The Road to Shimla and Back

This is Post #1 of the remaining ones from India. Bear with me as I try to write up the rest of the trip (where do I start?) while also trying to keep up with my to-do list at the beginning of the new semester. I also promise to return to the last weeks in Nicaragua after finishing the India posts.

The trip to Shimla, the capital of the northern state of Himachal Pradesh and the primary destination for our school research trip, took more than 10 hours. We traveled in style for the first leg of the trip (4.5 hrs) in a first-class air-conditioned train car – our seats reclined; we were served tea, cereal, a vegetarian cutlet, and some fruit. I have learned that serving is not always done very efficiently here. One guy would first hand us each our tea cups, then another one would come by with the hot water. One would first give us our bowl of cereal and a second one would pour the hot milk. Sure makes for job generation. The second leg of the trip was far less comfortable but far more exciting. We took a toy (narrow-gauge) train from the city of Kalka that wound its way slowly up the mountainside, through a total of 103 tunnels in a little over 5.5 hours. Before we even boarded, I noticed the segregation – foreigners were directed towards one car, locals towards another. Our porters (who accosted us as soon as we exited the previous train) were very eager to put our luggage on board before we had even bought tickets. And only my classmate’s extremely firm and loud “No, stop!” cut short their crusade to hoist all of our luggage through one of the train windows. I think we boarded one minute short of the train leaving. Our car was filled with Brits going on a motorcycle tour of the northeastern part of the state. They had already taken up most of the space on the two-person benches (which in all honesty were not made to fit two people comfortably), so we had to squeeze next to some of them and try not to dwell too much on the fact that we would have to ride like that for more than five hours. As the train chugged along, the scenery that opened up definitely kept my mind off the uncomfortable seats. Small towns perched vertically on the mountainside; the air became fresher and cooler the longer we traveled; pine and other evergreen trees soon started appearing; and the sight of the railway tracks zigzagging up the mountain was certainly impressive. It was hard to believe that this was still India for it defied any and all images and descriptions of what I had ever thought to be India.

Shimla is located at an altitude of 2159 meters in the foothills of the Himalayas. At first sight, and in comparison to Delhi, the town seemed almost serene – the fresh air and greenery lent it a very different feel. The town is built vertically with roads winding their way between the different levels and series of stairs connecting them. Going on foot makes for a significant cardiovascular endeavor. The terrain also adds a tinge of scariness to driving (or being driven) on Shimla’s roads. Drivers break suddenly at sharp turns, overtake while honking wildly (to signal their approach to anyone coming from the opposite side around the bend), and are not too concerned about passengers’ proneness to motion sickness. The most amazing thing to me is that amidst all of this, pedestrians walk slowly and calmly on the side of the road (there are no sidewalks) and don’t move a muscle during all the honking taking place around them, while I would continually get startled. Often they don’t even move to the side for passing vehicles. Somehow they seem confident that drivers will look out for them (why or how I am still to find out).

Our goal while in Shimla was to talk to the Principal Secretary of Health for Himachal Pradesh and his staff and potentially visit some health centers and villages in more remote areas of the state. We did both the office and field visits and while I won’t get into the details of those (since I am not sure everyone is interested in my school project), I will try to note the things that struck me over the week spent in Himachal.

1. People are extremely welcoming. The feeling that people are trying to take advantage of you and potentially rip you off disappears once you leave the mainstream tourist trail. I didn’t get a sense of that once while we were in Shimla and the surrounding area. Himachal Pradesh is also one of the better off states in India – we didn’t see any beggars and the streets seemed much cleaner than most places in Delhi. Everyone we spoke with met us graciously, offered us tea multiple times (tea-drinking is actually an inseparable part of the meeting process and it would appear rude to refuse it although often times this meant that we would spend way more time than we had anticipated with a given group of people), and seemed to want to help us in any way possible. Women are especially sweet and gentle. Given that they often come second (see next section), they have this shy look about them, often averting their gaze downwards, but once you’ve caught their eye and smile, a genuine, friendly smile lights up their face.

2. Women are largely ignored. Very early into our meetings it became apparent that we would have to work hard to make ourselves heard and voice our opinions (and questions) during conversations. Everyone we met (mostly men) directed their attention to our professor (a man) and hardly even looked at us, the students (all women), let alone address questions our way. For a state that prides itself on its programs for female empowerment and raising the female-male sex ratio (side-note: because of the very strong traditional male preference in India, sex-based abortion is a large-scale problem here that the government is working hard to address and overcome), it was surprising to see such behavior. We had a couple of awkward (and somewhat amusing) situations in which our professor would wait for us to walk into a room first, while the Indians would wait to him to walk in first, which resulted in a lot of confusion. In the end, we just admitted defeat and waited for the men to walk in first. Even our interpreter, who for all intents and purposes was hired for all of us, addressed most questions to our professor and very soon referred to him as Sir Jeffrey while he never learned our names. This was both amusing and somewhat frustrating but given that there was little we could do to change it without appearing extremely rude, we simply ignored it for the rest of our trip.

3. Our every move was tracked. No matter where we disembarked, we were immediately recognized by people around us as foreigners and followed around (sometimes only by gazes, sometimes quite literally by crowds of children, who would start laughing hysterically if you looked back at them). Mostly we were stared at by men. And I don't mean a quick gaze or look-over. I mean full-on, very obvious staring. I still haven't quire figured out whether these were "sexual" stares or stares of curiosity given our white-ness. Given that culturally women are more modest and in generally do not stare at anyone, they would largely dismiss us (or steal furtive glances our way when they thought no-one was looking). Our interpreter was particularly “good” at following us around. He tracked our every move like a mother lioness, making sure we didn’t go too far astray. I guess he was only looking out for our wellbeing, but after a while this got slightly annoying. One evening as we decided to take a stroll in the town we were staying after dinner, he saw us leaving and quickly inquired, “Where are you going?” He did not follow us but he did wait for us in the yard of the hostel we were staying until we came back.

4. Lost in translation. It turns out that not as many people as I had thought speak English fluently, especially when you leave the bigger cities. Luckily, one of my classmates is Pakistani and her Urdu served us well among the Hindi-speaking population. But even with the people that do speak English, there were some misunderstandings. Like the housekeeper in Delhi, when people try to show deference and ask you something politely, it comes out sounding more like an order, “Sir, you come eat now.” “Go in, please.” “We go now, please, go in the car” (with an accompanying gesture). I couldn’t help feeling like a small child that was being told what to do (something I don’t particularly enjoy and never have, even as a child). Of course, I realized it wasn’t meant this way, but sometimes it was hard to ignore the tone regardless.

5. India is a very hierarchical society. To this day, caste and social status have a significant bearing on everyday life. Matrimonial classifieds are listed by caste. Higher-caste doctors in rural areas will not touch lower-caste patients (which makes you wonder how they actually treat them). Higher-status families have house staff (usually a driver, a housekeeper, a gardener, and a couple of guards). An even simpler example I noted at the Directorate of Health Services in Shimla was the fact that each of the staff we met with had their own assistant. In contrast to the Western world, however, this assistant would often stand outside his/her boss’s office and enter only when summoned by a buzzer. The buzzer button would be located somewhere on the superior’s desk. Being in India reminded me in a lot of ways of being in Zimbabwe. At the time we were living there (and I was too young to fully comprehend this at the time), whites were higher-status than blacks. They lived in bigger houses, with huge yards and house staff. Even we had a gardener. In contrast to people who have grown up in such hierarchical societies though, my family always felt somewhat awkward of being assigned such status power. I still feel extremely uncomfortable at the thought of having someone else “serve” me. Hence I uttered many more “thank you’s” and made eye contact more often to let people know my appreciation than seemed to be the norm in India. May be one gets used to it after a while and doesn’t even notice. I think it would take me a while to get fully accustomed to it though.

After a week in Shimla and the surrounding areas, we drove back to Delhi. Monkeys observed our winding descent from the side of the road. Big, colorful TATA trucks passed us by. Slowly, the air got warmer and the traffic heavier. Until we were engulfed by the craziness of Delhi once again.