Jawahar Nagar

Welcome to the neighborhood. I’ve officially moved!

My new address is:

MCCSS
ATTN: Leeza Schaul
21, 6th Main Road
Jawahar Nagar, Chennai, India 600 082

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I’m living above the MCCSS office in a dorm-style bungalow with six females; luckily, not all in one room. I share my room with a woman named Rikke from Denmark who is studying social work and executing fieldwork in WID and Rag Pickers, like myself.

So the new neighborhood is fantastic. It lies west of the heart of Chennai and is the perfect size to wander around town and access everything I need all within three blocks…literally. In the span of a few blocks I can: shop for groceries, visit a fruit & veggie market, eat dirty street food, drink a gourmet coffee, worship at the Hindu temple, purchase flowers, wash and iron clothes, cut my hair, drink fresh coconut milk, shop for kitchen utensils, purchase fabric swabs for Indian garb, have it tailored, be fitted for eyewear, browse the internet, party at the marriage hall, buy clay pots and incense, recharge my phone with minutes, drink a lassi, receive yoga instruction, see the doctor, guzzle chai, find take-out, go to the park, buy OTC drugs, withdraw cash from the ATM and fix my motorcycle…if I had one. Everything is within walking distance – it’s amazing! I even have two major bus links and a railway connection only five stops from the central hub. Although the public bus transportation is not the most desirable, it somehow manages to get me to where I need to be; it just doesn’t always get me back…

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I have been pleasantly surprised by the hospitality of the Chennaikers. Chennai is by no means a touristy city and doesn’t have the usual sprawl of comfortable tourist amenities – like internet cafes, call centers and tour agencies. However, the friendliness of the South Indian people has made all the difference in the world. There have been quite a few times I’ve boarded a bus with only the name of the stop where I should exit. I usually show this scribbled scrap of paper to the bus driver, so I know how much to pay and where to get off. More often than not, this piece of paper makes it half way around the bus and a whole row of concerned citizens assure me they will personally tell me when to get off. They are so worried about my welfare and that I find the right stop…and they never forget to tell me! They always smile and point and even if they don’t speak English, they will signal this is my stop. A few of the passengers will even flash me a smile or quick wave as I hop off the bus. After I exit, there is usually a kind Chennaiker who takes on the civic duty to make sure I cross the street safely – this is a daunting task in India! They will signal for me to follow them and even hold their arms out so I do not cross haphazardly. It is very sweet. In my meager attempts to speak Tamil, they smile and say the word back to me giggling - so delighted…or perhaps just laughing at me. Many times they will insist on using English when I use my Tamil, as they want to show off their language abilities and wear big grins as they pronounce each syllable proudly. The people have been more than accommodating and tolerant of us “Westerners” and don’t even flinch when we forget to take off our shoes in the doorway and pass items with our left hand accidentally – which happens more often than not as we stumble our way through Indian etiquette. Ahhhh yes, the Chennaikers are eager to please. In fact, they are so hesitant to use the word no that if they do not know the answer, they will merely make something up – especially with directions…. It can become daunting at times – as an American we are comfortable with the word no and being direct. However, it is interesting to see how they maneuver their way around the use of the N word.

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What has been most surprising is the reaction to my skin color. They are fascinated by white skin and many people will try to touch me on the streets. Not in an offensive way, they are solely curious how white skin feels. They make many comments that white skin is smooth, and sadly have been coerced to believe that white skin is beautiful and dark skin is not. They often point to my skin and tell me good, only to point to their own with a disgusted face saying bad. I consistently tell them black skin is beautiful and not to let anyone tell them differently, but they just laugh and shake their head at me; I am unsure if it’s because they don’t understand my words or simply think this is a silly notion...

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I have noticed during my first week that I receive the most attention in the slums. They are shocked that a white person would be in their neighborhood. Although I do not speak Tamil, I can always tell when they ask “Who is she?” “Where is she from?” “Why is she here?” They do not ask in a negative sense; they are purely taken aback by the presence of foreigners (rich, white people in their eyes) volunteering in poor slums. They are all very interested in me and I am usually surrounded by masses of children wanting to shake my hand, practice hello and ask my name. Mothers will bring their babies up to touch me and look at me. I’m not one for attention, although this is very positive attention and I find it nice not to be constantly criticized about my country and our politics for once – such as tends to happen in Europe.

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Some days the attention can be overwhelming; you are a non-stop walking tourist attraction. Every day there are long stares from pairs of eyes aboard the bus…long five minute gazes as if we had engaged in a staring contest. I usually stare straight back at them and then crack a big smile and that usually does the trick; but other times they just continue to stare, blank-faced and intense. Slowly, but surely the six volunteers and those that came before us are breaking in Jawahar Nagar and the novelty of foreigners on the street will soon wear off. In a country as large and diverse as the United States - where it’s normal to see a Muslim woman wearing a headdress at Wal-Mart, hear Spanish spoken at Citgo and eat an array of ethnic food from native restaurants on any street corner - it’s easy to forget that not all countries are submerged in a melting pot like ourselves.