in which i don't actually meet with an indian university professor

A couple of weeks back, I shot off an e-mail to a professor at the illustrious Jawaharlal Nehru University in New Delhi regarding his article about diarrheal diseases in urban slums. Basically, I wanted to meet up with him and talk about poop. (This is becoming a more common occurrence in my life than I would like to admit, by the way.) We set a date for a meeting -- that day being today at 2PM -- in his office at JNU. I jetted out of class by 1PM and haggled with a couple of auto-rickshaw guys and by 1:15PM, I was on the road. I felt like I was racing the clock, trying to get to this unknown university on time for this meeting with this mysterious man (whose picture I have seen on the JNU website and all I knew was the fact that he had a mustache).

I arrived on the campus at 1:53PM. I know this because I was checking my watch every minute to make sure that I would make it to this professor's office somewhat on time. From what I understand about Indian culture, it's not even close to a cardinal sin to be late. But for me, being on time is being late and being early is on time, so I always make it a point to be places at least on time -- Indian culture be damned.

aligarh -- the city that is featured in no guidebook

One laboratory in a urban health center where they test for TB. This was only one of many laboratories that these doctors let us - a group of 21 American college students with no formal medical training - let us traipse through.

Our bathroom at the illustrious guest house in which we were staying. I was afraid to pee most nights.

Signs for condoms. Isn't he cute?

Indian record-keeping system at a primary healthcare facility. The tertiary teaching hospital had a comparable filing system.

ASHAs, or Accredited Social Health Activists, meeting with a local woman and her one-and-a-half month old baby. The role of these ASHAs is to decrease the rates of infant mortality in their rural communities, so they encourage pregnant women to give birth in hospitals to avoid complications, teach the women how to breast feed properly and ensure that the newborn baby is healthy and well-cared for and not underweight. A really cool program that was amazing to see in person.

Cows. And the Mystery Machine.

These are medicines, actually. Prepared by Unani doctors. Unani is a traditional form of medicine that is funded by the central government.

I'm very luck to come from a family that loves to travel, but there's a common reaction I get when I tell my peers that I went to some really awesome city - like London or Seoul - with my family. It's always an, "Ohhhh," marked with a distinct hint of understanding, a touch of sympathy and a smattering of apology. In that one syllable, which sometimes gets drawn out to three or four, there is an implied, "Sorry you had to travel with your family. That sucks because you definitely didn't get to do what you wanted to do, which includes going out on the town after 9PM and hanging out with people our own age."

This is how I feel about this program. It's like I'm traveling with my family. And, as my family can attest, I do not travel well with my family. There is the Yosemite Incident of 2010, in which I yelled at my dad for stopping the car too much to take pictures of wild animals. Most recently is the South Korean Panic Attack of 2011, in which I broke down on a tour bus somewhere between a Buddhist temple and a seaside park. Traveling with this program reminds me too much of these experiences, which leaves me like a fussy three-year old who is ready to throw a tantrum at the drop of a hat.

This all came to a head this week when we went to Aligarh, a city in Uttar Pradesh and home of the Aligarh Muslim University, to see the different levels of healthcare delivery. (Let me also say here that I didn't realize that this was the purpose of the trip until the third or fourth day in. Students asked us on the first day what we were doing in the illustrious city of Aligarh, and I couldn't tell them. I just shrugged and pretended that I didn't understand what they were trying to say.)

Over the last week, I've seen at least four different hospitals. I was thrust into a TB clinic without really being told what to do except stare at the patients who walked in to see the doctor. On the way home, we waited for a train that was three hours late and still found ourselves hopping onto a moving car. Our group was constantly harassed by locals, who insisted on taking pictures of us. We were shuttled around in this tour bus without really being told where we were going, but we always ended up at some sort of healthcare facility. Seeing what we did was really cool, and I've got some good photographs and some even better stories out of it. Above are some pictures that I think really capture my Aligarh experience. I guess this is what experiential learning is all about, or something. I just hope our next excursion doesn't leave me with the same bitter taste in my mouth or makes me want to curl up and hyperventilate...

At least I don't have dysentery anymore.

literally unbelievable

Called the doctor to get the results of my stool sample, and I almost started laughing on the phone. I have bacterial dysentery. It's like The Oregon Trail, but it's in India and I'm not a pioneer. Dysentery can be fatal, apparently. According to Wikipedia, "The causative organism is frequently found in water polluted with human feces, and is transmitted via the fecal-oral route." Wikipedia is also saying that the onset time is 12-96 hours, so it's definitely something that I contracted in India.

But seriously. Dysentery?

in which i give an indian doctor a stool sample

I, Maxine Lee Builder, a proud citizen of the United States of America who is currently spending the semester in New Delhi, India is currently suffering from a bad case of intestinal infection caused by the ingestion of contaminated food or drink. (This is a fancy way of saying that I have a parasite or bacteria living in my GI tract, and I'm pooping a lot. I'm not ashamed because, as we learned on Friday, everyone poops. [Everyone. Even Beyonce.])

I went to the East West Clinic in New Delhi this afternoon with one of the SIT staff, who is the most maternal figure I have ever met. I told her this morning that I had been suffering this weekend from a fever, the chills, lots of digestion issues, and she was the most kind and understanding. She handed me two packets of Electral, which are the W.H.O.-approved rehydration salts, and let me take a nap in the library rather than talk in Hindi for an hour. That was a welcome break.

At 2PM, after a rather bland lunch of bananas and plain yogurt and white rice, I hopped into a car and strolled into this clinic. We went there on the first day of orientation, and I sort of figured that I wouldn't have to go back again. I went into an examination room and a nurse checked my pulse and my temperature and my blood pressure. (All normal. Duh.) Then the doctor, who had a killer mustache, came in and asked what was the problem.

Although I'm attempting to be cavalier about my intestinal troubles here, it's still quite embarrassing to look a strange doctor in the eyes and say, "Well, sir. I've been been suffering from what we in the business like to call, 'diarrhea.'" Nobody wants to have to be that girl, but I had to do it. I walked him through the roller-coaster of emotions that have plagued me and my internal organs all weekend. The initial distress at feeling ill, the tossing and turning all night. The feverish, delirious stage in which I could do little more than writhe under the covers, which turned into a great euphoria once I realized that my fever was gone. The following disdain at realizing that my intestines had, in fact, failed me yet again.

in which my roommate and i get an a+ for effort

Last night, I drank a liter of water that was fortified with W.H.O. approved rehydration salts, fell asleep and then slept like a baby. Woke up this morning, and my temperature was down to 98.1°F so I'm cool. This morning, I wanted to make up for lost time and by 10AM, my roommate Sarah and I were on the Metro and headed to the National Museum of Natural History. She had read about it in her Lonely Planet guidebook, which she got for cheap on Amazon. (This also means that her guidebook is from 2001. We decided to ignore that fact while making plans this morning.) We negotiated the price of an auto rickshaw like champs and told him to drop us off at the museum. Our first clue that something was amiss should have been the fact that the rickshaw-wallah didn't know where the museum was, but we told him that it somewhere near the Embassy of Nepal and the Mandi House Metro stop and he knew where those things were, so we got let out there.


Our second indication that things were weird was the fact that the sign on the museum was missing an "M." Also, we could hear construction on the inside. But there was a giant dinosaur outside of the building, so we knew that we were in the right place and were just way too excited to play with the dinosaur and take pictures with it because it's a life-size, huge dinosaur in the middle of New Delhi! You cannot say that it's not the coolest thing ever, because it is.

It's like Jurassic Park, but it's New Delhi and the dinosaur can't move.

The interior of the illustrious National Museum of Natural History.

But then we went into this so-called National Museum of Natural History, and we were confused. Like, immensely confused. Because there were dozens of construction workers doing all sorts of construction tasks. This includes hammering, jack-hammering and other things with power tools. But, according to the security guard at the front desk, the museum was still open. Just go up the stairs. So we did, and I regretted that decision the second we made it. I love natural history museums and this was definitely not a natural history museum. There was one "exhibit" that was open, but the room was really, really dark and I refused to go in because I am afraid of the dark. But Sarah did. She said she didn't learn that much about natural history or anything. We left after about five minutes, before the construction workers could harass us or a loose beam could fall on our heads or something. That's what you get when you listen to a guidebook that's over a decade old, I guess. (You should also check out the website of this museum. It's pretty high-tech, all things considered. But I do not regret going to the National Museum of Natural History because I took a picture with a dinosaur.)

But we weren't going to be deterred! "Off to Connaught Place," we triumphantly said. We walked down a beautiful tree-lined street, past the Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Iran and strolled into Connaught Place. But it was Sunday, so most of the stores were closed. And we tried to find this market but totally got harassed by a guy who was definitely paid by some store to bring tourists to this back alley place. And then we found an Indian tourism office and asked for a map, and he showed us a map of Delhi and started writing in pen all over it but when we asked if we could take the map with us, he refused to give it to us, which just didn't make a whole lot of sense. And then it was lunchtime and we were hungry and wanted to eat somewhere "hygienic," which led us to McDonald's because we figured that a Western food chain had to be relatively clean. I maintain that it was a cultural experience because I got a vegetarian McSpicy Paneer sandwich and fries. The McSpicy Paneer sandwich was fried Paneer with this really great sauce, but it was definitely too McSpicy for my taste. This led me to start craving frozen yogurt and, lo and behold, we found a frozen yogurt place!


The fro-yo wasn't that good. They didn't have "original" flavor yogurt, as we fro-yo connoisseurs like to call it. Instead, they had four flavors: chocolate, blackberry, blueberry and green apple. The machine with chocolate and blackberry wasn't working though, so there were really only two flavors. We took the Metro back to Lajpat Nagar, and I bought a really Western-style tank top from some store (but it was on sale for 419INR, which is really a good deal for this tank top).


So the moral of today's story is that we really, really tried. We did a lot of things and went a lot of places and didn't get put in too many dangerous situations and bargained and pleaded and used a smidgen of Hindi and didn't get violently ill from McDonald's or Cocoberry and navigated our way through Delhi without getting run over by a bus or a horse or a bicyclist or a scooter and I don't have a raging fever anymore. All in all, I'm calling today a victory, and I don't care what anyone else has to say about it.

it's like they always said

When I came to Delhi, I knew it wasn't a question of "if" I got sick. It was really a matter of "when." That day, my friends, is today. My stomach feels like there's an alien in it, and I'm pretty sure that I have a fever. In fact, I know that I have a fever of 100.2°F because I have a thermometer, and I just checked it. I had big plans to go to the Red Fort, but I think that's going to turn into rolling around in bed and watching "The Wire." It sucks to be sick this early in the trip, but I'm hoping that means that I won't get sick again. I also have this fear that I have a parasite. I've been to quite a few countries with less than stellar water infrastructure, so I wouldn't be surprised if I do. And I've definitely been relatively liberal with my use of tap water. I've brushed my teeth with tap water from Israel, the DR and India. I chugged a glass of tap water in Tel Aviv at a hostel because I wasn't really thinking. I definitely could have gotten a bug from anywhere, honestly, but here's hoping that I don't have a bug living in my belly. (And Mom, please don't freak out. I'll be fine. I promise.)

look, ma!

I've been in this country for about a week now, and I'm only starting to get my bearings. We're starting to fall into a routine, which is definitely a good thing, but I'm worried that the routine will totally be shaken up next week though because we'll be taking an excursion to Aligar. Even though we're finding our groove, it's not exactly easy. Our schedule is, in a word, intense. Hindi is taking over my life. When I signed up for this program, I sort of considered learning the language like a cherry on the top of a public health sundae. But right now, it seems that all I'm spending my time on is having my host mother dictate sentences about khana, which means "food," so that I can write them down only to be completely incapable of repeating them to my teachers at school. Our classes have been running over the listed schedule by a couple of hours in some cases, and I come home from the program center totally drained.

But today we got our things together, dragged ourselves out of the house and made did some real tourist stuff. We went to India Gate! And we took pictures! So look, Mom! I'm doing some cool things here, I promise!

the requisite post about spirituality in india

In the United States, India is synonymous with spirituality, and there is some truth in that statement. I've stumbled upon dozens of temples in my week here. Right now, I am sitting at our host family's kitchen table, and there is a shrine in a small alcove to my right that features a statue of Ganesh, a photograph of our host mother's in-laws and a burning stick of incense. I can hear bells ringing from the small Hindu temple that stands on the corner. Images of the Hindu gods are everywhere and featured very casually at that.

One of these religious sites that I didn't even know was here was the Lotus Temple. This shows my ignorance, I suppose, but I sort of assumed that it was a Hindu temple since we're in India and about 80% of the population is Hindu. However, it's a Bahá'i temple. I didn't even know that Bahá'i was a thing until this afternoon, even though I pass this structure every day on the Metro ride to class. 

what to wear in india

The first thing I did when I got all of the pre-departure materials for this trip was look at the information about what to wear, and there was a long section about what Indians deem to be appropriate or not. The first note was that all clothing has to be clean and ironed and without holes. But then the restrictions got, well, pretty strict.

"...we will insist that you meet the standards of conservative modest dress."

"Tight or revealing clothing is seen as an explicit invitation for sexual attention."

"All shirts must be long enough to cover the hips and amply cover your bum."

SIT also made it pretty clear that full salwar suits and kurtas, which are traditional Indian dress, were sort of the norm and that we'd probably have to invest in a few pieces while we're here. Packing was a struggle because I don't really own any tunics or clothes that cover my bum, and I'm - to put it frankly - pretty cheap when it comes to buying clothing and most of my favorite t-shirts and jeans are ripped to shreds from years of wear or pulled from the racks of Goodwill.

We spent a lot of time during orientation talking about what to wear and what not to wear, and this culminated with a shopping spree of sorts with our Hindi teachers. We all trekked to a department store called Westside, and our teachers helped us pick out kurtas and match them with dupattas (or scarves) and churidars (which is really just a fancy way of saying leggings). Here's the thing about that, though. The kurtas we all picked out are sort of...formal looking. They look pretty manufactured, not handmade or unique really. They look a little bit too clean, too new.

I'm lucky to be living in a homestay with a 19-year old girl named Payal, and she's been an invaluable resource in the style department. Payal took us to a local store yesterday to get kurtas. It was sort of like "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy," but it's more like "Indian Eye for the White Chicks." The kurtas at this store were much less expensive and much more simple than the ones at the department store (which were under the sign of "Ethnic Clothing." That really should have tipped one of us off about the lack of authenticity of those things.) But these kurtas were great. Case and point --

Cute and functional and not too gaudy. I even got the matching down perfectly. My churidar and dupatta totally match the burgundy red of the flowers, and I bought a burnt orange cardigan at the market the other day that goes so well with the mustard yellow of the kurta. My host sister told me that mustard is, "really in" this season, too. I was pretty stoked to wear this get-up on my first day of classes.

But I still felt like I was playing dress-up. In the Program Center, it was fine, but that's also because we're all at the same level of awkward. But we were taking the Metro home after class today, and Sarah and I were definitely getting stared down by some of the girls our own age in the subway car. When I think about it, I realize how ridiculous we all must look. Here are these girls who are clearly not from around these parts trying to wear Indian clothing, when most girls our own age are wearing Western-style clothing.

I'm an American, and nothing I wear will hide the fact that I'm not Indian (although my host mother did look at me while we were watching TV last night and remarked, "You sort of look like you could maybe be Indian," and I'll take what I can get). I understand that I need to be respectful, and I need to dress conservatively and modestly. I already get stared at enough, and showing any sort of cleavage would make it even worse. My new rule of thumb is this -- I'm only buying Indian clothing that I could see myself wearing in the States. Maybe not in the same way, but if I can't see myself adapting it in some way for daily wear in the U.S., I probably will feel out of place wearing it here.

Any sense of style that I had in the States has been thrown out the window, and I'm starting from scratch. I feel like I'm 13 all over again, trying to figure out what's cool and what's tacky. But tomorrow, I'm definitely wearing my good old American blue jeans.

coming home

Our bedroom for the next two months.

We got assigned our homestays yesterday, and that was sort of a stressful process. We knew that we'd be placed with an Indian family somewhere in Delhi, but they didn't tell us if our family would have kids or pets or anything until the 11th hour. In fact, we didn't know who our roommate would be until the last minute either. We were all watching the Bollywood movie "3 Idiots" in the Program Center as our host parents came to pick us up. Sarah, my roommate, and I were the first ones to leave. It was like being a puppy and waiting for someone to adopt you. Simultaneously sad to be leaving the group but totally excited to have a home, all at the same time.

I'm in the Lajpat Nagar neighborhood. It's right near a big market, which is not going to be good for my wallet, and we're only a 15-minute walk from the Metro. Our host mother is the cutest woman. This isn't her first time at the rodeo, though. In fact, I believe we're at least her third set of host daughters with SIT. Auntie-ji can cook up a storm, has beautiful long hair and loves watching "Comedy Circus." In fact, we all watched "Comedy Circus" last night. A lot was lost in translation, since the show is in Hindi, but I still giggled. Fun fact: Spit takes are funny, no matter what continent you're on. Our host mother also has a daughter who is 19 and a student at Delhi University.

Our building.

As I mentioned, I'm sharing a room with another girl from our program. There was a rumor floating around that the roommate pairs might have to share a double bed, but that's fortunately not the case. My one complaint, if you can call it a complaint, is that the bed is very, very firm to the point that I'm sort of sure that it's a table with some padding on it. Koreans like firm beds too, so I'm relatively used to it, and I'm just grateful to have a bed and a host family in the first place. We've got a lovely balcony, too. One fact of Indian life that I'm still adjusting to is the noise. From our window, you can hear car horns beeping; packs of dogs barking; a man riding his bicycle, ringing the bell and chanting; and shouting. Shouting from kids, from parents, from everywhere. We're also pretty sure we heard a flock of pigeons fling themselves at our window this morning.

I'm trying hard to act like I'm part of the family rather than just a paying guest, but I still don't know where that balance is. I'm sure I'll be walking the tightrope throughout the next couple of months, but I'm glad I finally have a place to rest my head. (The food is delicious, too, but I have to learn how to say no to second, and sometimes third, helpings. Auntie-ji likes to make sure we get enough to eat, and she's a mean cook.)

Our neck of the woods in Delhi.

what i've learned during orientation

Tomorrow is our group's last day of orientation, and it's been an informative couple of days. We've been living out of our suitcases and barraged with a ton of information about safety, health, academics and Indian culture as a whole. Here are some of the gems that I've picked up along the way.

A sign for the "Women Only" car on the Delhi Metro.

1. What you wear is important. Kurtas and salwar suits are the norm for woman, and if you're a Western woman who wants to be taken seriously in India, you better dress the part. Our program of 21 is made up of 18 women, so what to wear has been the talk of the town. We're finally going shopping tomorrow, so I'll be able to show you all the colorful goodies and what I'll be wearing for the next three months.

2. Things are cheap. A bottle of water is 15 Rupees. A ride on the Metro is 32 Rupees round-trip, although that depends on which stop you get off at. A cup of coffee is about 80 Rupees. A good meal will run you a couple hundred Rupees. A kurta, or tunic, will cost anywhere from 350-500 Rupees. Now consider the fact that $1.00 is 50 Rupees, and you'll get a sense for how much things cost.

3. The Metro rules. It's really clean, and there's even a women's car in the front. (That's not for segregation; it's for safety.) It's quick and efficient and wonderful. I have a feeling that's how I'm going to rely on getting around while in Delhi.

A smokestack located next to the park...near Gandhi's grave.

4. Smog does not rule. I've got a little bit of a sore throat because of the pollution, and (not to be vulgar) my snot was black the other day. There's a constant haze over the city. It's a little brutal. I'm hoping I adapt, but I won't die if I don't. I'm just grateful that I don't have asthma.

5. Things aren't always what they seem. When I arrived at the hotel, there was a swastika painted on the door. In fact, there are swastikas almost everywhere. In Indian culture, that's a sign for good luck -- not for Nazi Germany.

6. Delhi belly is a thing. We've been continually warned about the dangers of street food and not to be alarmed if we start having diarrhea from the food. They told us at our Program Center that they've been taking it nice on us for our first week, but the food's only going to get spicier as the semester goes on. I don't know if my GI tract will be able to handle that...

This is not anti-Semitic pottery. I promise.

7. India is a vegetarian's dreamland. Everything is labeled "Veg" or "Non-Veg," and every place will have Veg options. Most importantly, it's all delicious.

8. I don't know how to read Hindi. I promise I made flash cards, but I really don't have any idea what I'm doing or saying. Sorry, SIT.

9. Indian toilets are essentially sideways urinals that you have to squat over. It's tough on the legs, but if you want a tutorial, you should watch this video. They showed it to us during orientation. It's a laugh and a half, let me tell you. He's the Napoleon Dynamite of Tamil Nadu, and he can use a latrine like it's no one's business.

I'm still learning, and I'm still getting oriented. SIT gave us an Internet stick that gives us access to Internet anywhere in India. I know it's not actually called an Internet stick. It's actually a USB drive that blinks and lets me log onto Facebook; I think it's called an "external modem." But Internet stick just sounds way better. Let me live the dream, and I'll tell you more about my adventures as they happen.

i made it here!

I'm here in Delhi! I made it alive! I'm staying in a hotel right now with the other members of my program for our orientation. We're shuffling between the Program Center and the hotel and other excursions in the city, including Gandhi's gravesite this afternoon. On our first visit to SIT's Program Center on Wednesday, the staff gave us garlands and tied a red string around our wrists and put the red dye on our foreheads. I know this has some significant meaning, but it's sort of lost on me right now. I'm already digging this city, and I'm ready to explore and to make it my own. Orientation is over on Saturday, and we'll move into our homestay then. I'm getting better access to Internet sometime tomorrow afternoon, so I'll give you all a better indication of my life when I figure it out myself. Hopefully I'll figure out what it all means by May.