We had a power outage last night. The AC stopped. The TV shut down. The lights went off. Stray dogs barked in the distance. I sat on my bed in the dark, in the heat. I felt wrapped by the forceful monsoon rain that dominated Delhi outside. I just sat there and listened. It seemed like the thunder and lightning would never stop. After a while, thoughts found their way into the shadows of the room. A sense of deep loneliness mixed with an unbreakable comfort that only comes from achieved goals. The office was flooded this morning. I am the only one surprised by this.
I am usually the third person to arrive at the office. Madanji (incorrect spelling, I’m sure) unlocks all the doors and puts the fans on. He brings me the best chai in the world, light and sweet. Second arrival is the cleaning lady. She wears bright colored saris and speaks to me in Hindi, showing off her dimples and a nose ring. My office room is on the second floor. I have my own desk, but I share the room with as many as 10-15 women (depending on how many can fit around the oval table in the middle). I am always relieved whenever I’m able to upload a journal entry on the slow Internet connection.
The office opens at 10, but the crew usually won’t show up until 11-12. On average, their commute—regardless of transportation—takes between one and two hours. Delhi is a big city! Madame Indira, the CEO, has the big office with the bathroom. “You are our special guest and you can use my bathroom any time,” she tells me in front of everyone. I thank her, but I haven’t had the courage to pass through her office for a toilet visit. There’s another bathroom down the hall, the problem is that the door won’t unlock from the inside without a “special touch” that takes months of practice to maneuver. So, everyone’s required to bring their cell phone in there(or scream for help the old fashioned way).
When Madame Indira shows up, everyone gathers around her to hear the latest stories (she just came back from a visit to Chicago where her fourth daughter goes to med school). She loves the attention! Then there’s lunch. They help me order from a nearby restaurant after a ten minute discussion about the Hindi menu. What?! someone shrieks. She had that two days ago! I want to ensure them that they don’t have to fuss over my lunch, but it’s a routine by now that we enjoy and the food is great every time. We share our food on a few plastic plates and eat with our hands. I resist their offerings of yogurt—I’ve been told to stay away from cold sauces (bacteria die over hot flames).
There’s an all male tech team. They have a room of their own. One of them approached me every morning during the first week, digging for facts: my age, my marital status, my nationality, my purpose in India. I’m pretty sure he reported back to his fellow teach mates. What?! the women shriek when they find out that I am unmarried AND am living on my own. They look at me in disbelief when I explain how much personal space means to me. They can’t believe I’m a blond most of the time, that I wear makeup instead of a sweaty face; that my everyday look is tight fitting business casual instead of layer on layer Mary-Kate Olsen bohemian style.
The website is (finally) coming along. A team of three website builders were ordered by the boss to stop by in person after the designer in charge unsuccessfully delivered the website according to my instructions (after repeated attempts for tree weeks). One of his assistants sat with me and we worked on the website together while the lead designer stood around with his arms across his chest and breathed against my neck, asking impatiently over and over, “Is it good? Good, good, good???” I did a great job ignoring him for hours, and one edit at a time and half a business day later, the assistant and I were finished with the design. Then, everyone at the office (really, everyone!) gathered around to give their consent—at the same time! The boss was pleased too and ordered the design team to launch the website before I leave (on Sunday). Oh, and I’m also busy doing desktop publishing and editing the annual report. In many ways I feel I could do more. They tell me that no other volunteer has been asked to do this much work (they usually visit different areas and write a reflection report, that's it). But then again, I’ve been doing my best here all on my own, switching between office and slum, between editor and tourist, in a country that is humid, intense, spicy and very far away from home...
The office opens at 10, but the crew usually won’t show up until 11-12. On average, their commute—regardless of transportation—takes between one and two hours. Delhi is a big city! Madame Indira, the CEO, has the big office with the bathroom. “You are our special guest and you can use my bathroom any time,” she tells me in front of everyone. I thank her, but I haven’t had the courage to pass through her office for a toilet visit. There’s another bathroom down the hall, the problem is that the door won’t unlock from the inside without a “special touch” that takes months of practice to maneuver. So, everyone’s required to bring their cell phone in there(or scream for help the old fashioned way).
When Madame Indira shows up, everyone gathers around her to hear the latest stories (she just came back from a visit to Chicago where her fourth daughter goes to med school). She loves the attention! Then there’s lunch. They help me order from a nearby restaurant after a ten minute discussion about the Hindi menu. What?! someone shrieks. She had that two days ago! I want to ensure them that they don’t have to fuss over my lunch, but it’s a routine by now that we enjoy and the food is great every time. We share our food on a few plastic plates and eat with our hands. I resist their offerings of yogurt—I’ve been told to stay away from cold sauces (bacteria die over hot flames).
There’s an all male tech team. They have a room of their own. One of them approached me every morning during the first week, digging for facts: my age, my marital status, my nationality, my purpose in India. I’m pretty sure he reported back to his fellow teach mates. What?! the women shriek when they find out that I am unmarried AND am living on my own. They look at me in disbelief when I explain how much personal space means to me. They can’t believe I’m a blond most of the time, that I wear makeup instead of a sweaty face; that my everyday look is tight fitting business casual instead of layer on layer Mary-Kate Olsen bohemian style.
The website is (finally) coming along. A team of three website builders were ordered by the boss to stop by in person after the designer in charge unsuccessfully delivered the website according to my instructions (after repeated attempts for tree weeks). One of his assistants sat with me and we worked on the website together while the lead designer stood around with his arms across his chest and breathed against my neck, asking impatiently over and over, “Is it good? Good, good, good???” I did a great job ignoring him for hours, and one edit at a time and half a business day later, the assistant and I were finished with the design. Then, everyone at the office (really, everyone!) gathered around to give their consent—at the same time! The boss was pleased too and ordered the design team to launch the website before I leave (on Sunday). Oh, and I’m also busy doing desktop publishing and editing the annual report. In many ways I feel I could do more. They tell me that no other volunteer has been asked to do this much work (they usually visit different areas and write a reflection report, that's it). But then again, I’ve been doing my best here all on my own, switching between office and slum, between editor and tourist, in a country that is humid, intense, spicy and very far away from home...
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