wellness

To see the full-sized original, check out http://www.hartman-group.com/hartbeat/infographic-the-road-to-wellness/full-size

more blogs!

My roommate and intern counterpart at Navdanya, Julia, is also keeping a blog about her experiences:
Julia in India

So is Amy, a professor from the US who is volunteering with Navdanya for the month, on a bigger project to do with food sovereignty:
Grow Cook and Eat

And last but not least, a former volunteer of Navdanya's, an aspiring organic farmer from Canada, named James:
Searching for Gandhiji

rishikesh

Last weekend, I went to Rishikesh, with three wonderful women from the farm.  This photo sums up my experience...there was yoga, a sense of home, and a little bit more exposure to India.

This is the view from Anand Prakesh Ashram, where we stayed for three nights.  It was a beautiful place, with yoga studios on the top and bottom floors of the building.  The yoga guru flicked elbows and knees and anything else that wasn't in proper position, and said wonderful things like "straight your both legs" and "release your pancreas."

Here is the upstairs studio.  The first day there, we had a class in which part of it took place on the open rooftop, using nettipots (if you've never seen or tried this before, i can say that this experience would have been quite a surprise to you!).

We spent much of our journey walking back and forth between the ashram and the cities across the Ganges, over bridges that had monkeys, pedestrians, and all forms of motorcycle hurtling through.  They were harrowing to say the least, but the view was gorgeous and humbling, with the mountains rising up beside the banks of the river.

As we strolled along the banks of the ganga, we passed many many monks and sadhus.

On Sunday morning, we did karma yoga instead of asanas, which meant window cleaning on the top floor.  Two of the people staying at the ashram were in silence, and we had a lot of fun miming and cleaning and communicating without language through our chores.

On one of our many walks, we passed this lovely little place, but didn't stop by.  We did, however, stop here:

Gorgeous, no?

Here is the street on which we found the shop.

The amazing view of the ganga from near the ashram.  Our next adventure was to go to the aarti ceremony at the ganga on sunday evening, which was a feast for the senses, and a truly moving experience.  It began by removing shoes and depositing them at a stall at the entrance to the temple, and then finding a place to sit on the giant stone steps leading down to the ganga.

Here is a photo of a family we met while at the ceremony.  They are from Vancouver, and happened to be visiting relatives, and they encouraged us to buy a candle to light and send down the river to make a wish.  I didn't buy one (feeling a bit unnerved by the men directing the children to sell them) but I stepped into the river and made a wish nonetheless.

The entire ceremony took place facing this illuminated statue of Shiva, to the glorious sounds of harmonium, tabla, and voice.  The musicians played back and forth, joking and teasing, singing praises and complementing one another with musical challenges and suggestions.

Om, Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.

food of the week: mango

this last week has been one of feasting and festivities (is it any wonder the words share a common root?). it all began on sunday, when Navdanya's long awaited mango festival finally arrived. the day began as any other, but soon visitors descended upon the farm, and the men of the mango orchard carted in box after box of mangos. our kitchen staff and the farm marketing manager carefully arranged boxes in a row on a table, labeling them and decorating them with flowers and decorative silver foil.

there followed a scrumptious mango tasting...

a walk through the orchard, where we learned to tell if a mango was ripe by pressing on it's 'node'...

and finally a lunch made of mangos! cold mango rice salad with pineapple and green pepper, warm rice salad with mango, mango dahl, mango subji with green bean, mango chutney, mango pickle, mango chapati, mango pudding, and even mango juice (which had a smell reminiscent of egg salad). suffice it to say, by the end of the festival, we were all mangoed out!

farmers' wisdom

This week, a group of Navdanya volunteers/interns sat down with Negi, one of the staff at Bija Vidyapeeth, for an impromptu interview about the organization, organic agriculture, and indian food and farming. At the end of the hour, the dinner bell rang, and we all left to our meal contemplating the new precious gems of information we had received.

Navdanya receives regular requests for training in organic agriculture and seed saving, and goes out to do trainings regularly and free of charge. In addition, farmer trainings are hosted here at Bija Vidyapeeth regularly (as when I first arrived). Negi emphasized the idea that organic agriculture is often spoken about by farmers here, but all they may know is the term, and not necessarily its implications. He says farmers are not interested in lectures, and so a big part of Navdanya's training is going to work alongside farmers and share techniques and highlight benefits through successful organic agriculture.

There are three kinds of members of Navdanya:
1. directly linked - those who get seed (for free, but they are asked to return 150% to the seed bank)
2. farmers who benefit from procurement - Navdanya buys sesame, mustard cumin, fenugreek, etc for programs and for stalls, slow food cafe, etc.
3. those involved in activism and advocacy - campaigns, seed marches, etc

One of the major services that Navdanya provides to farmers is assistance in certifying their farms. Navdanya covers the costs of certification and acts as the mediator, gathering records, dealing with the paperwork, etc. There are three people in charge of this task in the organization.

Navdanya does not accept funding from any government sources, citing the government processes as too corrupt (asking for bribes or extra cash under the table); however they have a funding partner in Germany, and receive income from the mango orchard and from the guests staying at Bija Vidyapeeth. Of the crops grown at Bija Vidyapeeth, 80% are saved for seed and biodiversity conservation, while 20% are actually used to feed the workers.

I was very interested to learn about the 2 year lag time between chemical farming and organic farming - this is the stipulated timeframe a farm must wait before it can be certified organic. This figure varies greatly between countries, and I wonder why a strict number is placed upon farmers, rather than testing to understand specific cases of soil damage and toxicity. In this regard, Negi reiterated that the ultimate proof of organic quality is taste - not a label one is given. As well, he suggested that subsidies need to be given to organic farmers in order to reduce the cost of organic foods, which are prohibitive at the moment.

Negi's explanation of Navdanya's activities was wonderfully human, and he ended our chat by appealing to the farmer's interests when discussing the benefits of organic farming:
1. farmers can save money on inputs (chemical fertilizers, purchased seed, etc)
2. farmers save money on doctor's visits because they will be healthier
3. farmers save land for future generations (important because youth without land or knowledge are more likely to get mixed up in criminal or other unsavoury activities)

Finally, he says that there is not a good market for organics in India and currently only 2% of the population supports it. For most people, rice is rice, lentil is lentil...what difference does a label or packaging make? Navdanya strives to counter this attitude among farmers, paying 10% more than regular prices to organic growers, and going directly to farmers' land to procure items, which saves the farmer on transport costs as well.

Seeds are saved all over the country by farmers in the Navdanya network (with Navdanya's financial assistance), and the trend is that seeds tend to be older (heritage varieties) the further away one gets from a city. Bija Vidyapeeth grows native and local seeds, and the purpose of multiple seedbanks is to encourage diversity and native plant varieties. In a country as large and ecologically diverse as this, multiple sites of seed saving are critical.

Negi's philosophy is that balance is just as important for land and for soil as it is for the body. If you compare land to life, you will be able to understand principles of organic agriculture - too much of anything is not good. In this way of thinking, Navdanya teaches farmers to empathize with the land, to read it and to approach it with compassion and nonviolence. I can't help but associate body and soil analogies with images of mother earth

He says with a smile that if one farmer takes up organic practices and gets good results, then all farmers in the area will take up similar habits automatically. Measures of success? The government of Uttarkhand has declared itself to be an organic state. The father of the green revolution in India was recently heard saying that organic farming is the only remedy for climate change. If such a 180 degree turn of opinion is not an indicator of success, I'm not sure what is!

journal snippet

always learning

this past week has been full of learning...hindi, organic farming, and indian culture. i can now say 'my name is hannah, what is your name?' or 'how are you.' i can count to 10, know the names of a few foods and crops, and for all the words and expressions i have yet to acquire, my smile has grown a few centimetres wider.




it is rice and millet transplanting time at bija vidyapeeth, and we are spending our days pulling up young rice and millet seedlings from their beds, which feels awfully like ripping out hair. i was enchanted with the system used on the farm of tying a bundle of one kind of seedling together with another long grass or reed. i had to be very careful doing this job, as i ended up slicing many of my fingers on the sharp edges of the reed, giving myself what looks like papercuts. navdanya's promotion of biodiversity is reflected in the array of cultivars planted... each square foot plot of rice seedlings seem to be a different variety, and in the seed bank there are 450 varieties of rice alone. i preferred plucking the millet, which is slightly larger and thicker and thus easier to yank out by the root. next to us in the paddies, men and women are taking the bundles we've created and plunking them into the mud at a pace that defies logic, after which the paddies are flooded. despite being monsoon season, it has been a few days since we've seen the rain.



in the kitchen this week, we have been sorting rice, giving me a newfound respect for grains and pulses! the job is painstakingly slow and takes a small army of people sorting through mountains of grains to remove the stones and other undesirable objects. the task was made more pleasant by conversation with sheila and bindu, the expert women who lead farm tasks here, and who teach hindi by proxy, teasing and directing, asking questions and offering advice.






yesterday morning, we woke up at the crack of dawn (5am here) and went for a forest walk with Jeet, the herb expert and jack of all trades. we wanted to see peacocks and maybe deer, but all we found were animal tracks, dung beetles, termite hills, and incredible greenery. before this, i had never seen a teek tree. they do the most amazing things...if you rub the leaf, it appears to bleed and will dye your hands red. Jeet said this is the stuff henna is made from!





the other big adventure we had this week was a group excursion to Ramgarh's friday market on friday evening. we traipsed out down the long path of the mango orchard to the main road, took a left and walked ten minutes down, past waving children and shyly smiling adults, to where there were a small assortment of vendors assembled to sell their wares. goodies included gorgeous and richly coloured fabrics, fried snack foods, fresh fruits and vegetables, dried chillies, sacks of spices, pulses, and grains, and an assortment of shoes, electronics and plastic goods. out of desperation for fresh food, i purchased some organic apples, bananas, and grapefruit to see me through the week, as well as a little newspaper bag of roasted chickpeas - channa - which unfortunately the farm dogs got to before i did.

finally, my projects here at the farm are carrying on nicely. last night, the volunteers and interns sat down and discussed our experiences more thoroughly, and came up with a list of recommendations and suggestions for optimizing the skills and capacities of this unique group. this resulted in the drafting of a job description for a farm-specific intern coordinator, which has already been given the green light, and hopefully will make its appearance on the navdanya website soon. additionally, i am working away on research for the urban agriculture manual, and as always, welcome ideas and suggestions!

tomorrow is the long-awaited mango festival, and hopefully a trip into dehradun...i wish i could send smells and tastes, but i will do my best to do it justice in photos and words alone :-).

in peace, in love, in wonder, in gratitude,
Hannah

p.s. a few interesting and relevant links...

Canadian Universities in India


"Agroecology Outperforms Large-Scale Industrial Farming for Global Food Security," Says UN Expert

words of wisdom from wayne roberts

"we work with food because food is not about human power and triumph and glory, but about our humble animal needs that make us vulnerable and dependent on nature and make us vulnerable and interdependent with one another"

bija vidyapeeth

How the Earth Loves You by David Waltner-Toews

One day, perhaps when you are

in your forties, he is at your door

with a spring of daffodils.

Another day he bears lilies,

or jack-in-the-pulpits,

every day a flutter of fresh petals

and another scent whispering

at the skirt of your hair.

He seems disconcertingly traditional.

He brings roses, for instance, red ones.

You are bemused.

You look past him, sheepishly,

to the shapes of clouds,

to the paling blue sky.

When your eyes return from flight

you see your hand is bleeding,

you are clutching a sprig of thorns,

and he is gone.



He returns with fat red tomatoes,

waxy green peppers, a peach pressed firmly,

gently, from his palm to yours.

You can still feel the scars

from his roses. Your hand retreats.

Your fingers brush.

Your breath like a wave curls under, tumbles,

pulls back. Your belly tenses.

You are surfing, barely skimming the sand,

an unspeakable fear swelling your tongue.



Do not speak it.

This is what you were made for,

the heat of his gaze on your fore-arm,

burning your cheek.

You feel the slack first in your knees,

then your back. Do not succumb.

The best is still to come.



In the fall, he leaves in a glorious swirl

of gold and rust, amid the chatty travel songs

of migrating birds. You ache in his absence,

raking at the unreachable pain

in your chest. When you think of him,

you balk at his easy certainty,

his knowledge of your desire.

You delight in the melting snow-flakes

that catch in his hair.

You sigh at how his breathing undulates

under the white quilt. It is enough to lie

in bed on a slow Saturday,

to know he will come, his cool palm

stroking your belly, your breasts,

unexpectedly clutching your breath

as if it were another bouquet.

Do not hasten his wooing.

He will come soon enough.

You must not speak his name.

Only when you slip life's pearls

through your fingers, like a rosary,

counting the day after day

of his unfailing courtship,

when you have ached for him

in all the little things - in how you walk,

how your fingers probe a place for seeds,

how your cheek presses to his hard belly,

how you touch the mound where new life stirs —

only then will you be ready,

the light will break through

and the darkness, together,

and you will understand, finally,

who it is who has loved you

all this time, so well.

men of the mango orchard

all day and all night,
tucked between the trees,
camping out under the stars,
braving the monsoons,
they wait
for the crows,
and brilliant parrots
to fly overhead
and attempt to settle
into the trees.

then, not even rising
from their elegant squats,
they yell a rough caw
back at the cheeky birds,
or, if the mood strikes,
set off a small explosive
whose sharp crack is enough
to make you jump out of your skin.

young and old, seasoned and new,
they wag fingers and
shake heads to say,
don't take these,
despite fumbled attempts
to communicate
that they had already fallen
from the heavy branches.

one cannot leave
the orchard with both
a mango
and a clear conscience.

monsoons

Saturday morning, I rose at 6, to a gentle rain pit patting on the fields. Finding the gazebo empty and the farm more or less quiet, I did some gentle yoga to wake myself up, ease out the kinks from the days of travel and adjustment, and pull myself together. The day was simple, as I found time and spaces to chat with many of the volunteers and interns individually and learned how to make soap – so simple...distilled water + NaOH + coconut oil (or other) + essential oil. Of course, proportions are important, as well as conditions (temperature, timings, etc), but it is the easiest of processes, and I am tempted to replicate it since we still have all of the necessary ingredients. The volunteer that walked me through the process is a chemist from ottawa, learning agriculture so as to be able to start his own farm perhaps in the guelph area someday.

From Bija Vidyapeeth, it is possible to hear the call to prayer coming from nearby, as well as regular explosions to frighten the crows out of the mango trees. The first couple of times this happened, I nearly jumped out of my skin! For quite a while, I wondered where all the mangos were being taken, as there is a giant orchard on the farm with ripening fruit and yet mango is rarely served at mealtimes here. I understand now that you need to make friends with a mango picker, who is taking fruit for Navdanya’s fair trade coop, in order to be offered a juicy and delicious mango every now and then. They are amazing...hardly the stringy things of North American grocery stores, but soft green-skinned, sunshine-fleshed treasures that are eaten here by biting off the top and squeezing the insides up and out into your mouth. Fourteen varieties exist at Navdanya’s farm...!

I’m gradually becoming acquainted with customs here, and have learned which rooms require the removal of shoes before entry (like a temple): seed bank and kitchen. I accidentally made the mistake of entering the kitchen with my sandals still on and was quickly shoed out (no pun intended!). In the way of customs, I’ve been trying to eat without the use of utensils; however, the very liquidy dahl (bean or lentil dish) served at every meal is difficult to scoop unless mixed with the perfect proportion of rice. I enjoy my food much more when I eat with my hands, I think, and am reminded of intimate ethiopian custom of feeding others, which also changes the experience of eating entirely. Not to mention, eating food that you had some part in preparing (either growing or cooking) is incredibly rewarding.

Despite the morning rains, the evening was clear and all the stars (and even the city lights from Moussourie) were visible.

On Sunday morning, I awoke with a burst of energy and took a walk into the mango orchard. Finding myself heating up rapidly, I came back to the dorms for breakfast (very sweet porridge made from wheat and cloves I believe) and then headed out on a second farm tour with one of the interns that has been here the longest. She is in a magical position in the world of interns/volunteers here, as she is an American of Indian heritage. Being able to speak both Hindi and English, she can communicate with everyone on the property with ease, and seems to be incredibly sensitive to the community dynamics going on as well. After her farm tour, I felt like I had gained a much better grasp of Navdanya’s activities, including education projects (she just finished organizing a kids camp at the farm), farmer trainings for member farmers across the country, and a fair trade cooperative supplying two schools, the Navdanya cafe in Delhi, as well as several other small stalls. And this is just the tip of this iceberg!

We spent the morning in the soil, weeding grass out of the corn and peanut fields, and as we worked and chatted, we could hear a storm approaching (the sound of the rain in the forest was phenomenal). When it finally showered down on us, we all ran barefoot through the mud to shelter, and waited an hour or so until the sun returned, and we were able to do a bit more weeding before the chai break (kettle and tin cups brought out to the field by one of the volunteers). [I should say here that chai is not what I expected it to be before arriving...rather it is milky black tea with a sweetness of enormous intensity! ] As we returned to the kitchen to wash the cups, the dark sky to the north was illuminated by the sun from the south, creating a beautiful spectrum of blues and greys above the paddies awaiting their rice seedlings.

The big news of the day was the arrival of Dr. Vandana Shiva, in whose honour, a feast was served at lunch: Jackfruit, rice, roti, dahl, yoghurt (called curd here), mango, and a sweet semolina dessert with raisins. And samosas. I think I have never had a real samosa before yesterday...I worried a bit for the health of my stomach afterward, but thought, no matter what happened, I wouldn’t regret eating that samosa. It was a pastry both crispy and flaky, melting in your mouth, and filled with potato and only a gentle spice that left a lingering tingling on the tongue and lips. What a treat! They arrived in packages of Hindi newspaper, and were set out as the centrepiece of the meal.

At this lunch, I chatted with an Italian student about her program in Peace Studies in Pisa, and later I talked with an American student about her research of water and dams in India. Another fellow here for the farmers training is attending an agricultural sciences program, and yet another volunteer here is studying agribusiness (his colleages are all taking jobs with chemical companies he says). One longterm volunteer is drawing illustrations for the republication of a Navdanya book (they are amazing), and another is conducting experiments using Neem. It is a fascinating crowd.

In addition to the visit by Dr. Shiva, yesterday was made special because it was the birthday of Jeetpal, one of the friendly staff members who can always be heard singing or cracking jokes around the farm. (Sunil, another staffperson, told me later that Jeetpal has five birthdays a year.) After the evening meal, we had a celebration! It began with unbaked cookies – oats, honey, cocoa, coconut oil – and a box of indian sweets (i didn’t get to try them unfortunately). And then, to my delight, there was music. Jeetpal started things off with a song from Garwhal, his home, and then said, you other side of the circle, you sing! We go back and forth! Well, things didn’t go quite that way, because shortly after this pronouncement, he decided it would be better if everyone sang songs from their home. The Italians led a funny dance, the Americans danced while one sang “Proud Mary” and played guitar, and the Germans couldn’t figure out what to sing and so sang several short things, giggling all the while. one person from Nepal sang while playing a drum, and then it evolved into a series of Hindi songs, finally ending in Bollywood hits.

A word about sugar: there is so much here! It seems as though every intern or volunteer keeps a jar of honey, jam, or nutella to use for morning chapatis and/or dessert chapatis after supper. Large quantities of sugar go into the chai, at all times of day. I can feel my body reacting peculiarly to this, and am torn between tasting things, accepting offers of food from people, and wanting to keep an even keel in terms of my blood sugar (which tends to nosedive between our 1pm and 8pm meals, and is not helped by sugary chai at 5pm). I am reminded of sweet Kenyan chai, and the delicate tightrope walked balancing between accepting an offering and making personal health/nutrition decisions.

Today is a day to write home about...

We woke up to the rain, this time a heavy one, cooling the room so much so that we were able to turn off the fans and curl up in our sheets. It didn’t let up, and after breakfast (spiced rice), everyone seemed to hunker down with books or games or computers. By about 10am, I was beginning to feel stir crazy and put on my raincoat and decided to take a walk, despite the downpour. I made it almost all the way to the seedbank before Sheila met me on the path and redirected me toward the millet (ragi, in Hindi). She showed me, in a beautiful combination of English and Hindi, how to pluck the young plant from the wet soil, how to distinguish it from the grass (difficult for me at first), and how after collecting enough in one fistful it can be tied up using another piece of long grass. We are preparing for the big rice and millet transplanting this week, and the rains make the job easier, and in my opinion, incredibly fun. I have never felt so content: soaked to the skin and squatting in the mud for hours, I began to learn a few words in Hindi, learned about Sheila and Bindu, the two women working (much faster than I) alongside me, and felt honoured to be out there, paying honour through service to the earth. At some halfway point, I went to retrieve chai for the three of us, and we stopped to warm up before moving on to a different variety of millet, and finally coming back to the kitchen for lunch. Food has never tasted so good...

After lunch, I changed into dry things, and was hanging my wet clothing, when MP Singh called for me from the office. Having never had a conversation with him before, except for when he registered me on the first day, I thought this was slightly odd, but went to see why I was needed.

“Dr. Shiva wants to talk to you,” he said.

“Me?” I looked around, to see if he hadn’t confused me with someone else.

“Are you Hannah?” he asked.

“Yes, but...I don’t really know Dr. Shiva,” I stammered, thinking back to Sunday’s lunch, during which she answered my question about mango variety over the buffet table, and searching my brain to remember if I had introduced myself.

Shrugs were exchanged, and I was told to sit still, as the number was dialled, and suddenly, I was being handed a cell phone.

“Hello, Dr. Shiva?”

“Yes, is this Hannah?” I instantly recognized her voice. I don’t want to draw this comparison, but I felt strangely like I was being spoken to by God...

“Hello Hannah. Why didn’t you introduce yourself yesterday?”

I gulped. “You seemed very busy when you were here yesterday, and I didn’t want to interrupt, but it is very nice to speak with you now.” How does she know who I am?

“I am always busy,” she chided, “but you must always feel that you can approach me.”

“Thank you, I will from now on,” I managed to croak.

“So you are beginning your internship with Navdanya now; I am calling to tell you about what you must do,” she went on. I am continuing to feel as though I have entered a biblical story....

“We are doing many urban agriculture projects in Delhi. I understand this is your specialty.” So she has read my CV or internship application? “You will be working on an urban agriculture manual. You must find all the names of all the vegetables grown at Bija Vidyapeeth, and their growing season. Also, you must take a compost orientation, and chart different methods of urban agriculture – containers, rooftop gardening, etc. And Shreya,” – UPeace alumna! – “will help with implementing education and projects in Delhi around Urban agriculture. So you will work on the manual. Alright?”

Was this really happening? I muttered a word of agreement, asked a few clarifying questions, and passed the phone back to the office in a daze. And then couldn’t stop smiling. A project! Something of use to Navdanya, and which I have the capacity to realize from here at the farm. And did I really just have a conversation with a woman who epitomizes the movement I am working in? I told another intern, just to make sure it wasn’t all a dream, and she hugged me and smiled. I met my counterpart intern (a Canadian from Victoria also here for six months) minutes later, freshly arrived from Delhi, and notice as I type now that the sun has finally reappeared, which is a sure sign it’s time to see if that laundry, which has been rained on twice since its hanging, has dried at all, or if it needs a good wringing or maybe just a few words of encouragement.

Namaste,
Hannah

namaste

I managed to ‘sleep’ from 10pm – 7:30am, a major accomplishment for the state of my body and mind. I woke up feeling like my tonsils were swollen, and sinuses fighting something, but feel peachy compared to my neighbour, who is suffering from a fever and the infamous Delhi Belly. Breakfast at 8 was a millet curry with a mint chutney and roti, though many volunteers/interns brought along some honey or nutella as a treat for their morning roti. Over breakfast, I had a great conversation with another Canadian who has been in India for many months about the food distribution systems both here and at home. He was telling me that the public distribution system in India has about 700,000 centres, and basic provisions are provided to all people, though they are not necessarily of the highest quality. There is of course a separate private system, which provides most of the packaged and processed goods that people access.

After breakfast, I was taken on a tour of the farm (two people took me on a forest walk last night to spot peacocks) and wandered into the library, the classrooms, the seed bank, and the lab. Navdanya is conducting a farmers training over this weekend, and many of their community organizers are staying on the farm and attending the workshops offered. The mango festival that was scheduled for this weekend has been postponed until perhaps July 10/11. I’m beginning to sift through some ideas of projects to undertake while here, but at this moment feel a bit awash with all of the newness, and somewhat nervous that I will feel cagey here at the farm. The language barrier will prevent me from undertaking research independently; however, there are Hindi speakers I can ask for help while I’m here, and if I travel to other sites Navdanya works with, I may be able to accompany a staffperson. One thing I am seeking to understand is the purpose of the volunteer/intern for the organization, which sustains itself independently of the wanderers-through. It seems as though most volunteers stay for short periods of time, ranging from a week to a month, while the odd one stays longer. The schedule is very relaxed, there are no specific projects or tasks aside from assisting in the daily chores. Yet, interestingly, most of the volunteers are well-educated – either having completed bachelor’s degrees, or working on master’s theses. I understand that there is not the strongest of communication mechanisms between the Dehradun office, Bija Vidyapeeth (the farm), and the Delhi office. How does an organization of this magnitude – a network of 5 million farmers – keep itself organized?

The seed bank was an interesting stop on our farm tour this morning for me, as it is a simple room filled with hundreds upon hundreds of glass jars. There is an impressive 450 varieties of rice, and a dazzling array of pulses, millet, barley, oats, vegetables, spices, herbs, and other plants. The policy is that seeds are given away freely to farmers who want them, with the provision that they must plant and return the quantity of seeds in the amount of 125% of what they took. The idea behind this is for farms to become self-sustaining and biodiverse, planting and saving their own varieties of seed; however, it was noted that sometimes the same farmers will return year after year. For Navdanya, having farmers become dependent on them for seed is just as dangerous or harmful as having farmers rely on companies like Monsanto (though in my opinion, probably much healthier). For sustainable community driven change and development and the promotion of biodiversity, some degree of independence is required.

I find myself looking ahead to an afternoon in the Navdanya library, which is small, but filled with rich resources I will use to gain a stronger footing in several of the issues I am interested in researching. One of my fellow interns is organizing an arts/earth festival, which I have come to understand is more directed toward photography and visual art, but I will start to practise some of the west african rhythms I’ve carried with me anyway, just in case. As much as I support and enjoy farmwork, I have a feeling my energies might be best put to use in some other manner for this organization. Hence, the reading, the sifting, and when the intern coordinator lands back in India at the end of July, hopefully I’ll be able to make a proposal of value.

such a long journey

Day 2 - July 1, 2010

I am in "1st class AC" on a train from New Delhi station to Dehradun, feeling mildly frazzled. Being sort of scared, not wanting to look like a dumb foreigner, but being completely out of place, with a giant Canadian flag on my backpack (reminder to self: remove!), looking lostly/blankly at the very long train, wondering which car to board, and how, with all my luggage.

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Realizing 1st class is at the far end, and there is a list of passenger names taped to each car, I finally find mine. Feeling shaky, I accept a porter's offer of help, and make it to my seat, 41. No sooner do I sit down than a couple asks me to switch places with them so they have more space to put down their luggage, and hands trembling, I migrate. A man delivers a large bottle of water, and now that I'm breathing normally again, I stop to collect my thoughts from the morning.

Hani put me in a taxi at 5:40 am, with a silent driver who brought me to the train station along mostly empty roads. I declined any help from porters, made my way cross 2 passageways with rickshaws and cars hurtling through, and up the steps to the station. Signs clearly indicated platform 15 for the Dehradun Shatabdi train, though I was a tad unclear with my e-ticket if I would have to check in somewhere.

Oh, the throbbing flow of humanity I saw as I waited in a seat by the stairs to the platform. So many beautiful people - I'm particularly awed by the bright coloured saris and those with strikingly light eyes. I had my first encounter with a beggar - an older woman asking for money. She followed me through the crowd to where I sat down by the stairs to get my bearings and kept thrusting her hand toward me, and after many embarrassed and awkward 'no's, she went and came back and I began to feel selfish and rich and so I gave her a mango intsead of money. She kept touching her hand back and forth between my head and hers, almost davening, leaving with hands clasped in prayer position - Namaste. Men came around selling things - paperpaperpaper! paperpaperpaper! (newspaper) - and one carried a giant tea kettle, suggesting chai. I was so tempted, but didn't want to find myself spending money I could have given to the beggar woman, taking out money in such a public place, or having one more thing to hold, for that matter.

Goodness, the second time one does this train ride (hopefully with less luggage) should be so much less nerve-wracking!

I've now shown my ticket to the conductor and have been given a tray with a mug, a little carafe of hot water, 2 packages containing a teabag and a packet of suger in each, a spoon wrapped in a napkin, some biscuits, 2 chocolate candies and some dairy creamer. Oh, and a "Magicool Wet Tissues" pack: perfumed, refreshing wet tissues for all seasons and occasions. Feel Fresh 'n' Fine all the Time. (herbal contents) The only tissues blessed with long and wet life.

Outside the country rushes past me. Half-clad and sleepy men rise from their porches. Grafitti in script, litter and debris, desert-like terrain with the occasional shrub. Painted trucks. Man in nice shirt and pants crawling past in the train station. Yellow top, green bottom three-wheel rickshaws. Veg and non-veg. Cots on the side of the road with sleeping bodies. Tetley chai masala, cardamom chai. Common wealth games construction. Dyed orange hair - men only so far - Henna? Train ride - six hours, 900 rupees, meal included. Toothbrushing on the train platform, many unfinished red brick projects, cows, colours, many bicycles, motorcycles, what look like Tico sodas or Kenyan hotelis, sun outside but grey day. Did I just see a swastika painted on that door? Giant mango trees, tiny gecko disappearing down the shower drain, fine layer of dust over everything.

THIS IS INCREDIBLE!

Monkey sighting! Big, brown, on a rooftop. Mysterious brown mounds taller than a person that look somewhat like termite hills, only clay.

Oh, poverty. How I continually find myself staring you in the face, wondering why you exist, why I happened into a life without you on my back, why the whole world seems powerless (or disintersted) in getting rid of you.

Breakfast: bowl of what looks like cornflakes, packet of white sugar. Now they've come around and poured hot milk in. First thought: ew, soggy. Second thought: delicious, comforting.

This first rice paddy I've seen in real life just whizzed by. Farm country at last! Palm trees? Slightly scalded tongue.

More food. 2 slices of white bread in a plastic package with butter and jam, listing "class II preservatives" among the ingredients. Ketchup 'chatak matak' and 2 veg options. New kind of burning sensation.

Looks ominous outside - rain? Yes, rain.

More tea.

Fruit - banana/mango choice. I hope they stop bringing food now...

It occurs to me that I haven't seen many bugs yet. Only 1 giant ant.

Female peacock running through a field. Round dried/drying cow patties? along the rail track. No smells. I am experiencing a feast for the other sensations, but so far, no smells. Hmmm!

To forget how to dig the earth and tend the soil is to forget ourselves. - Mahatma Gandhi

The most important thing in life is to be at peace with yourself and to share that peace with other living beings. But in order to have peace you should be aware of each of your steps. Your step is your most important act. It decides everything. - Thich Nhat Hanh

--> these quotes are from the front of the Navdanya volunteer manual! Does this tell me I'm in the right place or what?

I've arrived now at Bija Vidyapeeth, Navdanya's biodiversity farm and conservation centre. I'm wiped! It was all I could do to keep my eyes open as we pulled into the station in Dehradun, but I got my bearings, heaved my suitcase down from the luggage rack and got off the train. From there it was a long walk down the platform to where the taxi stand was, and before I could get my bearings, a driver had asked me where I was going and taken my suitcase to his rickshaw. "I want to take a taxi," I said hesitantly. "I take you to Navdanya," he said, heaving the suitcase up onto the seat. "How much?" I asked. "500 rupees." More than half the cost of my train ride, he was definitely taking me on more than one kind of ride, but I was too tired to disagree and so I hopped in. It was thrilling, if I put aside the feeling that it was harrowing and probably dangerous, but ultimately quite a bit of fun! As he darted and swerved, honking loudly at everything in his path, he hummed a sweet melody, and asked me a few questions - From which country do you come? How do you call yourself? - and showed me (in fact, stopped to pick from) fields of green tea.

Some things I felt/saw:

- City of Dehradun is reminiscent of Nairobi’s outskirts

- Many bikes and motorcycles carried whole families on them

- Samosas were being sold on the side of the road

- Lots of shy stares at me as I passed

- I FEEL LIKE I’VE ARRIVED IN INDIA!

Landing at Bija Vidyapeeth’s registration office, I signed myself in and a woman named Sarotta from Banff (doing an MA in social work at U of C) took me immediately to the dining hall, where I caught the end of lunch – a roti, rice and beans (hehe, I am back in Costa Rica!), curried potato, and some fruits that resembled grapes but had a very bitter pit in the centre. I was introduced to various people, and understood from Sarotta that work here is very self-directed and so you need to engage yourself in projects. Excellent set-up for the rest of life, I think. In the meantime, I can pitch in with farm work, in the kitchen, etc. It should be an excellent time for me to write my internship report! Good things: it’s much cooler here than in Delhi. There’s a fan in the dorm room. I’ll probably be moved into a 2 person room when the second intern arrives this weekend. There is a western toilet. People all seem friendly. Boiled water is available outside the dining hall. Chai at 5pm. A bed by a window. Toilet paper! It’s the simple things. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Arrival

Welcome to India! And welcome to the chronicle of my adventures here. As I write to you now, I am actually writing from Canadian soil. But let me explain...

It all began Monday morning, with the last minute packing of bags, backward glances over the shoulder, and a speedy journey to the airport. Then, there was the long lineup to the baggage check-in, followed by the discovery that I wasn't booked on the flight, racing back and forth between united airlines and air canada booths (who were cosharing the flight from toronto to newark), the discovery that the foundation who booked my ticket misspelled my name, and finally the rush through customs and toward the gate.

The flight to Newark was bumpy - and the woman sitting next to me turned to me at the beginning of the turbulence with a look of horror. We wound up holding hands and telling stories to pass the journey, and I was delighted to hear her tales of living in Nigeria for two years, and to share my excitement and nervousness over my own travels. Because of approaching storms (and maybe important travellers after the G20...my own estimation), we were held flying around the Newark airport for about an hour before the airspace opened for us to land, and were told several times that we might have to return to Toronto.

The stopover in Newark lasted a good 7 hours, as the flight to Delhi was delayed somewhat, arriving late from Hong Kong before its refuelling and check-up. Many Indian families and a handful of foreigners crowded the gate, many sleeping on the floor, many wandering the halls of the airport, anticipating the 14 hour journey ahead. Finally on the airplane, I found myself in the second row from the back, next to a morose looking woman who promptly announced to her husband across the aisle that she needed to move: "I don't like the girl sitting next to me" said she. Luckily, my other neighbours were much nicer, and after her daughter switched places with her, the man and woman behind me introduced themselves: "we may as well get to know each other!" Everyone around me seemed to be Indian-Americans, travelling home for the span of a week to a month to visit their families. There was Deepa from Boston, Raj from New Jersey, and Anjli from Ohio. What beautiful names, and delightful ways of speaking...I am already feeling that my English vocabulary could use some help.

I managed to sleep for a decent amount of time on the plane, and took in two movies to pass the time (one set in Ireland in which Tell Me Ma is featured, the other a John Cleese film from the 80s?). It was a very smooth flight, with little turbulence, no crying babies nor any agitated passengers. The bathrooms were clean, the food was interesting (curried lentils, rice, coconut green beans at dinner, chickpea wrap snack, spinach and potato with grapes for breakfast), and the landing smooth. My baggage arrived shortly after I did, with the djembe (cloaked in pyjamas inside of my large suitcase) completely in tact, to my great delight. In the line for customs, I met a retiree from Continental Airlines from Texas, on vacation in India for the first time. He tried to strike up a conversation about the economy, from which I quickly understood his very conservative views on global finance, and decided I was too tired to engage in a debate, so politely nodded and wished him well on his trip.

A wonderful and gracious friend from International Studies at Glendon picked me up from the airport and brought me back to his home, where he has been living for the past two months, and we spent some time reminiscing and catching up (SO lovely) before finally crashing to sleep. With a 7:30 wakeup, we found ourselves driving to the Canadian High Commission, where he works, and now I sit in Moose Lounge, on what is technically Canadian soil, using the internet in a cool air conditioned building (it's 39 degrees celsius outside). We had lunch across the street at the Italian embassy, and so my first meal in India was a panini (irony!), enjoyed while hearing about various peoples' travel plans for the upcoming long weekend (Canada Day = holiday at the Candian High Commission). I'm battling the jetlag with cups of tea and lots of water, and plotting and scheming the next leg of my journey - a train ride from Delhi to Dehradun toward the farm where I will be spending the first month. This upcoming weekend there is a mango festival!

My projects for the next six months have yet to unfold, but I'm looking forward to a festival in October combining art, film, theatre, and music in relation to the earth, as well as some creative activities meshing music and urban gardening. I was thrilled to discover that the intern coordinator at Navdanya has studied West African dance, and decided to bring along some rhythms and a djembe and shakers (courtesy of the lovely and talented Terri Segal in Toronto) so that I can contribute music-making to the festivities and programs of the organization.

Navdanya is a very interesting organization of 5 million farmers across India (70% of the country is agrarian). In case you're interested to read more, www.navdanya.org contains lots of information about the history, the mission, and the movement. It was founded by activist, feminist, scholar Vandana Shiva, who has written extensively on the corporatization of the food system, as well as her concept of earth democracy. I am excited to see how I can understand natural resources and peace (the name of my master's program) here in India.

I leave you with a quote I heard from Naomi Klein, at last Friday night's Shout Out for Global Justice in Toronto, in light of the G20 summit:
In this age of hyper-individualism, there is nothing more unexpected than solidarity. Let's surprise the hell out of them.