WE GIRLS ROCKZZZ

Scrunched up in the corner, feet tucked underneath me, bags of tea leaves piled up beside me, forced between an open train door and a group of women, I feel peace. Travelling towards Thiravullur at a very fast pace, I watch as lakes and half built houses zip past me back towards the hustling and bustling of the city. The air feels fresh as it washes over my skin.

The reason I find peace here, on this train, with all of these women is exactly that. Women: Beautiful women surrounding me. Old, young, big, small, rich, poor: All women who represent their culture so vibrantly and proudly. It is subtle but at the same time, very powerful.  Bright patterned sarees, wedding toe rings, henna on their hands, gold chains, gold earrings, big green or brown twinkling eyes and even bigger smiles. These are the women that, and with these staring eyes I am given a huge sense of protection. This is a women only carriage and here is where I feel safe.

The passing weeks, India has offered me many opportunities to develop my understanding of how it works from the insides out. As I have read previously and before arriving, here is a world of contradictions, a world of opposites. Though harmony and unity exist, there are aspects of this culture that disturb me, on a personal level, very deeply.

I have found that alongside the beauty and diversity in the culture, there is also pain and fear. This can be seen in the dark hours, when a man lays his head to rest on the pavement next to a pile of nostril-offending rubbish and a large cow, dogs sniffing around him. 

This can be seen in the eyes of children whose only words to communicate with me are 'Money' and 'children', followed by a small hand thrust in my direction. 

Once, a young girl greeted me with these words and gestures. I had no money and even if I had done, did not want to give it. I felt no guilt. Instead, pity. These children work with money all day and although I understand very much that they need it to survive, I also see money as a dirty, dirty thing. I took her hand and walked over to where her brother was playing in the sun next to the moat around a fort. I picked up their kite and joined them whilst they expertly pulled their kite into the sky and watched it soar. The kite, their spirits and mine were lifted. A moment was shared there that was worth more, much more, than money. 

The train gets closer to Thirravallur and I watch as the surrounding fields grow more populated with buildings and people and the smells grow more intense and varied.

My thoughts drift to a time of more darkness in a land that asks us to project light: After leaving the office in the evening, I found myself wearily walking the streets to get to my bus stop. The usual cheer was subdued as I thought only of my bed. I had been sat at a computer most of the day, it was older than me, making the process a very slow one. The work I had been doing was becoming clearer and I was enjoying arranging a livelihoods project for children who were not able to attend school, but at that moment, I was very, very tired.

The 248 bus to Ambattur pulled up, heaving with passengers; men even hanging from the doorways, children passed over rows of seats to sit on strangers laps. It was very busy. I somehow managed to squeeze myself on. Despite my British politeness in declining a seat, a sweet elderly man insisted I took his seat and gently pushed me into his place. As I sat, I noticed the young boy in the seat next to me was staring at me. The staring eye is always on the white skinned lady here. Usually I will beam a smile in that eye's direction and have one returned, but today, this smile left me feeling a little uncomfortable. I looked forward and was quite grateful to not be having a conversation. As the bus moved forward I noticed my eyelids growing heavier and heavier until I was eventually in a deep sleep. Even the colossal bumps and holes in the road and the noise of the inexhaustible horn burning into my ear drums could not stop me from my urge to find peace in slumber. I drifted. And I drifted quickly, my head nodding with each movement of the bus. This would be a sleep I felt I would never wake from. Alas, with one great jolt, my eyes were forced to open slightly and brought my awareness back to being on the bus. I peered around through my squinted eyes, my vision blurry. Happy that all was well, I let myself back to sleep. As I drifted this time, I began to think back, perhaps everything wasn't well when I opened my eyes last. I thought I noticed a small hand touching me, but my thoughts were overpowered by the need to sleep and off I drifted again. 'There couldn't possibly have been a hand touching me. The boy next to me was only young, wasn't he?' My thoughts circulated. Another jolt of the bus and again I was momentarily awake: The small hand I noticed was definitely touching me. Young, but old enough to make poor judgements. ‘HOLY CRAP!’ My voice weaved itself through all of the passengers to make sure it would be heard by all the ears there. I felt slightly embarrassed of my outburst but more disgusted and violated at what had been happening whilst I was sleeping. I moved myself as much as I could towards the edge of the seat and used my elbow to move this little opportunist, this little Horror's hand away from me. There was no space to stand and I did not want to be standing squashed in between yet more men so I had to sit. Waiting to get off the bus. Awake and aware and feeling horrified. 

The Bus

I see you
Seeing me
I hear your breath
I want to leave

Too close you stand
Too close to me
Don't stare that way
In my mind, I plead

All other eyes
They look this way
They can't see
You watch your prey

They are busy
Noticing me
'White lady from West
she's full of unrest'
But they cannot see
Him watching me

Watching me
Waiting for me
Mr. Opportunity

The crowds ease
And I squeeze
Myself away from
All this smut
This sleaze

Free at last
Though not for long
For on the next bus
Another one

Another man
To make me feel
Violated
My every wheel
Inside it stops
I pause
I hold breath
I shudder
I hide
I pray for the moment
This will slide

Slide into
A great abyss
I'm free to simply
Enjoy life's bliss

Meet with others
Beautiful and true
And glide above
The oceans blue

I used to believe that all people were beautiful, in some ways this is still true. We all have the capacity to be beautiful. To exist in harmony with others, to act responsibly and accountably, to enjoy life and enjoy each other.  But our intentions can never be known to anyone, truly, to anyone other than ourselves. I have learnt; to act with caution when meeting others, to be open but do not give too much of myself and to allow people the time to prove their beauty to me. If a person proves otherwise I have learnt to accept that and not to feel the urge to change a thing, but remove them, as the obstacle they act as from my life and learn from the encounter.

So India, a land I have always felt drawn to has shown me beauty and ugliness. It has forced me to consider this question...

Good, bad, light, dark, happiness, sadness, togetherness, loneliness, peace, fear, beauty, ugliness, calm, anger: all a balancing act. And when the world is out of balance? Can you feel the world and all of its possibilities through all of these moments? Even when the universe is showing you that the sky has turned thick black and red, the land is arid where nothing grows, the sea has turned to tar, the birds have lost their song. Even in these moments, can you laugh at life?

I am now more observant on public transport and urge any woman travelling on their own in busy places to be very cautious and trust no men until they prove to you otherwise. Not all men are predators, this is not what I am trying to say. Some men are beautiful. I am just asking that you act cautiously.

Back here, on the train in the women only carriage, I share smiles and kind gestures with the women around me. I practice counting in Tamil and play peek-a-boo with babies. I shake hands and have photographs taken on countless camera-phones. Here, I feel safe and I can only imagine that in this space, these women feel it too.

A lady selling hand-made jewellery looks over to me with a great big smile, reassuring me that all is well. And yes. All is well. Even in the darkness, there is a brightness that breaks through and engulfs everything in its path.  

On the wall opposite me is written in black pen, ‘WE GIRLS ROCKZZZ’. 

Yes, yes we do!

The train pulls in and I begin to get ready to alight for another day of work/exploration of India.Crazy India.

Vanakam

An hour bus journey and then into work. So much morning traffic noise it is difficult to retain peace… I tried to focus on my breathing – it helped. I hopped off the bus and weaved my way through the traffic. I found myself drifting towards a coffee kiosk. A well-built man wearing a ‘lungi’(piece of material covering the lower part of the body, much like a skirt), poured me a small glass of hot sweet milk with a hint of coffee flavor and took 6 rupees from my hand. I sipped away and began to feel the noise of the traffic drift into the background.

 The eerie sound of a man singing from within an enclosed shrine across the road enchanted me. I finished my coffee and made my way over to investigate. It was a shrine for worship of the god Ganesh: The Protector (with an elephant’s head). A family sat around the shrine handing out bowls of food to everyone who passed. It was their son’s first birthday. I said hello to the young boy, who, like most other children I’ve met here seemed incredibly shocked to see me and buried his face in his mother’s shoulder. I laughed and took the food happily.After eating the dish of mushy rice with cashew nuts and fennel seeds I slipped off my shoes and waited outside the shrine until I was allowed to enter. The priest who had been singing, wore only a lungi, and had a red and white powders across his brow. He beckoned me in.

It was a small space and I had to duck my head to get inside. The air was cool and my nostrils filled with the smell of incense. I took my place next to a statue of Ganesh which was painted black and adorned in bright flower garlands. It left me with a two curious conflicting feelings; that of being in the presence of something powerful and great but also that of serenity and peace. The priest, (only of the Brahman caste*) lifted a plate with two bowls and a candle to me and welcomed me to carry out my worship. I put my hands together and proclaimed ‘Nandri’ to the priest then turned to Genesh and bowed my head. I dipped my finger in the first bowl: red turmeric and lemon powder. I placed a red dot in the centre of my forehead between my eyebrows. I then moved to the next bowl: a white chalky powder. This I rubbed across my brow leaving behind a white stripe. The priest beamed a warm, toothless smile and then handed me two flowers from the statue’s garland for me to put in my hair.

Before I left I placed my hand above the flame of the candle until my hand was warm and washed this heat over my head from my forehead to the back of my neck.

I felt immediately relaxed and made my way out of the cool shrine into the warm heat of the sun. Three men stood waiting to come into the shrine and as I passed, they told me ‘Very good! Very good!’

I slipped my shoes back on and made my way to work.

Every day in this wonder-land I find myself in a new, magical, fulfilling situation. Every day, something new grips me by the heart and makes me smile.

*The Brahman caste is the high end of the Castes. A caste represents a social status. When a Hindu is born into that caste that is where they are destined to be. The Brahman are the only caste that can be a priest, doctor etc and they are untouchable by all other castes. This is something that still stands strong in Indian culture, but can also prohibit the lower castes from developing themselves. Different castes cannot be in a relationship and cannot marry. If they were to do this without their family’s consent, they would be shunned and have to leave their community.

My morning visit to the shrine

This is Ganesh: Son of Siva and Parvati, brother to Murgam.

His story goes like this: One day, Parvati, wife of Lord Siva sat down to meditate. She asked Ganesh to watch over her so she could be peaceful. So, that is what he did. His father Siva soon came and tried to to see his wife, but Ganesh would not let him in. He didn't want to defy his Mother's orders. This angered Siva so much that he cut of Ganesh's head. Parvati emerged from her meditation and, as you would expect, was extremely distraught. She cried and she cried 'How could a father do this to his son?' Siva, seeing the tears in his wife's eyes, saw the error in his ways and was ordered by Parvati to fetch her son a new head. Lord Siva then sent his army to source a new head for his son Ganesh. He demanded that they find a suitable head that was looking North. The army looked all over the land and could not find a single person facing North. They were worried that this would enrage their god. They looked far and wide until they came across a heard of elephants... facing north. Using great intuition, they selected one of the elephants, cut off it's head and returned to their god. Siva placed the head upon Ganesh and thus he was reborn: Ganesh, The Protector.