Make a Change

Dear Friends,

I know I haven't written in a very long time and I apologize.  I would go to this page every couple weeks or so and think about what I could write about.  It then occurred to me after many failed attempts that I really had nothing to say.  Things here had gotten so… negative.  When I first arrived in Chennai, every day was an adventure.  Every day I would wake up feeling inspired, excited, motivated to teach, sing, and use my creative ideas in a positive way to build this institution.  And I have felt like that every year - until now.  I realized this year that I had done everything I could do to change this place and that there was nothing more I could do or say. This institution won't change for the better unless some very specific key things happen that most likely won't.  I came to the end of my tether about a month ago and realized I had some important decisions to make.

All I know is this:  I strive every day to make a difference.  I strive every day to be honest and fight for what's good.  I strive every day to build system and protocol that provides accountability and justice.  I have tried for the past three and a half years to be the best teacher, the best friend, the best guru, the best leader, and the best therapist, but I have not received even a small slice of appreciation for it - rather the opposite.  This entire experience has made me realize that people in India don't like to see you succeed, and when they feel threatened by you, they start creating fictitious rumors, politics, and drama against you that are baseless and random.  I have also realized in this experience that some people just live in an alternate universe of irrationality - one that they have lived in their whole lives.  For these people, logic and reason are just as erroneous as seeing a dog fly.  Thankfully, Mr. Boss doesn't believe everything he hears, has a good heart, and understands when someone is genuinely trying to do good in the world.

I’m sure some of my Facebook statuses have been depressing and filled with rage for the past few months.  As it is the last year of my twenties, I finally decided to make changes in my life before I reach the big 3-0:  I quit my job at KMMC and am moving on to bigger and better things.

I have been working on an idea for the past few months that may prove to be quite fruitful – creating and running my own opera/performance company in India.  I have discussed it with Rahman and he’s on board.  Once I confirm the details with him, I will share it with you!  But know that I am very excited and happy.

Who knows if this will work out, but I am hopeful and very excited to move on.  (In India, ‘maybe’ seems to mean ‘yes’, ‘we’ll see’ tends to mean ‘not right now’ and ‘yes’ sometimes means ‘absolutely not’).  But if it works out, I’ll be doing what I love, have the power to make creative and administrative decisions on my own, and not be weighed down by negativity and politics.  I also will be completely autonomous (Hallelujah).

Cross your fingers and send positive vibes.  I need them.

My Biggest Complaint

Chennai:  I love this place.  When I say this the most common reaction I get is a look of sheer bewilderment.  People are usually absolutely baffled.  And the response is usually something like, "it's too bad you're not in Bombay or Bangalore" or "They must be taking really good care of you over there."  Well the first response in my opinion is based on false preconceived notions of what Chennai ISN'T. And the second is just plain false - but that's another blog altogether so I'll let that go for now.  

Chennai is actually everything I want in a big city:  a small town feel in a big bustling city of 7 million (documented).  It is the hub of music in south India and a center for the arts and dance.  The people are for the most part friendly and won't hesitate to assist you if necessary.  Most of the food I consume here is naturally organic which leaves me feeling refreshed, energetic and light whereas in the states i constantly feel bloated and heavy.  It has a huge underground bar and club scene that, because no one acknowledges that it exists, can stay open till all hours of the night.  I am doing something that I love, working for a man I admire, and bringing a different kind of art to India that has never really existed here before.  But the most attractive part for me - life is affordable.  I just moved into my own flat where for the first time in my life, I own every single piece of furniture that is in it.  When I get sick, I can go to the doctor and not worry about insurance cards or copays - I recently saw a doctor, got a chest x-ray, and even got my prescription medication for under 200 rupees. 200 rupees!

My biggest complaint though, which effects me constantly, is how conservative people are in regards to alcohol.  This might seem like a frivolous complaint because of all the things, who cares about booze?  But the way people think about drinking here is ultra ultra conservative - and there isn't room for the slightest bit of compromise.  Here if you drink - you ARE a drunk.  Period.  And these beliefs come with a hell of a lot of baggage containing racial discrimination and gender bias.  

Let me start at the beginning.  If you've been reading my blog you know that my house recently caught on fire due to a firecracker that was lit by a kid from a neighboring slum.  Since then a lot has happened: 1. We've been fighting like hell with the owner of the house because he says we're financially responsible which we're absolutely not 2.  Within a week or so I had to find a new flat and move.  I found a nice two bedroom in the Choolemedu part of Chennai.  The owner seemed chill, the flat was nice and Claire, Viviane, some of my students and I had fun painting the place and shifting everything over. All was well until I had my housewarming party with my co-workers.   There were about eight of us total - nothing special, just a small get together with pizza, beer, and good conversation.  At  11pm there was a knock at the door - it was the landlord's daughter.  Standing behind her was a tall man I had never seen before.  They both looked pissed. 

She started screaming, "WHAT IS THIS?  WHO THREW THAT BOTTLE?"  

Stunned, I said "Excuse me?  What are you talking about?" 

Uma: "SOMEONE THREW A BEER BOTTLE FROM THE BALCONY ON THE STREET!  THIS KIND OF BEHAVIOR IS NOT OK"  

Me: "What?  That's impossible.  It CLEARLYwasn't us..." at which point I turned around for confirmation. My  co-workers were sitting on the couch - wide-eyed with a deer in the headlights expression; a table full of empty beer bottles in front of them.  (Ayayooo).

Uma;  "I SEE THIS SCENE AND NOW I KNOW WHAT KIND OF PERSON YOU ARE!"

I went and looked out the balcony to see if I could see the bottle.  No bottle, no glass anywhere.

Me: "I don't see a bottle on the street.  What are you talking about??  There would be glass everywhere if  someone had done that."

Uma: " SOMEONE ALREADY CLEANED IT UP!  THIS IS NOT OK.  THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR!"

Me: "You're saying, that someone threw a bottle and then immediately it was cleaned up?  I don't understand. That obviously didn't happen."

Uma:  "WE WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS! NOW THAT I SEE ALL OF THIS I KNOW WHAT KIND OF PERSON YOU ARE!  I BROUGHT MY BROTHER FOR  PROTECTION."  

Me: "What??!!  What are you TALKING about???!"

Frustrated, and realizing I wasn't buying her story, she  turned and stormed downstairs.

The brother just shrugged and gave me a look that said "It's okay. don't worry."

I came back inside, stared at the others and said "That was the most bizarre verbal interaction I think I've ever had!"  Forget about the cultural differences and the possible social stigmas that surround alcohol consumption - but why lie and make up a random story?  What good would that have done and what response was she looking for?  Obviously my response didn't suffice.  

The next morning, when my students came over to help me with some of my furniture, the owner said to them, "Tell Kavita not to bring those people over.  White people have a different culture than us.  We know Kavita is good and she doesn't drink. But they do.  We don't feel comfortable with them coming here.  They might have guns."

GUNS?!?!?!?!?!?!?!  I don't even know how to begin arguing with that.  I went and talked to him and said "1. It's my house.  I can do what I want in it and if it doesn't effect anyone else, I'm not doing anything wrong.  2.  There is nothing in the contract that addresses visitors, so therefore legally I'm not at fault. 3. We're all co-workers and we all work for Rahman.  So regardless of race or gender, no one will be..... carrying..... guns." 

On every bottle of alcohol in Tamilnadu, whether it be beer or hard liquor, the label reads in capital letters: LIQUOR RUINS COUNTRY, FAMILY, AND LIFE.  While consumption of alcohol is forbidden under Islamic law (Muslims here generally won't even wear perfumes that contain alcohol), it is not forbidden for Hindus or Christians.  I tend to see more drinking culture among the Christian population, but it seems that there is tremendous social stigma surrounding alcohol for Hindus, even though scripture and religion don't formally forbid it. When I actually try to analyze the culture of drinking, I don't quite understand where the stigma comes from.  Perhaps it is a consequence of colonization; maybe it is seen as immoral because it was a habit of the British.  But in a country that is surprisingly loose about substances, (Bhang Lassi, Tobacco Pan, Opiates etc.), what is it about alcohol consumption that produces so much judgment? 

The street "bars" seem to aptly reflect the general attitude about the act of drinking.  These places are usually slightly hidden from main roads and dark - one solitary  bulb hangs from the ceiling illuminating dirty plastic tables and chairs.  The ground is more often than not covered with empty bottles and urine.  Men will crowd this space till the wee hours of the morning, drinking beers such as "Kingfisher Super Strong" and other brands that promise a higher alcohol content than regular lagers. Next to the sitting area will be the liquor purchasing area.  The vendors will stand behind iron bars and pass through bottles one at a time.  It is an unsaid rule that women aren't allowed at these places.  Upscale bars and clubs however, are usually in international 5 star hotels, therefore are ridiculously expensive.  So I can either pay 65 rupees at the wine shop for a Kingfisher, or 250 rupees at the Park Hotel.  

____________

When I think of some of the most significant experiences I've had in my life, not to mention the most peaceful/meaningful experiences, most of them involved drink... spending time at home outside on the deck with my parents over a glass of Robert Mondavi at sunset, sitting in the bustling Piazza del Campo in Siena, Italy with my roommates over pizza and Chianti, Dirty Martinis and Mojitos with Hassan, Arnold, Alicia, and Michael at The Abbey in West Hollywood, Mimosas with Maya and Michael at brunch, a cold Sam Adams after vocal concerts in Boston with Susannah, Allison, Carolyn and Katherine, and spending time getting to know my fellow Konks over Sake Bombs in the bay....

I wouldn't trade in those experiences for anything!

____________

Ayayooooo

One of the things that will never cease to amaze me about India - There's never a dull moment. The minute you think.. "Ah! I can relax now" Something really crazy happens.

Let me start from the beginning. I know I haven't been blogging as frequently as before, and when I do.. the entry is 18 pages long. Well let me warn you - this is another one of those. Sorry:)

Student Concert
Venice was one of the most inspiring experiences of my life. I had a couple days to rest once I returned to India, and then almost immediately, had to start stressing about my students. I had planned a student recital for October 5. It was time to bring out the whip. It's funny how in the beginning of the year (this happened last year as well) the students are sooo excited to begin learning Western Voice, not really knowing what that entails and not at all prepared for the hard work, concentration, and work ethic it involves. Then once they realize it's not what they thought it would be, about half of them begin to lose enthusiasm, stop coming to class, constantly have "the flu" etc. etc. The other half on the other hand, really start to blossom into musicians. As a teacher it is so exciting to see potential - it's really what motivates me every day and it's what I love about my job. I don't know if all teachers feel this way, but I seem to have somewhat bipolar reactions to all my students during the day. Of course I try to be as neutral as possible when I'm talking to them; always a smile on my face, always trying to motivate and inspire. But in my head I'm thinking "You make me want to die. What is this life? This hour is a waste of my life. I wonder how much a flight to San Francisco costs right now...." And then when a student has clearly been working hard and understands the basics, I want to jump for joy and parade them around like a trophy. Is that normal? I don't know. It certainly gives me a bit of insight into my education though.
Anyhow, the recital went well. I was a nervous little mother duck in the back of the room mouthing the words. I think everyone was happy:)
Three of my students: Mugdha Hasabnis, Azaan Khan, and Rituraj Sen.
Photos by Claire Ronsin

Paris
One of my friends from UCI, Alicia, recently got married in San Francisco to a Frenchman she met a few years ago. I couldn't go to the wedding, but Sylvain's side of the family threw a reception in Paris. I, as well as two of my close friends from college went. It was a mini reunion of sorts, and definitely worth it.


Diwali
I came back from Paris last Thursday and immediately the Diwali celebrations began. I know I wrote about the experience last year, but this year... was....absolutely....crazy. To top it off, Archana, Vaman, and Sumeeth came in from Bangalore so I was excited to party it up with some familiar faces. Everything was going wonderfully... until Saturday. The city was ablaze in lights and color. It sounded like a war zone outside - all the neighbors were lighting crackers and fireworks. We hung out on the street with the neighbors and did our share of lighting crackers. Once we ran out we realized we were really hungry and decided to go to Royapettah for dinner. We got on our scooties and left. Apparently, five seconds after we turned the corner, a firecracker, which was lit by a kid from a neighboring slum, hit our thatched roof which immediately caught on fire. We had just reached the restaurant when Claire got a call from the owner shouting "The house is on fire! The house is on fire!" When we got back to the house, the entire roof was destroyed. Nothing happened to us or our belongings.... but if we had stayed on the roof for 10 more minutes we would have been hit. A neighbor took a video on his cell phone:




If you just watched that... don't freak out. No one was hurt and none of our valuables got damaged. But how crazy is that? Arch, Vaman, and Sumeeth helped us clean up the mess - (THANK YOU!) And by the end of the night we got the electricity back on, and cleaned up most of the mess in the house.

Needless to say, the owner was beyond pissed off. And now it's become a moral/financial issue: If you point the finger at the slum kid on the street, the only thing that'll happen is he'll be severely beaten by the crooked cops and thrown in jail. It's not our responsibility because it was an accident caused by someone else. The owner is technically financially responsible for the damage, but it was Claire and Viviane who covered the roof deck with a thatched roof. So what now?
We wait and see.
I have a feeling we will end up negotiating 50/50 but regardless, the fire caused about a lakh of damage. So 50,000 divided by three is not SO bad, but still... One of the moments in my life that will stick with me forever: the sinking sensation of coming home from the restaurant and seeing the black, charred roof on the street, seeing the house completely flooded with water, and thinking "there are no landlord/tenant laws here. We are responsible for this." - one of the first times I've felt proud to be an American.

It seems that as you get older the space between high and low, happy and sad, tends to get bigger and bigger. The highs are really high and the lows are really low. 10 years ago my life circulated around a midpoint - a status quo - which was... well... ME. The older you get the more you realize how much else there is to consider when making a decision; and how many other people that decision will affect. In some ways I love that. But in some ways I want to be 16 again - where my biggest problem was wondering who I will ask to Prom.

Sigh...

Ahh... I'm sitting at Logan airport, waiting for my flight and pondering the last tumultuous 24 hours. Do you ever have one of those days where it feels like the entire universe is against you? One of those days where everything just goes wrong... one thing after another... leaving you feeling dumbfounded and questioning how you got this far in life with minimal scrapes and burns? What a roller coaster.

So my story begins at 12:30 am in Boston. My friend Susannah and I were meeting friends and going from Washington Square to Commonwealth and Harvard. Instead of taking the T, we figured it would be faster to take a cab. 8 dollars later, we reach. We pay the driver. Susannah steps out first and heads to the nearby ATM. I, with my sweater in hand, step out of the cab, shut the door, and realize... I don't have my purse. I reach for the handle as the cabby speeds off with a violent squeal. UM. Seriously? I proceed to stand on the corner for the next 2 1/2 hours hoping that the man will sympathize and return. No such luck. I repeatedly call my phone.. which.. he actually answers multiple times, but eventually turns to silent. I yell over and over... "Pleeeeeaaaasseee... I'm standing where you dropped me off, I will pay you if you bring my purse back! For the love of humanity, pleeeeeeeaaaaase come back!" I hear him clumsily pressing random buttons and then.... the line goes dead. I call every Independent cab company in Boston, but to no avail. [freak out moment]

The damage?
Mobile phone
IPod Mini & Earphones
1 Credit Card
2 Debit Cards
California Driver's License
Social Security Card
Health Insurance Card
India Employment/Resident Pan Card
8 dollars
1500 Rupees
A good luck pyramid that my hand reader gave me to ensure responsible money spending.
My dignity
And.... drum roll please... Susannah's apartment keys. [Nooooooo!]

We get home and call a locksmith. He tells us over the phone that the charge will be 30$, which Susannah has. [Victory moment]. The guy comes after 40 minutes and we head upstairs. We reach the door and he says.. "Ohhhh... you didn't tell me there would be a dead bolt. I'm going to have to drill through them... it's going to be 200$ each lock... 400$ total." [Freak out moment]. We think, "HAHAHAHAHAHHA". We say, "Um, we don't have that." 'What do you have?" "40" long pause. "Ok. That should be fine." [India moment ???????????!] He pulls out the drill and Susannah says, "Wait a minute, if you drill through, I'm not going to be able to lock my door, and I'll have to get my locks changed!" "uh.. yeah." We say nevermind and tell him to scram. We still have to pay him 30$ for coming over. We then call the management company and the guy says it's going to cost 50$ to send someone over. We say "we don't have 50$" and plead with him to let us in. "How much do you have?" "30$" "Hmm... alright I'll be over in 15." [Again, India moment ???????????!!!!]. 45 minutes later, he comes, opens the door in about 2.5 seconds, and we're in. [Victory moment]

Total damage:
60$
4 hours of sleep

I go in, and with a sudden sinking feeling, realize that I can't fly to DC at 10:30 am in the morning because I don' t have ID. [Freak out moment]. I call my parents who are sleeping peacefully at 4:30 am and ask what I should do. They tell me to sleep in, stay put, and we'll worry about it in the morning. I frantically call Liz who is picking me up in the morning and tell her it probably won't happen and to stay at home unless something changes.

I miss my 10:30 flight, but spend the morning calling every cab company in Boston for an update, filing a report with the Boston PD, calling Airtran Logan airport, and airport security repeatedly to figure out my options and they take me on a whirlwind of finger pointing: Airtran - "It's the jurisdiction of the airport to let you get through security." Logan - "You need to call the airline, it's their decision." Airport Security - closed on weekends. [Freak out moment]. Airtran - "It might be worth a shot to try and get through security with a copy of your birth certificate and passport on standby. But there are no guarantees." Ah! Finally an answer. [Victory moment]

I pack and go to Kinkos where my mom faxes me both documents, borrow 60$ from Susannah, and head to Logan airport by public transportation. We take the green line to the blue line and low and behold.... the blue line is under construction and is closed. [Freak out moment] But! We realize that there is a blue line shuttle that leads to the airport shuttle which takes you to the airport. [Victory moment]. 45 minutes later we reach the terminals. We're sitting on the edge of our seats with clenched fists because the next flight is in an hour. The bus then decides to make 3 extra stops than normal. We finally get out at Terminal C, and run to the airtran counter. [Freak out moment].

Damage:
60$
4 dollars at Kinkos
5 dollars at Starbucks
My mind

We get to the counter, I put on a sugary smile, open my eyes real wide, flutter my eyelashes, and look like I'm about to cry and relay the sob story to the dude. He barely looks at my documents and gives me the go ahead. [Finally! Victory!] He confirms my seat on the 7 o'clock to DC. With a smile I walk confidently to security.

They have to call a supervisor. "You can't get through with these documents, I'm sorry, he says coldly. I sputter... "But.... but.... the guy said... I talked to....but..." "No. I'm sorry, he says. I can't let you go through." [Freak out moment]. They must be told to be difficult at first but eventually let you through upon interrogation. By my slumped shoulders, maybe he figured I wasn't a terrorist. I was asked all the normal questions, "where are you from, what's your full name, birth date, birth place, who lives at your current address, what is a street leading off of the road I live on? etc." After being searched extensively, I finally, FINALLY got in. [Victory moment]

---------------------------------------------------------------

Where am I now? Still at Gate C40 in Logan airport. My flight is delayed 2 hours and counting.... [too tired to freak out anymore.] Hopefully this is it and I don't have to add more to this entry. I would have documented my updates on Twitter, but alas.
No cell.

Life in Chennai

It's amazing how one can adapt to any situation, environment, climate, or culture if given enough time. We as humans are fascinating and complicated creatures, aren't we? Before I came to India I just kept thinking... "Me... in India. ME? Is this seriously going to happen? Ah, I can probably rough it for a year. But ONLY a year! There's no way I can stand any more than a year. No toilet paper. No showing skin. No social life. Too hot. Too humid. Yes. Sounds like a plan. Only for a year" But now that I'm here, and have been living here for 8 months, I've grown to love this town. I've grown accustomed to the culture, even though I don't necessarily agree with all of it. I have my designated haunts. I have friends - within the conservatory, and Rahman's team, as well as an invigorating and liberal xpat community - vagabond types from all over the world who have in one way or another found themselves for a short period of time, in Chennai. I love the plants and the trees - it's astonishing to me how a city can be as equally polluted as it is green. I love my freedom. I love the fact that I can afford things here - even though I'm making the equivalent of pocket change in America, I'm able to save more money than I ever have before. I have a cat named Edgar A. Poe who adores me. I have a job that challenges me. In essence, this is the first time that I've felt "at home" since actually living at home.

Although I'm appreciative of all the good in my life right now, I can't help but be overcome with anger about the negative aspects of India living. My two examples both have to do with discrimination but in very different ways:

#1 - Misogyny.

I've never in all my life felt discriminated against for being a woman, until I came here. I constantly feel like I have to "prove" myself far more than my male colleagues. The female faculty isn't even considered when it comes to delegating responsibility - especially for administrative/budgeting tasks; or anything that has to do with organization or math. If I'm at a meeting, and come up with a great idea about an upcoming concert or event, I have to say it about two or three times before I'm heard. Or I'll say it once - and then one of the men will repeat it - and proceed to get all the credit. Everyone knows me and how I work. Obviously I can't really stand for that kind of despicable chauvinistic behavior. Group meetings are usually a disaster because I end up standing up and shouting, "HEY. LIPS MOVING. I'M TALKING." I wait for silence and then proceed. ( I realize this probably isn't the best strategy. But in the moment I can't help but snap.) A feverish argument with my superior, with uncontrolled, hysterical name calling ended with him saying "You can't talk to me like that. You're a woman!" Regardless of how inappropriate my conduct was, I was struck by his last words. He wasn't bothered by my behavior as his subordinate. He was bothered by my behavior as a woman.

Being here, there is a constant feeling of nervousness, and claustrophobia, akin to being a caged animal at a zoo where hundreds of people come to leer at you; some with childish excitement, some with curiosity, some with suspicion, and others with resentment, lust and anger. How does one deal with all these mixed emotions?

One of my students told me a story about how there was an older man, a man in is late 40's, early 50's touching a girl not more than 12 years old. They were standing next to the rickshaw stand not twenty feet from the KM school gates and he was reaching, quite conspicuously, under her skirt. The rickshaw drivers were standing in front of them, almost in a protective manner. My student said to her friend, "Oh my god, look what's happening! We need to DO something!" The 12 year old girl turned and looked at my student and shrugged. The older man gave her a menacing look and continued. Her friend said "Why should we do anything? If the little girl doesn't care, why should we?"

#2 The Consequences of being an ABCD

MONEY: I don't know what it is about this place, but I'm under the constant impression that somehow, in some way, I'm being cheated out of money on a daily basis. There could be two reasons for this:
1. I've finally begun to nibble on the candy bar of self-earned wealth and have become a paranoid, greedy shrew.
2. I'm actually being cheated out of money.
I'm leaning toward the latter, although the first could very well be the case.

I have never experienced racial discrimination in the states...myself. Maybe I'm totally oblivious to it. I don't know. But I have never felt that I was being treated differently than others, or that I was unwelcome because of my culture, etc. etc. Maybe I've just been totally ignorant to it, but maybe that's a good thing. Growing up in California, I would have to say that I had a very easy childhood. I had a multi-cultural group of close friends: White, Indian, Filipino, Guamanian, Salvadorian, Chinese; Christian, Catholic, Jewish, Hindu, Agnostic etc. Our cultural backgrounds were never a reason for conflict and we enjoyed experiencing each other's lifestyles. Our differences were an asset to our friendships. I realize in my nostalgia, I'm probably looking back through idealized lenses, but I really appreciate the effect that this group had on my life.

I was shocked to find, after coming here, that I was being racially discriminated against. How is that even possible, you might ask, being that I am Indian and I'm living in India. Well, two reasons. 1. My skin color is an immediate indicator that I'm not Tamilian. If I'm not Tamilian, what am I to them? From the north. What does that mean? It means I have money. 2. The minute I open my mouth, it's obvious that I'm from America. What does that mean? That I have money.

Because of these two factors, I constantly have the nagging feeling that I'm being cheated out of rupees every single day. The first example, is the obvious one:

Auto-Ricksaws: Remember in Chennai, they don't use the meter. If I open my mouth and speak to them in English, the price goes up by 50 rupees during the day and almost 100 rupees at night. If I speak to them in Konkani with a pained, slightly confused expression on my face and insert key English words into the phrase, the price goes down by 50 rupees, and the driver usually ends up treating me like a concerned parent would. If I'm with a Tamilian the price goes down even further by 10 or 20 rupees, I am greeted with a smile, a helping hand, and safe driving. So to go to say, Spencer Plaza, which is about a 25 minute drive, the price could be anywhere from 60 rupees to 150 during the day, and 80 to 200 at night.

The Workplace: Auto-rickshaws cheating you, fine. But I assumed that in the workplace, where there are legally binding documents and contracts, it would be impossible to go back on your word. Wrong. I can't get into specifics, but I will say this: In my original contract, I was supposed to get paid a specific dollar amount, meaning, I was told I would be paid in rupees, based on the INR-USD current exchange rate. That didn't happen. What I am getting paid now is 68% of what my original contract stated because of the exchange rate fluctuations. We have had multiple meetings, discussions, and have filed complaints - yet this issue is deliberately, and casually, overlooked.

Discrimination on our side: It's amazing to me how perfectly sane people can sometimes go crazy when all of a sudden they find themselves in a position of power. It's obvious that if you have money here, you can live very lavishly. There are so many people around to help you in India. There are always servants, cooks, watchmen. All of these people are paid to help you in some way: carry groceries, fetch necessities, clean house etc. But I've recently been appalled by how some people have been treating the help. I can't be specific, but I'm starting to learn, that regardless of cultural background and actual wealth, the minute human beings have a team of people helping them, they start to become unappreciative, demanding, and rude. In essence, I've watched the slow transformation of some of my friends here from one extreme to another. Why does power and position give people the right to treat others badly? Screaming at the help for minor details, making them feel flustered and worthless through condescension because of their position in life, is nothing short of bigotry in my opinion. How does that transformation happen?

Is this all a petty rant? I don't know. But something has to be done. Women need to be empowered in this society. Sex education needs to be taught in schools so young boys and girls know what is right and wrong - they need to be aware of the repercussions of sexual abuse and need to know how and where to get help. Locals need to be educated and understand that even though someone might be from abroad, they could very well not have a penny to their name. They need to learn not to see dollar signs in the blue of Caucasian eyes and not discriminate based on skin color. Contracts need to be legally binding - what's the point of writing anything down if it doesn't mean anything??