Goodbye to Amarpurkashi

So, in the end I conceded victory to the heat and decided to leave Amapurkashi two days early - both Mauro and I felt that really we weren't offering or gaining much holed up in our rooms, an anxious eye on the fan in case one of the regular electricity cuts should prevent it working. We had decided to travel together for a while and head for the Himalayan foothills, in desperate search of cooler climes.

Our decision was met with understanding and some regret by Babuji - and perhaps precipitated some of the most interesting evening conversations of our stay. I was moved by how frankly he spoke of his frustrations and disappointments. This great man, who is widely revered and admired, and has spent his life (he is now 78) establishing many substantial and influential projects, including a university, an HIV/Aids project and countless other endeavours, was telling these two relative strangers, that he sometimes looks back on his life and wonders whether he has achieved anything at all. He described the corruption and bureaucracy he faces as a murky black pond, into which he has managed to put perhaps a single drop of pure water - and asks himself whether it can in fact make any difference.

Babuji believes that education is the mechanism for change. We talked a lot about what the meaning of 'education' is; what constitutes true education. We debated whether education is in itself inherently benign; or whether in the wrong hands it can be used a vehicle for oppression, a way of limiting people. He elaborated on his previous criticisms of the Indian education system and explained how there is a huge private education system in India that undermines and threatens the public one. Most teachers, including ones employed at APK, will work privately as well as at goverment schools. They will teach classes in their own homes or private institutes from 5 to 9am. Then turn up for work - and often teach the same students as they do privately - and then resume their private work from 5 - 9pm. Students, parents and teachers alike place a high premium on private educationand often don't take government school seriously - they know that they can make it up in the private lessons and are tired from the long hours worked either side of the school day. This obviously has a detrimental effect on the students who can't afford private tuition and essentially makes a mockery, or farce, out of the public education system.

In additon to this there is the problem that I have previously described, that the teaching that is done, predominantly focuses on the acquisition of facts and information. The emphasis is on memorising, learning by rote and not on creative, lateral, applied or independent thinking - the latter being what Babuji believes is the prerequisite for change. Frustratingly the whole system is set up to maintain and perpetuate this; everything is geared up to the passing of exams, which require nothing more of the students than that they memorise and regurgitate information. As Babuji talks, his sense of powerlessness and the sheer magnitude of the problems he faces becomes apparent. I ask how he has managed to persevere in spite of these seemingly insurmountable obstacles. He replies that once the process of 'thinking' (real thinking) is started in a person, then it can not be stopped and that individual will carry on thinking, and in doing so will develop and start questioning the status quo, and therein influence the environment around them. If he can help instigate that thinking process in just a few individuals, then he feels his efforts will be worthwhile.

The responses from other members of the APK community to our impending and slightly premature departure were somewhat more difficult to fathom. The women in particular had, what felt to me, like a hugely disproportionate reaction. Our project coordinator told me she would not be able to sleep, others declared that they would miss us so much, there were pressing pleas for us to return, our emails addresses and phone numbers were extracted along with promises that we would stay in touch. I was told I was like a sister/daughter/cousin to several people. It was somewhat overwhelming, and reminiscent of the way my contacts in Delhi had behaved. All of a sudden I realise how British I am. I am embarassed by this display of emotion and think it 'rather unnecessary'. Or is that? I think it is also something more; I suppose it is that I am not able to genuinely reciprocate these feelings. I like these people and am very appreciative of their kindness and I feel it would be nice to stay in touch from time to time. However, I would not describe them as lifelong friends, I will not 'miss' them per se. And that leaves me feeling disingenuine; do I fake my feeling so as not to offend them...to a certain extent that is what I do, but it leaves me feeling very uncomfortable. It threatens my sense of intergrity.

I am quite nonplussed by this phenomenon and still haven't figured out what it is all about. Babuji has explained how in the Hindu religion, God is seen as being manifest in everyone; but in particular God is present in Mother, Father, people who are more learned and experienced than you, and in GUESTS (dont think it is entirely as simple as that really, but it's as much as I understood!) Basically, guests are paid huge respect, no expense or trouble is spared. I wonder then whether this is another way of showing respect to us, an exaggeration of response to make us feel valued, special? With my English/Doel upbringing and its emphasis on being a considerate, unintrusive and appreciative guest, on being careful not to put anyone out, the attention and generosity, is at times excruciating for me. I don't know how to receive it, what the correct response is, what is expected of me in return, and probably in my anxiety, rather than accept it graciously for what it is, I make the whole situation worse for everyone! This is perfectly illustrated during our last conversation with Babuji when I express my regret that I have not been able to offer more during my stay at the project, that I have felt quite incapacitated by illness and the heat and have not really been myself. I am worried that I have not met expectations and that I have incurred disappointment in those around me. The expression on Babuji's face tells me that no such thought has crossed his mind; he says simply, "It is important for us just that you have been here; your presence itself is enough". And I realise suddenly that the anxieties and expectations belong to no one but myself; that along with my sunscreen and mosquito net, I must have packaged them up and brought them with me all the way from England. Maybe, just maybe, I left some of them behind at APK?

Anyway, despite the heat I enjoy my last two days. I help out with the English degree class who are studying 'Ode to a Skylark' by Shelley - can you imagine?! It is difficult enough in your native tongue, nevermind translated into Hindi. And suddenly it feels so very 'English' and incongruous, as whilst reading it aloud for the students I look out out at the sugarcane fields, workers in traditional Indian dress and monkeys frolicking on the roof of the adjacent building. Mauro and I teach "London's Burning" to the primary school kids and they in turn help us practice our Hindi. On the last day, in what I am told is APK tradition, the women dress me in a sumptuous red sari. It is quite a process and I admire the expertise and care with which it is done. The materal is beautiful quality, but quite heavy and incredibly hot. As I fight a continuous battle against the perspiraton pooling at my temples, there are endless photos taken of me with the women and their children in every conceivable combination and angle! It is really good fun.

And so I eat my last Thali (rice, dhal, veg, chapati - all delicious but after three weeks of more or less the same for lunch and dinner, I am starting to hanker after a masala dosa, maybe some noodles...or dare I admit it, beans on toast, scrambled egg or a bowl of cereal!). I spend my last night sleeping outside - gazing at the stars which are hazy and distorted by the mosquito net hanging from the washing line over my bed. Flashes of lightening and strong winds wake me at 5am and send me scuttling, mattress under arm, back indoors. I wonder if ironically, the heat wave (it is not usually this hot at this time of year and it to note that even the locals have been complaining and struggling with the furnace-like temperatures) will break on our last day. It doesn't and I have to admit it is with rather more relief than I care to admit to that I depart Amarpurkashi. I now have just one single pursuit; that of experiencing the cold again. Mountains here I come!