cookies with sugar frosting, and of course the traditional Christmas bread. 

It is this northern European representation of Christmas that is creating the dissonance. There are parts of this foreign land where things have changed little in the past 2000 years. In fact, our experience is probably similar to that of the Apostle Thomas. Thomas arrived in Kerala, which is in southern India not far from here, about 20 years after Jesus died.  I can relate to Thomas. He is the one and the same “Doubting Thomas,” the Apostle who doubted the resurrection of Jesus, demanding to touch Jesus’ wounds after he had risen from the dead. In an interesting twist of fate he is, according to some stories, the only Apostle to have witnessed the assumption of Mary into heaven. On her way up, she conveniently drops her girdle to him, which becomes the proof he will later use to convince his friends of the event.

Thomas came to India as a slave and began establishing a church. You can read about his very interesting story in the Acts of Thomas, one of the books that didn’t make it into the Catholic-Book-of-the-Month Club. Like us, he was here on a mission (mine is of the environmental ilk), obviously a foreigner (we can’t blend in, no matter how hard we try), and he didn’t speak the language either (ask the tea lady, our self-appointed language tutor). Thomas also had his doubts about going on such a long journey (“And why are you going there?” my friends would ask). When he arrived he met people who had a completely different belief system (his actually contributed to his martyrdom in the end, which we have no desire to emulate). 

It is impossible to live in India and not embark upon a spiritual journey. While we have yet to appreciate the full panoply of the Hindu mythology, our friends are quick to instruct us on Hinduism’s basic tenets.  We find that Hinduism is not at all incongruent with the basic Christian values of “faith, hope, and love.”  Because Hinduism is an inclusive religion, Hindus are much more inclined than Christians to align the Christian Trinity with the Hindu Trinity: Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver, and Shiva the Transformer.

Religious doctrine aside, I witness daily acts of devotion and random kindness. At home, I would not see a group of blind men roped together, walking, chanting and begging in the marketplace. I also wouldn’t see the young child joyfully getting a few coins from her father to put into their outstretched bandana. For her, the poor are ever present and her giving is unquestioned.

In India, signs and miracles are alive and well. And this is how my husband and I find ourselves on Christmas Eve at a Hindu cultural celebration, seated next to the Sri Sri Sri Jayendrapuri Mahaswamiji. (Roughly translated, this means that next to us is a very honored and well respected holy man: our equivalent of a Pontiff.)  The places and people under his care include a temple devoted to the mother goddess Mata Rajarajeshwari, a school, and an ashram in Bangalore; plus 9 other ashrams in south India.

The woman in the seat next to me explains that she is a devotee of the mother goddess, who represents the sanctity of marriage. My new acquaintance goes to the temple whenever there is trouble in her marriage to pray. The Divine Mother always provides the answers. In addition, she says, other miracles have happened that makes the temple an auspicious place. I find there are many such auspicious places here: temples, trees, small places along the side of the road, marked by a small shrine where people stop for a few minutes to reflect throughout the day.

We are invited to accompany the saffron-robed Swamiji as he visits classrooms where the children’s exhibits are on display.  His assistants, clothed in white, walk close by, anticipating Swamiji’s every move. Their cell phones and digital cameras, seem like anachronisms. Teachers greet and demonstrate their absolute respect for the Swamiji by kneeling on the floor and bowing their heads to the ground. Meanwhile the children approach him eagerly, speaking to him with great ease and not at all shy. Suddenly I understand the experience that Jesus must have had as he walked the streets with his followers 2000 years ago.

The evening show begins and the school’s children come on stage, all radiating their happiness at this chance to share their art. The younger children play musical instruments and dance in brilliant costumes, the teenage boys crack jokes and turn themselves into Michael Jackson, making the teenage girls scream with delight; the young women dance traditional Indian dances, and the young adults perform a serious patriotic play.

At the end of the evening, Swamiji gives his blessing, which I have taken the liberty to paraphrase below:

“All of us have come into this world, with our own inherent nature, but in addition to our nature, we also have the capacity of free action.  Life without industry, diligence, and an effort to become more and more perfect is a crime. But at the same time, life that is only hard work without art is like an animal life; it is brutality. Our lives should be combined with art. Art is the aspect of the human being that makes life more beautiful and meaningful.”

And so, we return to the rasam that is set before us this Christmas morning, as it is every morning by the same saree-clad woman. Her cooking is her art. Her rasam is what India is: colorful, nourishing, and well-balanced.  Each comforting mouthful is wonderfully addictive and a delight to the soul. Its spiciness teaches me to be a bit more adventurous. Every day what has been foreign becomes more familiar. And this Christmas what has been familiar suddenly seems very foreign.

“Everybody keeps talking about the weather,
but no one ever does anything about it.”

Meanwhile, in Cancun, Mexico world leaders debated about global climate change. In a predictable fashion, the arguments of the politicos won out over the arguments of the scientists. I have followed many environmental issues over the years. They tend to follow this pattern:

• A scientist makes a discovery about man’s impact on health or the environment (PCB, DDT, asbestos, etc.).
• Information circulates through the scientific community. Studies and counter studies occur.
• Leakage of information to the general public occurs through the popular press, which distills complex scientific fact into sound bites, sometimes representing both sides of the scientific debate.
• Moral outrage and/or denial occur depending on personal perspectives.
• Corporations circle the wagons.
• Politicos get involved and laws or treaties are enacted.
• Remedies are implemented.

I have observed that this pattern usually takes about 10 years to complete. That is what makes the climate change discussion so mystifying: it has been going on for so long! Serious studies about the effect greenhouse gases have on the climate began in the 1960s. By the 1980s scientists agreed that human activities were responsible for increasing the temperature of the Earth’s atmosphere, thus changing the climate. Since then, for the past 30 years, the complexities of climate interactions continued to be measured, modeled, and documented. In recent years, the last few pieces of that scientific jigsaw puzzle have snapped into place. There is no question that we are making our world a warmer place.

Some people argue that the earth has experienced warm (and cold) climates in the past. In fact, it is during one such time, the Carboniferous Period, that the vast reserves of coal we now use for fuel were created. If the result of all this change is just a few more bogs, ferns, and coconuts then maybe we can get some more fuel for our vehicles out of it! What’s the big deal? And why it has taken our society so long to come to grips with this issue?

In their book, New World, New Mind, Robert Ornstein and Paul Ehrlich say this long period of denial is biologically and socially pre-determined. Astoundingly, the scenarios they described are still true today, almost 30 years later. For example, we still worry about declines in the stock market but ignore the growing budget deficit; we still spend billions on medical care but ignore the preventive measures that save lives; and we continue to ignore the slow build-up of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere while the latest drought or catastrophic storm makes headline news on The Weather Channel.

In simple terms, they say that the human mind is unable to comprehend the complexities of the modern world; a world in which, sadly, humans have the capacity to destroy in only a few hours and can also do so gradually within a century. (100 years, two generations, what does this bode for my new grandson?)

The topic of climate change is so entangled that it is difficult to imagine what will really happen (to me, my family, and future generations) as the Earth warms. There are no simple answers. So I am not surprised that the natural human response to this conundrum is to deny that it can or will happen; or find reasons to discredit what is too difficult to understand.

“Please close the refrigerator door.”

I have a childhood memory of standing in front of the refrigerator during a sweltering Iowa summer’s day, desperately trying to cool off. And my parents explaining that by standing there, I was actually making the room hotter. When it comes to addressing climate change our country has been particularly uncooperative. The United States has been standing in front of the open refrigerator door for some time now.

In 1997, an agreement called the Kyoto Protocol established a global “pool” of carbon emissions. The goal was to decrease the amount of greenhouse gases being emitted to the atmosphere, thus stabilizing the climate. Targets were set using the best available science, and 37 countries were asked to commit to specific reductions.

The Kyoto Protocol, characterized as a “top down” approach, has always been controversial. It asks the developed countries to cut back, to do more with less and it asks the developing countries to limit their emissions, which stalls future development. All of the developed countries stepped up, so to speak, and signed the Kyoto Protocol . . . except the United States (and most of the developing ones, as well).

If you aren’t feeling guilty yet, consider this: the United States is the second largest emitter of greenhouse gases in the world, second only to China. Also, the average person in the United States, going about their everyday life is responsible for 24.5 tons of green house gases per year, that is, 134 pounds per day per person. By comparison, in the developing country of India, the per capita equivalent is less than 1/10 of that amount, or about 12 pounds per day per person. Put simply, our lifestyles in the United States are very wasteful. Most of this waste happens in economic sectors that we have personal influence over: transportation, residential, commercial, and agriculture.

As Ornstein and Ehrlich pointed out, it is the failure of our human minds to respond to the urgency of this crisis that is in fact responsible for creating it. In other words, we haven’t accepted climate change as real because we don’t perceive it as a crisis. Our nervous system works well when we need to address large immediate changes, but it isn’t wired for responding to the gradual, slow, sometimes erratic effects of climate change. Translate this to the population as a whole and you have a good explanation for the crazy behavior of our politicians. They respond to short term crises (as demanded by their constituents) and not the systemic changes that cause them. This is why, when it comes to climate change, we can’t rely on the politicos to save the Earth. We need to change our personal mindset.

Top Down or Bottom Up

In the face of a changing climate, how will we, our cities, governments, and societies respond? One reason the “top down” Kyoto Protocol is not working is that it turns the topic of climate change into a scarcity issue. With only so much atmospheric capacity for greenhouse gases, the “haves” are pitted against the “have-nots.” This generates fear and prejudice. However, fear and prejudice can be reduced when parties establish a common goal and work together to achieve that goal. This process, one that involves collaboration and cooperation is sometimes known as a “bottom up” approach.

If there is one ray of hope that came out of the Cancun meetings it is the development of a “bottom up” voluntary emissions reductions process. Rather than perpetuating the “I’ll reduce mine if you reduce yours” stand-off, the Cancun participants agreed on areas of common interest and created a transparent method for reducing, measuring, and monitoring progress. This is an important beginning in that it establishes the trust that is a necessary precursor to real change. (As an aside, the US has yet to pledge emissions reductions, even voluntarily. Meanwhile India, a large developing country, assumed a leadership role in Cancun by committing to emissions reductions while ensuring that low carbon technology is made available to developing nations.)

An Agent for Conscious Change

If by now you are wondering where this is going, here it is. Standing in front of the refrigerator door may bring relief on a hot summer’s day but isn’t going to make the world any cooler. The solution to climate change starts with each of us, individually, as agents for conscious change. Without question, even if you remain a steadfast disbeliever, there are many simple things that can be done that will be of benefit to you. It will also lower our carbon footprint, decrease our energy consumption, improve our public health, and save money.

My daughter’s generation will tell you: do more with less; buy local food; and walk, ride a bike, or take transit. If your excuse for not doing any of that is because it isn’t adequate or safe, then involve yourself in a process that makes them so. Make your own pledge to save (energy, money) use less (gasoline, food) and to be more active (get fit, get involved). Set a goal or two, track your progress. You will become an agent for conscious change. It will benefit you personally and help save the world as well: one person at a time.

India is a land of contrasts.  For every observation I make, the opposing condition is revealed: those with wealth secure themselves behind gated clubs and communities while the very poor beg at stoplights; newspapers publish accusations of government corruption in a society where taking personal responsibility is highly regarded; the TV in the breakfast room broadcasts bikini-clad women dancing Bollywood style above women, modestly swathed in sarees, drinking their morning steamed milk; and rivers held to be most holy are threatened by garbage, chemical waste, and sewage. 

For those who think that India is of no consequence to the US, consider this:

• Tens of billions of dollars are traded each year between the US and India.  This trade is in part what creates wealth and fuels consumer economies in both countries.
• India is the second most populous country in the world, where more than 50 percent of the population is under the age of 25 and 65 percent of the population is under the age of 35. 
•  The Gross Domestic Product (GDP) of India is increasing, a reflection of an increased standard of living.  In 2010 the GDP growth rate is projected to be 9%, representing a 55 percent increase in the rate over 2009, making India the 6^th fastest growing economy in the world.  Compare this figure with an expected 2010 growth in GDP of 2.5% for the US. 

With all of this bustling change at hand, what does this mean?

I have to admit that macroeconomics is baffling to me.  It must be to the economists as well.  Otherwise, we would all be rich, right?  So, perhaps we can look at what is happening here in Bangalore.

In the Bangalore Mirror today, there was an article headline that states: “Tech corridor is squatters’ favourite address.” The article goes on to point out that there are an estimated 2,858 squatters in Bangalore and of those, over half (1,612) are located in Mahadevapura, which houses the International Tech Park Bangalore.  As we all know, counting the homeless is a difficult task, and some estimates put the actual number of squatters in Bangalore as much higher: 18,000. 

Bangalore is known as the “Silicon Valley of India,” and it shares many of the growth pangs that the original Silicon Valley in California experienced during the 1980s.  In simple terms, the burgeoning growth of Bangalore far outstrips the ability of its infrastructure to accommodate it.  It is natural that such growth will attract daily-wage workers looking for economic opportunity.  However, construction workers who earn $0.20-$2.00 a day can’t afford decent accommodations.  Therefore, wherever growth is occurring, so are the make-shift shelters; constructed out of scavenged materials on footpaths, in bus shelters, and other public areas.  And so it goes.

Bangalore has more than 300 multinational companies: SAP, IBM, Siemens, Sharp, Samsung, Texas Instruments, Intel, Microsoft, Kelly Services, Fidelity Financial, MacAfee, Ericsson, Alcon, Coca Cola, Walt Disney, Cisco, ESPN, Honda, Franklin-Templeton, and Hitachi, to name a few.   These companies move here because it is economically advantageous to do so.  On the one hand, they are contributing to the increase in the standard of living for the average Indian here, on the other, they place demands on already stressed infrastructure.  One doesn’t have to understand the details of macroeconomics to see that these companies are realizing an economic advantage that is built upon the backs of laborers making temporary living quarters under the windows of the rich.  In the rush to build, the local resources and infrastructure face many challenges.  Water is in short supply and roads are inadequate to handle the growing population. 

Why should you care?  Perhaps I am tilting at windmills here, but given there is a system that allows large companies to externalize their real social and environmental costs, where does personal responsibility lie?  Perhaps there is good reason for you as an individual consumer to take a second look at how you spend your money.  If you use products or services from one or more of the above companies, you could be supporting a system that prevents people from having even basic access to water, clean sanitation, and shelter.  Where is the mechanism for holding corporations responsible for their economic, social and environmental impacts? And, as I sit here at my Dell computer, powered by Microsoft, drinking a Coca Cola, while reviewing the latest financial report from Fidelity, I too am part of the problem.  So think about it.  Where does our social and environmental responsibility start or stop?  Is it in our home town, our country, or does it now extend to the other side of the world?

All of the attendees at the 3-day session share (at various degrees) both excitement and trepidation. Certain topics trigger deep-seated fears and elicit questions from the audience. Each of us has a different trigger point: for some it is medical emergencies and the fear of mortgaging the house in the event of a medi-evacuation, and for some it is putting ones fate in the hands of others.  Some are worried about their children, or safety, and others about experiencing life as a woman in a male-dominated culture.  Interestingly, no one (other than the couple who lived through it) is afraid of a revolution during their stay overseas.

My trigger point is very personal and, while certainly not unique, I was the only one that admitted it.  It is the rocky reality of cultural adaptation that my husband and I will experience, that period of time after we arrive when the honeymoon stage of newness ends: the time when disillusionment sets in, when everyone is an idiot, everything is idiocy, and all we want to do is leave the “hell hole” to go home. I know it will happen, as I have experienced it before when I have lived overseas.  If my husband and I can survive that, then surely we will reap the rewards and joys of experiencing India together  . . . as it is, not as we expect it to be.

After spending the past several years as a hermit consultant, I find that my sudden immersion into crowds and the DC humidity is both uncomfortable and exhilarating.  Most of the participants are not bothered by sitting cheek-to-cheek on small chairs in an airless room. Me, I squirm a bit, sweat a lot, and think about the open spaces surrounding my home in Spokane, where silence is pierced only by the sounds of lovesick birds calling for mates.  So I am internalizing this training experience as preparation for the controlled chaos I will find in India: the veneer of civilization that lies over the anarchy of daily life.  While crowds, noise, and pollution are necessary evils of my profession, if given the choice I would definitely prefer serenity, quiet, and purity.  Wouldn’t that be the ultimate, to find those qualities in India?

I have met so many amazing people already. There is nothing more satisfying than an intelligent, thoughtful discourse about events happening on a global scale.  I wish I could spend more time with this collection of diverse individuals who are committed to making positive change happen.  Whether serendipitous or deliberate, there is another woman doing a project similar to mine in Bangalore. We are a good match and can share resources, contacts, expertise, etc.  I am glad that I can introduce her to environmental professionals who can help her with her project.  I have also met two other women who I hope I can visit during our stay there. Perhaps this is the start of several lifelong friendships. We are bonded by the choices we make, facing our individual fears in order to embark on our respective journeys through life.

The most wonderful contact of all is the photographer (of some fame) who gave a presentation about his Fulbright experience in Bangladesh.  I introduced myself afterwards.  Of course I was almost ready to swoon (as I am prone to do in front of almost any professional photographer).  What luck that he lives in Portland and wants to meet and discuss some sort of collaboration in Bangalore.  Perhaps we can work something out that will benefit both of us.  This is so exciting!

Receiving the Fulbright award has resulted in a personal revelation of titanic proportions.  This is a lifelong dream come true.  Suddenly I am the sum total of my training, interests, and experiences.  What I have strived for makes sense and it is all coming together in a shining moment.  The purpose I have in life peaks out like the sun from behind the clouds. But like the sun, if I look at it directly, it will blind me to what I must continue to accomplish day-to-day.  So now I must bow down and settle back into the discipline of daily life, at least until November.

As we introduced ourselves, the icebreaking question was always, “And where are YOU going?”  By constantly repeating the word “Bangalore” I am marching my theoretical future into the present. If I say it enough times, I may believe that it will really happen.  Soon.  Very soon.  Too soon.

The Fulbright appointment asks each of us to be a citizen ambassador of the United States.  That is not the same as being an American in India nor is it the same as going to India to become Indian.  I am going on this journey as an American in order to live the “who” that I am, to become comfortable in my skin and in how I relate with others. I want to realize the true intent of this journey, whatever that may be. Most importantly, in spite of the august company I find myself in (and exactly why was I chosen?), I want to grow as a person in order to fulfill my duty (with humility) as a world citizen on this tiny, fragile planet. If something good should be the result of it, so much the better.