Dear Western World,

Sat shri akal!

How's cheese, tobacco and alcohol treating you?

Here I am, just as I expect the ideal-type blogger to be. Sitting at the dining room table, listening to Common' (not so ideally typically blogger maybe) while there is an extraordinary village festival going on for the first-ever Sikh guru's birthday outside (ok, so maybe not ideally typically blogger at all).

Ja. Alizé is on the couch doing her TEFL grammar module, while I sit here, looking out the window at the fireworks and millions of fairy lights draped around Bassi Pathana households. In tune, both of us regularly jump out of our seats at what genuinely sounds like we are stuck sitting outside in central-Blitz. For anyone who knows Alizé and I, we ought not to be here. We ought to be outside, partying it out Guru-Punjabi-style. Unfortunately, we're white, young, middle-class women, and while this entitles us to freedom and a quasi-perfect lifestyle in Europe, this confines us to the household in Punjab.

Indeed, as we were taught today by one of our intermediate-level English students who was forced into an arranged marriage by her family and beaten by her mad husband for 7 months, women are dependents here. Women stay at home. In the kichen or with the kids.They are not to walk out alone when the sun is down. They are not to get a job. And they are not to challenge the old ways. No, neigng, never.

And yet here she is. She left her husband and got disowned by her family. She attends the Mehar Baba Charitable Trust academy for an education, and truly, this chick is sharp. She has full understanding of the necessity of an education, but also of its limits in this part of town. She dreams of getting a job. But jobs don't pay enough here. It's called exploitation. It's called dependency. It's called sexism.
Damn right.

But the Mehar Baba Trust guarantee reasonably paid jobs to all those who make a real effort, who learn well and get good grades. She has a degree. She will hopefully get a job when her english and her sewing or embroidery skills gets better.

Let me explain.

We live in the charity's school. It has a classroom where students are taught English, and are now being taught Italian and French (hm. funny.), as well as a conference room, computer-skills classroom with approximately 15 old-school pcs, a hardware classroom, many offices, a kitchen and our apartment on the top floor. Most importantly however, is their women empowerment project which takes up most of the building. On the top floor under the dome-like roof sit the girls with their sewing and embroidery machines. Here, they are taught all different types of stitches, patterns, classic indian hand embroidery on wooden frames and machine embroidery (yes mother. promise). Under that is the design area, where clothes are patterned out, cut out and conceptualised. Below that again, is the boutique, where these trust-made clothes and rugs are sold, based on the fact that these are hand-made quality goods and have serious ethical value. Most of all, this place allows girls and boys to acquire certain necessary skills which may then allow them to get jobs or open their own boutique. Thereby escaping dependency. Thereby escaping oppressive traditions. Thereby making a small step in changing Punjabi  habits. This is the trust's main goal, and this is the hardest one: changing people's attitudes.

Don't get me wrong though, this is not a dreadful place where all men beat their women. This is only day 2, and I cannot speak for all of India, Punjab, or even all Bassi Pathana, but these people are so kind, so generous and so welcoming. We are treated like queens. We feel useless, but we are told that we can do many things. Get these kids used to accents, to different ways of learning, holding yourself. The simple fact that we were allowed to come to India on our own, that I cannot cook and that Alizé is a lefty (kaboo) is all extremely new to all of them, girls and boys alike. There is a clear bond forming, based on an exchange. We teach you English, (French, Italian) and basic computing skills (ha!), and you teach us punjabi, sewing, how to cook a good curry (for anyone interested, everything is still perfectly compact) and what your culture is about.

And we're doing pretty well for now. What was meant to be a computing class turned into a massive Punjabi drilling from our own students, who find our accents perfectly hilarious, our lack of memory pitiful and who at our age, get ridiculously giddy at the sight of a cartoon of a couple kissing.
If only they knew what we get up to. Let's hope they never ask...

Similarly, the boys are not particularly into english speaking, but are rather interested in what we think of Punjabi men, and are consistently told "no. you must ask sensible questions" as soon as a punjabi word leaves their lips. And yet, without this fascination for white western girls, who knows, we might never have managed to get here.

Oh yea, because while a very few amount of punjabi people say lefties are "lucky", we got especially lucky on the way here. We left sunday at 9.30am. We didn't sleep the night before... you know what with us not being able to drink alcohol, smoke (I'm gonna burst soon and ask Mr. Maan the english teacher if we can smuggle in a pag of fags), shag or wear low-neck shirts. We stayed up all sunday, (well I did. Alizé snored for a few hours). Had an 8h flight. Got into Delhi at 10am. Saw that for 2000 rupees (30e) we could get a nap + shower + massage for 3h in this spa at the airport. Figured, it's cool, we only have another 8h to wait before our next flight. We're young and exhausted. We'll be fine! 6h later, time for us to check in to our next flight to Chandigarh.

Oops. Um.. yea about that.. we over-booked it. If you like, we will pay for accommodation and you can (maybe) leave tomorrow night at 6pm. Orrr we will pay for you to take a 2h30-3h taxi ride to Chandigarh. Oh Ok. We will take the cab. Oh but wait we need to be able to call the trust and tell them we will be getting in late so they will come pick us up. So we call. But "No english""No English".  Oh, here comes the junior Punjab cricket club whose flight has also been cancelled. So happens, Alizé is cute, has a nice smile and a nice bum. "Excuse-me could you talk to the man on the phone in Punjab and explain the situation". Ha! After 4 phone calls. Sorted! Off to the cab. An Australian and an Englishman are waiting for us near the car, also on the way to Chandigarh. Our stuff is lifted in and above the vehicle, we get in, start rolling, oh btw, the ride is actually 5-6h. Ah. Awesome.

Not your usual highway ride either. Oh nooooo. Whole different code here my friend. We have established that if you can drive in India, you can drive anywhere. Here are the rules:

There are no rules. The white lines to delimit car space: optional. On the back of larger vehicles is written "Honk your Horn". Why? Because review mirrors are also optional, and seemingly unfashionable. So if you wish to overtake, if you can amongst the motorbikes, buggies, vespas and bicycles carrying side-saddling women and babies, you honk. So all the way to Chandi, the continuous symphony of honking horns (our driver had a particular honk-fetish) was music to our sleepy ears. Also, the nice australian and englishman? Yea, protestant Pentecostal pastors here to give a conference, check out an orphanage and vaguely attempt to preach to young volunteers. Again, Alizé's "kaboo" luck. Stopped off for our first (and last) left-hand-water-rinsed toilet break. I found it very wet. No drying equipment. Hm. Got there at midnight. Slept in Chandigarh. Left the next morning at 9am for Bassi Pathana. And here we are. Sitting in our lounge, with our shared bedroom and en-suite bathroom. Alizé and I will be sleeping together for 8 months. Might as well get married. Although here may not be the place....

All in all, I have hereby done my best to depict the beginning of our adventure together.

On a more personal-Jess note. I am finding it very hard being away from family, friends and special friend, all of which seem to be in times of hardship and sorrow. I don't think I can explain how much it deeply pains me not to be there to pay my respects, help, or simply feel like I'm helping. Admittedly, it has always been my biggest problem, not being able to say goodbye without falling appart. But right now, I'm finding it particularly hard.

Nonetheless, I adore this place. I am so privileged to volunteer in a place whose philosophy I entirely, sans-compromis, agree with (for now). Alizé and I are brought Indian food (which does not make us sick. Water sanitation is a big project for this trust) for lunch and dinner, as well as tea (tcha) while we give class. A woman sometimes comes in to do dishes and clean the kitchen-area (although we make a point of having it already done before she comes in, unless we have to rush to class). We are stocked up with westernised goods like detox-organic tea, oreos, toilet paper, chicken noodle soup and cornflakes (although the milk here.. ugh!). We have "the wifi". The admin-man, Mr. Gupta visits us in the evening for a small chat to make sure all is well and learn some French. We will be visiting Chandigarh this weekend. Genuinely, could not have been treated any better. Other than for the obvious house-arrest feeling whereby we are not to walk out the house without another "respectable" female presence, we are blessed (I mean that in the most lovely atheistic sort of way of course). And have been told friends and family who wish to visit are more than welcome. Have a look: www.mbtrust.org

So really, maanu passand hae, man!

Love to all,
Jess