First day in the field and a July 4th celebration

One of the Veerni reports I revised began with a quote from Eleanor Roosevelt. She once said, “Where, after all, do human rights begin? In small places, so close and so small they cannot be seen on any map of the world.”

This quote struck a cord with me today, as I ventured out on my first day of fieldwork in one of the villages that Veerni currently serves. We went to the village of Melwa, roughly 50 km from Jodhpur--only an hour away--and yet a world apart. Melwa is in the middle of the desert and is made up of about 1100 people and their stone, mud, and thatched huts. It felt extremely isolated, but extremely vibrant at the same time. They do have electricity, but for only six hours each day (and even then, it seems as though week-long blackouts are common).

Though I do not yet know what my role is on these fieldwork trips (until I begin my interviews), it was extremely fascinating to observe what was going on, and in this sense, the language barrier was in my favor because it let me absorb all the other details of what was happening around me. As I was with the “social projects” team yesterday, the goal was more for a lecture and discussion, than for direct care. The two social workers I was with led a discussion about family planning, particularly about the Pill. It was interestingly a co-ed discussion and both the men and women seemed cooperative. Each side certainly made joking remarks, but in all, both the men and women seemed receptive.

As I observed the crowd, a few things became overwhelmingly apparent to me. Firstly: it was clear that the men get more to eat than the women and children do (and boy children were more likely to have plump bellies than little girls were)—a disparity that doubtlessly contributes to the extreme male-female ratio in the region. Secondly: as I had read, it is not uncommon to see girls as young as 15 with babies breastfeeding in their laps. While I do not know the age of these girls for sure, it is nearly impossible that they are over 18 (the legal married age for girls).

At one point, the villagers were also given free reign to ask me questions. They did not ask much, but as is apparently common in India, the first question after “What is your name?” is “What is your father’s name? What is your mother’s name?” Thinking of this, I realized later that this is one of the last things I ask friends (I still do not know the name of some of my closest friends). They then usually ask how many brothers I have (and when I say “none,” they are always quite shocked) and how many sisters I have. They do ask if I’m married, but do not seem surprised when I say “no” (they have heard, it seems, that Americans get married much later). They also want to know my father’s profession (which is hard to explain in English, let alone in Hindi. The easiest way to answer is to say “doctor”).

On the way home, to my surprise, we randomly pulled over for lunch (the social worker’s daughter-in-law packs a lunch for them each day, apparently). We sat under a tree in, quite literally, the middle of the desert, with nothing for miles except a few trees, a lot of sand, and a shepherd and his goats. It was a bit surreal to just sit and eat lunch in this type of silence, but I really enjoyed it.

Last night was really nice as well. In honor of July 4th, Smita’s interns from the Foundation for Sustainable Development, who are mostly American, were going out for thali at a local restaurant and Smita invited Chloe and I to join them. It sounds silly, but when traveling in India, it is always pleasant to meet other English speakers, and it was extremely comforting to have dinner without the awkward smiles, giggles, etc. that take place when struggling with a language barrier. It was also great to connect with other Americans who are working on similar issues and hopefully, in the future, we will be able to get together to talk about our projects or to just hang out.