Storytelling for Change

The cycle and vast scope of poverty in India are daunting challenges and uncomfortable subjects. Visitors, including myself, struggle to find an appropriate box in our minds in which to categorize the realities we witness on the ground. We read that nearly 80 percent of Indians, or 836 million people, live on less than 50 cents a day (equivalent to about 2 dollars a day in terms of cost of living) — and this from an Indian government report. We cringe, and move to the next headline. We look out the window of our passing car at the street children selling magazines and trinkets and returning to the road divider every few minutes to check on their baby siblings, we see the elderly suffering from leprosy moving from car to car, person to person, rattling a can, and as we make eye contact, we quickly shift our gaze. We feel guilt, sadness, sympathy, frustration, disgust, anger, and more, and we feel helpless. We often maintain stoic faces when faced with someone begging, or we attempt to make a small difference in their day by emptying our pockets of change. Few of us feel empowered to do much more. Last week, I encountered and joined a group that is doing much, much more.

Katha is a local NGO that works to alleviate poverty through an unusual medium: storytelling. Working broadly in the areas of language, culture and translation, Katha-ites are “publishers, teachers, and agents of change” who use stories to increase the accessibility of education to the under-privileged. Katha’s publishing house is based in South Delhi, and is well-known amongst enthusiastic readers for its collection of children’s books, most of which are available in both English and in Hindi (and all of which are beautifully illustrated), as well as for its novels. The concept of engaging new readers and students, regardless of their age, through folkloric stories and cultural familiarity is, in my opinion, brilliant.

Katha’s educational arm has currently enrolled over 6000 children in more than 50 schools and learning centers across India, the majority of which are in and around Delhi. Demonstrating an understanding of that complicated cycle of poverty I referred to earlier, the organization has made some small adjustments to their scope to accommodate a target community. For example, Katha centers have preschools and daycare centers for little ones so that older boys and girls can go to school instead of caring for their baby siblings; some of their schools have adult training and vocational courses with schedules that are more convenient to daily wage earners; and Katha has recently launched an adult English Academy, recognizing that a basic mastery of English will improve economic opportunities for the local residents.

Last week I visited Kathashala, one of Katha’s learning centers in the Govindpuri slum in East Delhi. The sense of excitement to learn and teach, to impart knowledge and effect change permeates every corner of the small brick complex. From the guard at the gate to the carpentry instructor, the class full of 8 year olds who jump up from the floor to recite “Good morning Ma’am!” the minute we walk in the door to the Director who shares her passion for the Katha way of teaching with every listening ear, I could feel the energy and enthusiasm.

If you can’t already tell, I’m looking forward to contributing whatever I can to Katha’s mission in the next few months. In other words, you’ll be hearing more about my adventures with Katha in the days to come!

Musings

I’ve been collecting a stockpile of uniquely Indian oddities in the “Huh?” compartment of my brain to share with you. Rather than let another day pass (since many days have already escaped me), I’ll just present them here as succinctly as I can:

1. Scene from stuck in traffic (there will likely be more of these): A fence divides traffic traveling in two directions along a stretch of road near Lajpat Nagar. A group of young boys, say around 12 years old, clad in shorts and not much more, are painting the fence green. But something seems off in the painting process. A closer look reveals that the boys don’t have paintbrushes. Each boy leans over, dips his entire hand in the bucket of paint, and attempts to slosh it all over the bars of the fence. I guess somewhere between the local government project, the contractor, the painters, and the boys who somehow came into the picture, the brushes were “misplaced.” In this country, “child labor” is a term used by the international media and NGOs, and pretty much no one else.

2. Warding Off the Evil Eye:

These ornament looking things hang all over the place — on the back of a car, rickshaw, or truck, in some corner of an office or home, or in this case, on the railing at the entrance to a hair salon. Apparently the string of green chilies and lemons wards off the evil eye, protecting a place, thing, its contents, or its patrons from the evil eye. That’s all I know.

3. A random thought from KA: “Some people love the Indian lifestyle because if you have money, you don’t have to ever lift a finger.” The servant will serve you tea, breakfast, and whatever else you may fancy in the morning, either that same servant or some other servant will have washed, ironed, and folded your clothes, ensured that the geyser is on so that you have a constant stream of piping how water for your shower, and confirmed that your chosen selection of daily papers is in your hand every morning. The driver will come in and carry your briefcase to the car, battle the mayhem of city streets to get you to work in one piece, and park and take care of the car in your absence. When you walk into the office, more people carry your stuff, serve you edibles and drinkables, present you with pertinent information, solve any technical problems your phone, computer, or even home television may have, make arrangements for your lunch… and so it goes. For people like KA and I, each step of this process is laden with varying degrees of discomfort. How could I possibly pass my dirty clothes along to someone twice my age and not think twice about what it takes for him to return them to me, clean? Why am I not clearing my own dishes? Or running to the fridge to grab some hot sauce during dinner? If I don’t carry my own bags, my arm muscles will degenerate and fall off!!! OK… time to move on.

4. Water Isn’t a Drink. When you walk into someone’s house, you’re immediately offered something to drink.

RD: Um, no thanks. I’m fine.

Host: You must have something!

RD: OK, just a glass of water would be great.

Host: Well you’ll obviously get water! What else? Tea, coffee, soda, juice, beer?
RD: Really, nothing. I just had some tea a little while ago.

Host: [Calls out to someone in the kitchen to bring water]

The next part is even more awkward. A servant brings a glass of water on a tray. I pick it up, thank them, and take a sip. He or she doesn’t move. I look up and start a conversation with my host. The person is still standing there. Until I’ve finished my fill of water and put the glass back on the tray, the servant usually won’t leave. Water is apparently not a drink. It’s a refresher, to be presented to anyone the moment they walk in the door, but it doesn’t count as “having something” when you come over.