232. Glimpses of Bangkok: 1: Bangkok Art and Culture Center

Bangkok was never in my "To Visit" list.  Suddenly I had to come to Bangkok for some work. First surprise was the name of the Bangkok airport - "Suvarnbhumi" (Golden Land).  My first impression of the city on that Thursday night was good. Wide roads, no traffic jam, and shining skyscrapers. The receptionist at the hotel welcomed me by folding both the hands. It was only next day that I realized that this hand-folded welcome is the traditional Thai greetings.

My plan was simple. Work on Friday, leave Bangkok on Saturday morning. However, the work remained unfinished on Saturday and I had two full unplanned days in this world famous tourist destination. It was very humid with no sign of rain. So, I decided to go slow, visit only couple of places. On Saturday morning when I left the hotel, I saw that the roads within the city were narrow.

I had finalized two spots on Saturday, for which Sky Train was more convenient. I was staying in Sukhumvit area and the nearest Sky Train Station was 'Asok'.

In the station there was a counter where we can exchange notes for coins and use the coins to get a ticket from the vending machines. There were maps in the station and the exact amount needed for each station was displayed, so there was no problem in purchasing the right ticket.

There were regular announcements in the station and in the train. I smiled when I heard a station name "Nana".  The Sky Train was crowded but the crowds were disciplined. I have traveled for considerable time by Delhi Metro and I noted certain differences in Delhi Metro and Bangkok Sky Train.

Delhi Metro has a reserved coach for women, which Bangkok Sky Train does not have. Second: Bangkok Sky Train has sliding glass doors on platform also - which Delhi Metro does not have.

In Delhi Metro, each passenger has to go through personal security. Here in Bangkok one has to enter through metal dictator, there is a security official, but they not necessarily check every passenger again. The instructions show how Buddhist Monks are respected.

The 'Sky Train' map was also printed on the ticket, so I had no difficulty in reaching Siam station. After coming out of the station I was confused about the direction I needed to take. I spotted a 'Tourist Information Center' just outside the station and the staff there, guided me to reach at 'Bangkok Art and Culture Center'.  There is no entrance fee.

I had assumed this place to be a museum and I was partially right. This nine-storey building has paintings, sculpture, handicrafts, woodcraft, ceramic art,music and design displays. There are couple of book stores and an Art Library.  There are coffee shops where one can have lengthy discussions over a cup of coffee. When it comes to art, I am almost illiterate. However, I was in this center for more than three hours and enjoyed the visit. Here are some of the snapshots from the Center.

                          

                         

                        

                        

It was good to see that the information of the artists was also displayed.

There was some experience/experiment related to sound waves. This was something new for me. There were number of photographs on the walls. Each photograph was given a unique number.  Every person entering the exhibition hall was handed over a small cellphone-like handset.

One was expected to type the photograph number on this machine, press the green  button and hold the machine near the ear. For different photographs, I could hear different sound waves (if I am using the right term!), but I could not understand what it was all about. For people more interested in this, the following photograph might be of some help.

I was surprised to see this huge wall poster of the Hindi film in the Art section. Is this film already released in India?

I was feeling tired as I was walking for more than three hours.  When I asked for the directions of my next destinations, I realized that it was nearby. So, I continued walking with enthusiasm.

To be continued ...

227. Opening Part II

This post narrates glimpses of development work of VSO Mozambique. However, this is written in individual capacity and VSO Mozambique does not necessarily endorse the viewpoint. Names of individuals and places are either not mentioned or changed. If you want to know more about VSO, click here or  here . 

Part I

Understanding a new environment is mostly challenging – even in the era of Information and Technology. As an outsider one has limited access to people’s lives and their perceptions about life. In addition to that as an outsider I am exempted from the general norms and rules of the society; which has a tremendous potential to create superficial interpretation of what I come across. So, cautiously I try to evolve general understanding not only based on my experiences (as I know my limitations) but also based on the experience of others – which they share.

Understanding a society poses another problem; especially when I try to understand through urban societies. With the increased influence of Market Economy and to certain extent its impact on traditional livelihoods; societies are no more homogeneous today. There are multiple streams within any urban society. So I keep on checking and crosschecking notions, practices, ideas, norms, rules and also exceptions – as change is constantly happening.

Due to my active participation in the VSO project (titled The Business of Girls’ Education), I get opportunity to interact with girls (and boys) in primary schools; teachers in primary schools; community members who are involved in School Management through School Councils and officers of Provincial Education Department. We have many discussions on barriers faced by girls in continuing education (and how to overcome those collectively) and that gives me ideas. These interactions throw light on Gender Roles, Gender Based Division of Labor, Access to and Control over Resources, Decision Making in the society. Triangulation is done by habit (not systematically, I must confess) and it fits into what I knew about this society even before I came to Mozambique.

We are in another school; meeting the 6 Lead Girls is an important agenda of the visit. We find that Marta is missing from the group and there are still 6 girls. Since Marta did not appear in the school this year, the school has substituted her with another girl –Cecilia. I do not want to discourage Cecilia, but I want to know where Marta is.

“Did Marta attend the classes regularly last year?” I ask the teacher; an enthusiastic and experienced teacher who is with us in the school.

“Yes,” replies the teacher.

“Why is Marta not coming to school?” I ask. Everybody chooses to remain silent.

“Is she transferred to other school?”

Silence. Not deliberate, but nobody knows.

“Is she not well?”

Nobody knows.

Looking at Cecilia’s face, I dare to ask, “Is she married?”

“Yes,” responds Cecilia

One more 13-14 year girl is married again. In 2015? Yes!

“Is she still in this village?” I continue asking. “Do you know her home?”

Cecilia knows Marta’s house. So accompanied by two girls and the teacher, we walk for twenty minutes.

We come across a cluster of huts and everybody stops. It takes some time for me to realize that the  cluster of huts belongs to one family and unless the Head of the Family (invariably a Man) permits us to enter, we cannot move further.

The father arrives. He might be 40 or even 50, it is hard to tell. The teacher speaks in the local language and explains the purpose of the visit. This is not an occasion for taking photographs. I am using neither camera, notebook nor pen.

“Oh! Marta is married. I have no problem if she continues going to school; but her husband should give her permission,” he explains frankly.

Marta’s husband is studying in the nearby district and Marta continues to stay with her parents. How old is he? May be 20.

“I did not want my daughter to marry, but she married what I can do?” says the father.

“Can we talk to Marta, please?” I ask.

Father goes to a hut in the backside to call Marta, but she refuses to come out. So, with the permission of the father, I go to that hut. But Marta refuses to come out. One of her aunts is there. With her permission, I enter inside. Marta does not know me, we have never met. She pulls her face down, covers it by both the palms and clearly speaks, “I do not like school, and I do not want to go to school.” I am surprised by her clarity of thought. At that moment I do not want to invade her privacy, I do not want to threaten her by my presence. I come out of the hut and tell the aunt, “When Marta wants to meet us, we will come again, let us know.”

On the way back the team discusses. “These girls! They want to marry. Even when her father did not want, she married. What can we do?”

I ask about the lobolo (the bride price) the father would have received. It is about 3000 MT (approximately USD 90). In addition to this the groom clears surrounding land and builds a new hut for the girl’s father (or family).

We could not stop marriage of this girl. However, we can at least bring her back to school. But why did Marta hate the school so much? How many more girls would be preferring marriage, feeling that school is not a place for them? And what exactly happened in the school? Are girls punished? Do they have to do more work in school too? Is it a language issue? (Not Portuguese but local language is spoken in the village.) 

We need to think. We need to strategize. We need to connect not only with the girls and teachers, but also with the community. Yes, through school councils, we have established initial contacts with the community, we need to strengthen those.

To talk to girls regarding consequences of early marriage is necessary but not sufficient. Adults have lot of power over their children, so it is important to work with adults.

And we need to work with boys as well. 

Are our efforts good enough to open better life opportunities for girls like Marta?

 to be continued...

225. Opening: Part I

This post narrates glimpses of development work of VSO Mozambique. However, this is written in individual capacity and VSO Mozambique does not necessarily endorse the viewpoint. Names of individuals and places are either not mentioned or changed. If you want to know more about VSO, click here or  here . 

We turn right leaving behind a busy National Highway. As usual, with such turns the world around changes. The read earth road is stretched up to the horizon and after every ten minutes we see some people resting at the roadside. The interior villages have a road, but almost no public transport; so people walk for hours and rest when they get tired.

We take a left turn, then another right. There is the primary school. After examinations, there was a week-long vacation. It is the first working day after the vacation, so we do not expect all the students in the school. Still 10-15 girls and boys surround us. Their eyes shine to see a stranger amongst them, and they are not shy. One kid is almost touching me. I bend forward to talk to him- in broken Portuguese. He is studying in second grade and has three text books. I open one book and ask him about the pictures in the book. He narrates. Then I ask him to read a line for me. He says, “I can’t read” and further declares, “no one in my class can read.” He is such an honest kid. Everybody laughs.

We meet the Deputy Director of the school. From each school, six girls from grade six are chosen as Lead Girls (LGs). VSO is arranging a two days residential training for LGs (39 schools in 7 districts of Manica Province). The team is visiting the home of each LG and explaining the objective of the district level training and of course seeking permission of the parents.

Maria is one of the LGs and she knows house of the other LG, whose name we mention first. Deputy Director accompanies us enthusiastically. Mozambique struggles with poor school infrastructure. After visiting every school, my admiration for Mozambican primary teachers increases. But that is another story.

The road narrows down and after 15 minutes, we have to leave the car and walk. We continue walking for 30 minutes – by habit I keep on checking my watch to know how much this girl Rosa has to walk every day.Rosa walks at least one hour every day to reach the school and another hour to return home. The road is lonely; it cuts across fields and little forest; it is not plain road but has ups and downs as the terrain is a small range of hillocks.

After reaching Rosa’s home we see eight children – age 12 to 1. Boys bring a mat (for women) and chair (for the teacher- a man) and the elder one goes to call his father.  These are local chairs. I like the creativity.

And yes, they are very comfortable.

Rosa comes. She did not go to school today. She says she had headache; but actually she is working in the farm. If I had to walk every day for two hours, would I have been interested in studying – I ask myself. 

The question is hypothetical for me, but it helps me to be in the shoes of Rosa. By the way, I have noted that Maria is walking with us without shoes; and I don’t know whether Rosa has shoes.

The father comes; his children surround him. He has five sons and five daughters – three daughters are married. I want to ask their age, but do not ask. The visit has other objective. This is the first visit to Rosa’s home and certainly not the last; I can ask more questions in the next visit.

The teacher introduces us, explains about the training, my colleague elaborates further. The father is happy to send Rosa to the district headquarters; which is about 70 kilometers from the village. We are arranging to pick up the girls and drop them back after the training. “Actually there is no budget for sending a car,” my colleague had reminded me early this morning. But we don’t want these girls to first walk for hours and then wait for more hours for public transport which is being run by individuals as private business. Safety of girls is our prime responsibility. 

I am also concerned about whether Rosa wants to participate in the training or not. Rosa is taking care of a young child. I whisper (I have to often do this because I do not speak Portuguese well and do not understand local languages!) to my colleague whether it is Rosa’s sibling or her child. I have seen many 12-13 year mothers here, so the anxiety. I sigh with relief when I learn that this is her baby brother.  Rosa and Maria are smiling together. Rosa says, “Father has given permission, I want to come.” She knows she is LG and knows that there are five more LGs in her school. I am feeling good. 

The mother arrives. I ask my colleague to explain the whole discussion to the mother. My colleague says, “Traditionally as Head of the Family, the father has the authority to share the information with his family. If he does not introduce us to her, we cannot talk to his wife. ” – Hmm! I am a woman too.

I respect traditions and culture. As an insider, I have always rebelled against discriminatory traditions (in my country). But as an outsider, I cannot rebel. However, I can take a little liberty; I can push the boundary a little further. Here my ignorance of local customs can contribute to my cause. So, when we are ready to leave; I approach the mother and tell her briefly about the training. She smiles. She did not participate in the decision about her daughter, but at least I try to keep her informed.

In the meantime, the father tells something to one of the boys and he comes with a basket of Tangerine – a gift for us, the guests. As a good guest, I put some money in the hands of mother; it is not cost of Tangerine; but a small return gift. May be that too is a tradition, because she accepts it without hesitation. 

May be, I should not hurry labeling this father; he seems a kind person with understanding. He is instrumental in the continuation of Rosa’s education. It is possible that he is just following the custom and tradition by not inviting his wife to discuss with us. We are actually on the same path; the apparent gap can be bridged. I am sure, once he trusts us, these barriers will be broken and new opening would emerge.

to be continued        

185. Uncertainty

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 34; the thirty-fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "Of-Course, I'm insane"

“Why you did not show me the answer even when the teacher was busy in conversation with the other teacher? I needed your help and I thought you are my friend,” the boy is fuming.

“How could I show you the answer? It is not good to copy during exams,” the calm looking boy answers.

“You are insane, man!” the aggrieved friend says.

The boy smiles. He adds confidently, “No, I am not insane.”

*****

“Why did you not appeal?” the Captain is upset.

“Oh! But he was not out, the ball was leaving the off stump, I know,” the bowler is all smiles.  

“We all were appealing, but since you did not appeal….”the Captain does not know what to say. He adds sarcastically, “You are insane, man!!”

“No, I am not insane…” the bowler is in tears.

*****

“Let us have a cigarette” one of the boys says.

“Just smoking? I thought we are going to celebrate in an adult manner,” other adds.

“Ok, you continue with your celebrations, I am leaving,” third boy says.

“How can you leave? We are celebrating your success,” the first boy is really surprised.

“But I can’t celebrate by smoking and drinking…” third boy.

“Come on yaar! We are not school children. You are selected by one of the best IT companies in the world and so we are celebrating,” another one says.

“Look, even the girls want to smoke and drink  ...” another one. The girls immediately join the chorus.

“No, long back I promised my grandma that I would never smoke and drink,” the boy is indeed adamant.

“You are insane, man!” exclaim his friends.

“Maybe, I am insane …” the boy is feeling little guilty for spoiling the fun of his friends.

*****

“Oh! Where is our bike?” the girl is anxious.

“It was parked in ‘No parking zone’. So the police have taken it away,” the shopkeeper informs. “Look,” he adds, “there is the traffic police van, go and get your bike before it is taken away.”

“Come on,” the girls says.

“Give him hundred rupees,” the girl asks.

“Will you give me a receipt?” the boy asks the police.

The police gets angry. “Come to police station, pay three hundred rupees, get you receipt and pick your bike,” he answers.

“Don’t be a miser. You earn loads of money,” the girl shouts.

“The question is not about money but…” the boy tries to explain.

“Come on yaar, leave it, I will pay,” the girl hurries through her purse.

“No, I won’t take the bike by paying bribe,” the boy is adamant.

“You are insane, Man!!” the girl’s anger is beyond bounds.

He keeps quiet.

*****

“What are your expectations?” uncle asks.

“What expectations?” he is really puzzled.

“Oh! Nothing really. Whatever you want to give to your daughter, you should give. We don’t demand anything, you know what your daughter needs and what is best for her….” One of the uncles says.

Everybody smiles, nods.

“Are you talking about dowry? Then my answer is NO…” the boy’s voice is stern.

“Come on, who is talking about dowry? You don’t understand anything. For God’s sake, keep quiet,” one of the aunties orders him loudly.

“Calm down young man! No, we are certainly not talking about dowry. …” the man sitting next to uncle explains.

“If you are talking about any 'give and take' in the marriage, I will not marry…” declares the boy.

“You are insane, Man!” his cousin remarks.

“No, I am not insane. You all are…” the boy says and storms out of the room.

*****

“You are insane, Man” his colleague says.

*****

“You are insane...” the officer says.

*****

“You are insane, “the shopkeeper says.

*****

“You are insane,” the corporator says.

*****

“You are insane,” the headmaster of his son’s school says.

*****

“I want a mobile, dad,” his son demands.

He looks at his ten year old son.

“You are still young,” he says.

“But everyone in my class carries a mobile. It is only you who is not allowing me to have a handset. If you don’t give me a mobile, I will not go to school,” his son threatens.

“It won’t work my boy. You don’t need mobile, that is it,” he firmly says.

“Don’t be a miser. And don’t tell me about your values. We have to live according to the norms set by the world around,” his wife is trying to argue.

He ignores the demands, the pleading, and the accusation of neglect.

“You are completely insane Dad,” his son shouts through his tears and runs away.

“Of course, I am insane...” he shouts back.

He weeps silently.

He has not been able to create a space for himself in this world.

Is he insane? Or the world around is insane?

He is not sure.

The uncertainty has always baffled him. And it continues to do so.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: 29

178. Innocent

" Wai Wai? or Momo? What would you prefer, Madam? " my colleague asked me.

Momo, I know. I like Momo. After coming to Delhi I have been consuming them regularly. However at that moment  I did not want Momo only because yesterday afternoon and yesterday evening I had already tested Momo in this part of the county. So, I asked what is Wai Wai? And realized that they are kind of noodles.

I was in the village Sikkp in Namchi area of (South Sikkim district) in Sikkim. My local colleagues were with me. In the morning I had climbed up and down the hills in village Wok and had used lot more calories, so I was hungry. But here there were only two options - Wai Wai and Momo.

I decided to have Wai Wai and it was filling. But my colleagues were still hungry and were planning to order Momo and Soup. Instead of waiting for them to finish their food, I decided to use this time to walk around and take some pictures. Because of my presence my colleagues were not able to freely converse in Nepali so they gladly accepted my plan.

I came outside and noticed the beautiful river flowing to my left. While going to Wok village I had asked about the river and was told that the name of the river is Rangeet (which literally means colorful or colored). This is a tributary of Teesta river - the lifeline of Sikkim. About Teesta river, there is a lot to tell - but not today. I was planning to climb down to the river and enter into the water - just stand in the water for few minutes. But then I realized that the water was too deep and was moving very fast. I also realized that there was no path to climb down and that during the last three days I have not seen anybody near the waters. The river is flowing with flurry - so better to keep away from her!

To my left there was a bridge. In Sikkim one comes across these bridges very often. I can imagine that when these bridges were not built, how the villages would remain cut off from the rest of the world for days. These bridges appear to be old and one wonders whether they are strong enough! But these bridges are very strong. They play a major role in connecting villages and in turn connecting people with each other. They carry the burden of the vehicles and make living of people a little less hazardous during monsoon and winter. 

.

I was adjusting my  camera when I saw both of them chatting together. They were standing in the middle of the bridge in a relaxed manner. Initially they were little worried about the camera in my hands. However, I believe that was the reason they wanted to interact with me. They started staring at me. I leisurely walked towards them. That increased their curiosity. I could understand that both of them were in two minds - whether to smile at me or not. I took the initiative and smiled.

"Can I take your photograph?" I asked in Hindi. One of them smiled signaling me his permission and was immediately ready to pose. The other was bit hesitant though. "Can't you speak Nepali?" he asked me expressing his distrust. I said, "No, I can't." He started thinking on my response. But the first one did not want to lose the opportunity to get photographed. He just made his friend quiet.

I took a photograph and showed it to them. Both of them were delighted.
"Are you alone?" one of them asked.
"No, I am not alone. My colleagues taking lunch, I finished with it and so came outside to take some pictures," I explained. 

"Why are you taking food in the hotel? Is your home here?" the first one asked again.
"No, my home is not here," I answered.
"Then where is it?" another question.
"It is in Delhi," I inform.
"Oh! That is the reason you cannot speak Nepali", the first boy who was still doubting me seemed to be little convinced. 

"Where have you come? To whom did you meet?" he asked.
I indicated the office where I had been.
"Ok, I know that office. You met the officer there?," another question.
"Yes," I answered without explaining more.
"Where will you go now?" one more question.
"Namachi", I answered again.
"Which car is yours? The Jeep or the White one behind?" he asked. I was impressed with his observation power. I answered that too.

Then I decided to ask few questions to them. Though the children looked very young, they were studying in fifth class. We had an interesting conversation about their school, Nepali language, mid day meal in the school, their teachers, hostel and the students in the hostel ...

"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Watching the water level" both of them answered together. 

Then there was another round of conversation- this time about the river. The name of the river is Rangeet, there is a dam on the other side, the water level increases during day and reduces in the night because it rains more in the night. They can swim but nobody swims in the river during rainy season.

I asked about fish. One of them explained, "There are no fish now. Like flowers they too are seasonal. This is not the season for fish..." he was patiently trying to explain. 

Suddenly they shouted at me, "Run fast. Your car is leaving. It will go without you..." They were able to see the car though I was not. I knew that the car won't leave me but I was touched by the concern the kids expressed about me.

"The car will pick me up. It will pass this bridge, won't it?" I tried to assure the boys.
"Namachi is not in this direction. It is on the other road...." the kids almost pushed me towards the car.

In the cities we are taught to act with purpose, taught 'not to befriend strangers'; taught to guard our privacy; in short we are taught to distrust people around us. Of course I agree that the changing situation has provided  a solid context to such behavior and attitude. 

However these kids talked to me for half an hour, they showed trust in me, they had a concern for me, they understood my limitations - I am touched by their action, 

Whenever I will remember the roaring waters of Rangeet, the green Himalayan range I will also remember this innocent conversation with these two young boys. 

**

166. Multi-Tasking

“What are you reading now?” my friend asked after our conversation took all the usual turns.

“Well, …” I took a pause rather sheepishly.

“It is strange that you have stopped reading books. I keep on telling you not to write or read blog, it is rather addictive.” He acts old fashioned sometimes. I don’t know exactly why but he is dead against blogging.

“No, no, it is not that. I still have lot of time to read,” I pleaded like a guilty child.

“Good”, he said, “what are you reading?

Now, I can never get him wrong. He loves reading and most of the conversation we have is about books. We exchange lot of books and he is instrumental in introducing me to some wonderful authors.

“You know, lately I have started reading Bengali books. I downloaded the font from internet and finished a hundred pages book. Then, at Kolkata airport I purchased a five hundred pager Bengali novel - ‘PoorNa Chabira Magnataa’. “

We spoke about Bengali terms, Bengali script and the story I was reading.

“You know, at times it becomes tiring for me to read that book at length. The strain of understanding the script makes the act of reading an effort. But I enjoy the book, the language is beautiful indeed.”

He understood it. He said, “I remember your reading of first Guajarati book, was it not the same then?” he added solemnly.

“Incidentally, I am reading Marathi translation of Saat Pagalaa Aakaasha Maa,” I told him. This was the first Guajarati book I had read (in Gujarati) twenty years ago. I added, “Recently I visited Sahitya Academy and purchased this book”.

“That is a good combination – Bengali and Guajarati book”, he teased me.

 “And also…” I added.

“And?” he was completely puzzled.   

“Well, you remember how serious this Kundanikaa Kapaadiaa book is; I need something light to keep myself away from the burden.” I added little guiltily.

“Hmm.. “ he was lost in thought.

“And which is this third book?” he asked.

“Damsel in Distress by Woodhouse,” I clarified.

“And in what sequence do you read these books?” he showed interest. I explained.

Then we talked about something else for half an hour.

While leaving, he suddenly remembered that I was simultaneously reading three different books in three different languages. He turned to me and said, “Do you know that you have been caught in the net of Multi-Tasking?”

“What?” now I was puzzled.

“You remember, when we were young, we always used to get engrossed in book, forgetting food and sleep, never noticing if someone was calling us.” He became nostalgic. He was right. I was such reader – always jumping into the world created by books.

“And now you are reading three books simultaneously with limited time in hand – and it is not that any of the book is boring, you want to read all those.” I was not sure where the conversation was going.

“However, in our professional and real life too we need to manage various tasks simultaneously. That habit has changed your reading habit too. Now you can’t afford to be engaged in one task, only in one work – you have to be constantly moving from one arena to other and come back to it whenever required.”

I realized.

Can I come out of this trap of Multi-Tasking?

I don’t know. Let me try.