Women, Race and Body Image

Please take a moment to read this story. While we were in India we did not have time to digest how the legal system deals with color outside of caste discrimination claims. Farook Batcha has recieved a 2-year jail sentence for calling his wife "black." His comments purportedly stemmed from his disappointment with his bride's complexion. Throughout their brief marriage Batcha frequently taunted his wife with comments about her skin tone, calling her "black" among other things. Within two months of the marriage, Syed Fathima became so depressed she took her own life by pouring kerosene over her head and setting herself on fire. According to the court, his commentary constituted "derogatory and contemptuous" remarks which would amount to "mental torture" who quickly fell into a deep depression from Batcha's remarks. Please refer to the story in full here: Times of India


There are two things that strike me about this story. The first is the emotional cost that women all over the world must pay when they fail to meet up to the standards of beauty. When I first read this story I thought her reaction was extreme. But is it really that different from an American teenager who refuses to eat in order to resemble an emaciated celebrity? Every reasonable adult shakes their head at the "unreasonable standards of beauty" yet no one seems to want to call the idea of a standard in question. Why do we cheer on women who "snap back" to sizes, 4, 2 even 0 mere weeks after giving birth? There seems to be a cultural acceptance that women should do all they can to maintain a "reasonable" level of attractiveness. That this idea has resonance in other cultures is not surprising. My second observation, however, is one that I think is more disturbing. The decision from the Delhi court characterizes Batcha's comments are a damaging enough such that a "sensitive person" would succumb to "mental trauma". In other words, the legal system has now characterized commentary of someones dark complexion as pejorative. Now a cultural standard has legal resonance.

Turing back to the United States, compare this to the Megan Meyer incident--where a woman created an online identity whose taunts drove a young girl to suicide. Public outcry notwithstanding, the incident has yet to result in legal proceedings. The reasons are nebulous but it seems that investigators have had difficulty tracing a strain of causality between the Myspace account holder's commentary and Megan's eventual death. Contrast this story to the 2004 where a Long Island couple, a white man and Dominican woman sued a fertility clinic for inseminating the mother with an African-American donors sperm and not her husbands. In addition to a claim for damages for the mix up itself the couple's lawsuit also states, "While we love Baby Jessica as our own, we are reminded of this terrible mistake each and every time we look at her. It is simply impossible to ignore... We fear that our daughter will be the object of scorn and ridicule by other children, both in school and as she grows up." This lawsuit was allowed to go forward.

Could it be that the difference between these two cases is that where a person can identify what society would deem a "flaw" then the legal system is prepared to offer means to reparations? The effect is that rather than responding to the emotional damage caused by the reactions to this characterization--the characterization is thus reinforced. No one denies the tragedy of these stories, but few decry the social conventions that allow them to go forward.

Coming Home

We left India last Thursday and arrived in New York early Friday morning. Sadly I don't have the words to summarize the profound personal changes this trip engendered. I can, however, summarize what I have learned about identity and empowerment. India is at the cusp of its full-scale introduction to the global stage. What image will it present---the world's greatest democracy or a bloated bureaucracy sagging under the weight of generations of inequality?
Having seen the complexity of Indian nationalism and Dalit consciousness I believe that Professor Crenshaw is right in describing now as the moment where Dalit identity can break through. One thing that is certain is that India is aware of that moment. Green initiatives have swept through the country and roadsigns are increasingly multi-lingual, even though the British left India almost sixty years ago. The Dalit leadership can take this moment of awareness to show the discrepancy of their marginalization when compared to India's public narrative of inclusion. This may be the catalyst that galvanizes the scattered Dalit leadership to form a cohesive movement. When I spoke to David before I left, he questioned whether or not he should stay at DSK. I compared his position to being in Montgomery in 1955. In that instance, the struggle of the African Americans became nationally relevant. One of the greatest tragedies of the Dalit struggle is the fact that up through now their suffering is denied, suppressed and ignored. Activist have an opportunity on the eve of India's global introduction to bring their cause to light.

Insights in the Village

Today, we accompanied Dinesh Solanki, one of the Navsarjan Trust workers who focuses on land issue rights on a trip to his village, about 115 km away from DSK, as well as to a smaller village where he has worked tirelessly to help some of the residents receive land that was rightfully theirs, but had been seized or encroached upon by higher-caste members, and with such land, improve their status in life, and that of their families as well. Dinesh was a wonderful host, explaining in great detail how he came to be involved with Navsarjan, how he has worked on issues ranging from manual scavenging to women’s rights to rallying for Dalit legal rights, and how his entire perception of how to fight for change in the status of Dalit rights and views on the need for education and empowerment of women has completely changed since he met Martin.

Camila and I were welcomed into Dinesh’s home in Sayla, a town of approximately 17,000 residents, but whom are divided into different neighborhoods based on caste status. Dinesh has worked hard to ensure that his area has been equipped with running water and electricity, and when he is not present, his wife, Neetu, makes sure to call and complain when the lights go out or the water’s not running, and make sure that it is fixed.

Meeting the women in Dinesh’s life, particularly his wife, daughter and neighbor, was very inspiring- I will being using some of their thoughts and experiences in my paper, but I wanted to focus on Dinesh’s wife for the purposes of this post in order to give some insights into her life and role in both her family and the community.. Although a little reticent as first, Dinesh’s wife, Neetu, soon opened up to us, and was argumentative, opinionated, and even teased me a bit about my inability to eat her (delicious but) amazingly spicy food. She runs the bhimshala in this village, and has been doing so for a number a years, a program established by the Navsarjan Trust and directed towards Dalit primary school children, in which they come to the house and take part in cultural activities, discussions about the discrimination they’ve faced, and are given books to read on a variety of issues, including four written by Martin teaching them such necessities as how to treat women with equality and to be proud of their caste status. Additionally, both Dinesh and she work together to cook meals, eat together, and clean the dishes together as well. She has also stood her ground when people have tried to discriminate against her- for example, she told us a story about how a higher-caste woman came to get water from a tap near their house, and before she took water, she tried to wash it so it wouldn’t be “unclean.” Neetu stepped out of the house and told her she could not do so, and if that is how she felt, she could go get water from somewhere else. The woman now comes to get water, with no thought of washing the tap. I admired Neetu’s determination and self-confidence in demanding equality both in terms of caste and gender.

However, during one of our interviews, I turned from Neetu to listen to Dinesh speaking. During the same moment in time, a man walked into a room, a friend of the family but not a relative. When I turned back towards Neetu as I was translating Dinesh’s statement into English for Camila, I was startled to see her with her entire face covered. It was almost as if she’d disappeared from the room. Seeing that occur shows me that even in this incredibly progressive household, there are still cultural stereotypes regarding women and their positions in society, that come from outside the family and continue to prevail in terms of her actions. It simply showcases that although progress has been made, there are still battles that must continue to be fought.

This morning, we had the opportunity to speak to Martin about our incredible experiences while at DSK and ask him several questions about the goals of the Navsarjan Trust in the future. He perhaps best encapsulated all of our thoughts, observations, and visions for the future by acknowledging that much had been accomplished and circumstances had definitely improved for so many people but “there is still more to be done.” That idea, that sentiment, has been echoed by Dinesh, by the women we met, the men who had been granted land, and provides hope and assurance that the movement will continue to grow, gaining momentum and victories along the way, until discrimination based on both caste and gender is truly eradicated- an admittedly lofty goal, but after being here for several days, meeting the leaders of this movement and seeing the effects of their hard work and dedication to their causes, I am inspired to think that someday, it can happen.

Make New Friends

By Ehi

The immersion portion of my methodology concluded today. In the two days I spent observing the relationship between R and C, I feel comfortable saying that they are at the very least for a team. They assist each other with assignments and C will often fetch materials for R, while R Part of what we are doing here is establishing the groundwork for new relationships among scholars, so I thought it was fitting that my research allowed me to witness the teamwork dynamics of the two girls. Both are disabled but in observing them, they share common interests and the same sense of humor. We soon discovered that I too, shared a keen interest in tailoring and when my English could break through, a sense of humor.

This realization was put to the test when, Noopur and Camila had been delayed in returning to DSK. I had asked Noopur to translate a few questions for R and C for me, but with them not around, I would have to improvise a solution. I recruited David, an American on a fellowship here and Indu, an instructor in videography here. David speaks some Gujarati and Indu speaks some English, so between the two of them, we could patch together a conversation. After dinner, R, C, David, Indu and I gathered around one of the meal tables. Once we sat down, we looked around at each other solemnly before bursting out laughing. The conversation that followed contained nine minutes of anectodes and revelations interspersed with the universal language of laughter. As it turns out, R and C had been at a hostel for disabled girls in Ahemdabad together. They were reunited at DSK in pure coincidence. Since then the two have been inseparable. After our interview, David, Indu and I walked down the road to buy Fanta. I counted the stars in the night sky while the two of them settled into the rhythm of conversation of two old friends. I smiled at the sight of the small Dalit woman and the American man. While the sight of the two of them would appear strange the sum total of that evening—their conversation, the still heat of the night, the open road and inky black sky helped draw a complete picture. We sat in front of the store while a the shopkeepers wife finished making that evening's chipati. Once again I was struck by the mix of familiar and foreign elements around me; I held a Sprite in my hand while I strained to pick up snatches of Gujarati gossip. David and I complained compared wild dogs to pigeons back home. I teased Indu about her name, which means moon in Hindu. However when pronounced with an extra emphasis on the "d" it can mean egg. The three of us doubled over at the various puns we assembled and I realized that in this short time I have made friends. In overcoming all that I did not share with the men and women I have met here, I can now see all that I do. I hope that future scholars can do the same. If they can, they have an extraordinary experience ahead of them.

"Your Village, My Village

Noopur and I headed to Kataria School, another project of the Navsarjan Trust in the Indian state of Gujarat. At Kataria school, students who are now in 5th from 8th grade received us with enthusiasm and curiosity. Six girls patiently sat in front of us and a recorder to talk about their experiences as Dalit children. After interviewing Dalit adult and teenager females, it was time for the kids. Similar tales of discrimination were told: Dalit children have to sit on the back of the classroom, cannot participate, have to clean the toilets while upper caste children play. Different answers, however, were given to us when we asked them to describe their future: while Dalit women could not conceive the possibility of a life that is independent of marriage, a life takes them to live in a single apartment, for example, Dalit teenagers painted their dream as one of social and economic independence. Dalit teenagers, however, different from Dalit children, could not believe that their dreams were likely to happen. Dalit female children dreamed about being pilots, collectors, policewomen, and teachers. The idea of marriage was refused with a unanimous chorus. The idea of any kind of discrimination based on caste and/or gender was not a naturalized one, but a reality contested with great articulation. I can not think of such mature identity-type of articulation coming from kids in my home country, Brazil.

After leaving the office for lunch and masala chai, children sang songs in English, touched us, kissed us and asked us questions. The questions for me were about my name and my village. My village, I told them, is far away. In my village there is a rainforest; there are about 200 million people; there are poor and rich; there are the ones who, as the Dalit, suffer discrimination, which is color-coded; whichprevents Black pride from flourishing; which is a cause for economic deprivation. In my village, I told them, there is a Northeastern corner where food has not arrived; where rain never comes; where schools such Kataria do not exist; where the roads do not find their way.

As I kept thinking about the remote corners of the "Brasil Sertanejo" (the in-land Northeastern Brazil) I was thinking that the sertanejo children face a similar type of social pressure, racial stereotyping, and stigmatization. If they stay where they were born, they will probably remain illiterate even if attending school in the little villages; if they migrate to the bigger cities (generally, São Paulo, Belo Horizonte, or Rio de Janeiro,) they are likely to join the group of Afro-Brazilian kids who attend public schools, which, like the Indian governmental counter-parts, do not prepare kids to equally compete and succeed. These schools rather take on the national project of naturalizing hierarchy and impinging in lower-caste kids low-self
esteem and passiveness.

Like the Dalits in governmental schools, Brazilian kids will likely not learn how to ascertain their rights as "Sertanejos" or "Afro-Brazilians" or "Indians." Identity-building is certainly foreign
for the young Brazilians, especially the ones who are lost amongst extreme poverty.

The Gujarati kids who attend Kataria arrived there with clothes and slippers; they probably arrived there, however, with their sense of self torn by previous discriminatory experiences that are rather more blunt than the Brazilian ones. Caste discrimination and untouchability practices infiltrate not only the villages, but government institutions: Dalit kids in public schools are used to clean dry and wet toilets, while Dalit adults are until these days responsible for cleaning toilets in public buildings for very low-paid wages.

Brazilian kids from the Northeast ( and here I am referring specifically to the region called Sertão Nordestino) arrive to village schools without shoes, without food on their stomachs, but with a life that perhaps is marked by racial and ethnic discrimination by abandonment and by lack of identity and pride. The lives of those kids are of almost total exclusion, where no interaction with other people is available. Despite the fact, therefore, that the nature of exclusion is different, Brazilian kids – I speculate—could benefit tremendously from the same remedies conceptualized and applied by the organizations here in Gujarat. Not only food on the table is needed, but especially the building of skills, the building of a sense of self, a sense of importance and resilience.

As I head out to catch the bus with Noopur and our insightful guide Jalpa, I really felt I should go back to my village. I should go back to my village while the momentum is there. My village now struggles to implement programs for equality, it recognizes and fights discrimination. As the efforts of the village called India are still far from remedying the situation of the Dalits, NGOs' mobilization pushes the efforts towards change. The Brazil Village concentrates its efforts in the Southern population, which has been key for the incremental inclusion of Afro Brazilians. Nonetheless, Brazil's undertaking is still far from reaching all of its remote corners and entrenched problems, one of them being the abandonment of one of its peoples, the Northeasterners.

Perhaps it is time to test the replicability of empowerment initiatives successfully conceptualized and implemented by the Dalit Empowerment Center and Kataria school in Brazil. Certain regions of Brazil such as the in-land northeast have similar characteristics: high concentration of land ownership at the hands of the white upper class, institutional abandonment, and a very distinct group of people who similarly to the Dalits have suffered from targeted discrimination, stereotyping, stigmatization, economic deprivation and social exclusion. Despite of the anecdotal and rather superficial nature of this analysis, it tells us that the predicate for exclusion
of Dalits and Northeasters are close enough to justify the use of successful remedial ideas interchangeably.

"A Two-Men-Made Village!"

Dinesh is one of the coordinators of the Land Rights' Army. This is what we were told yesterday before we met him. Noopur and I headed to our interview with Ganesh at about 8:00 am without being sure about what would happen. We both prepared specific questions about land right's issues, made comparisons with the situation in Brazil and imagined a very targeted conversation.

As we are outside the Center's administrative offices waiting for our meeting, we see Martin Macwan, who had just come back from Nepal. We pinned him down with all our strength and enthusiasm and sat for chai. Martin asked us about our experiences at DSK and kindly answered our questions about the future of the Trust and the many projects it holds, including DSK and Kataria School. Martin explained that his dream is to be able to offer programs for Dalit children from 5 to 17 years of age in a very intensive room-and-board fashion so that accompaniment, kinship, identity building, and real empowerment can happen along with quality education. Martin says that if the Trust stays with a child for those many years, after that, they should be
ready, and there is nothing else he can do.

After learning about future undertakings, we asked Martin to tell us more about some specific issues, which resonated with our group during our stay at DSK. For instance, issues of reconciling secularism and gender equality with parents' expectations and community perceptions surfaced. In regards to the former, Martin says that parents do not realize the secular nature of the institution. The lack of religious affiliation even works as an advantage given the fact that religion is one of the most overarching factors into the equation of exclusion that has marginalized Dalits. On the other hand, the latter, gender, has been a constant exercise of balance: finding procedures and approaches to promote as much gender equality as possible in ways that parents and girls alike are safe and comfortable in regards to the politics of the institution. Practical measures include to separate the hostel of boys and girls and to have them sit in separate tables during lunch. It also includes to give boys and girls specific time and places to be together such as in classes and morning exercise sessions.

At this point, Dinesh, the land rights coordinator arrived in the room. Martin left us, and we started our journey with another great leader. While Martin is the inspiration for ALL the people we have met here and in the villages, Dinesh is the inspiration for the villagers of Sayla. He is one of the 25 men and women elected by the people as councilmen of the Village. He is considered the chief officer. Dinesh coordinates the efforts on the distribution and possession of government mandates for land ownership by the Dalits and, at the same time, he makes sure that "his" village improves fast and with less caste-discrimination. He is fighting for better schools (two big schools are being constructed and when asked about who will supervise the teachers to make sure discrimination does not happen, he does not hesitate to take the responsibility,) he built a universal well, and he now wants to build a bridge that connects the villagers of Kanpur with Sayla in the times of monsoon. Two of the farms in Kanpur are run by Valmikis, the lowest caste into the hierarchy. Dinesh and the Land Rights Army were able to fight encroachment and give them land. These two families which 10 years ago lived off of manual scavenging are now farming land and selling agricultural products for the same price as anyone else in Kanpur and Sayla.

Dinesh walks around the village center with us showing the new developments; he walks towards inclusion and integration even if Muslims, Dalits and Non-Dalits are still spatially segregated. Interestingly enough, despite housing segregation, Dalits and non-Dalits shop, go to school, dine with each other. In the village of Sayla, women and men share responsibilities inside and outside their homes, and because of the courage of one brave female laborer, women and men make the same amount of money in all occupations despite of construction. Noopur and I did see some signs that reminded us of the many gender problems that have shocked us until this day and that are part of the discourse of females of all ages. Examples include the usage of the head scarf in front of male strangers, and the gender dynamics when males and females share the same room: women would not answer our questions without the interference of their men. Still, the types of gender imbalances we experienced seemed to be closer to the realm of acceptable cultural differences and not unacceptable violations of basic rights.

The village of Sayla has changed over the past 10 years, a mark that correlates with the beginning of the activities of the Trust and institutional work of Martin Macwan in Gujarat. Martin is creating a network of leaders like Dinesh who share his gender and caste sensibility and have the skills to spread such sentiment throughout a whole community. This work has not been easy and is far away from being completed. Small victories have been collected such as the fact that waste land in the last 5 years have been given in the largest number to Dalits and that all land titles given to Dalits in the reform of 1962 became actual possessions by 1995. Other victories include the building of quality Dalit schools, litigation of several cases in regards to abuse against Dalit women, and the implementation of a Video Unit, which screens documentaries on issues of public interest in more than 400 villages every week.

The victories in the rural area, however, do not overshadow the difficulties in the cities. While land ownership has served as a way of empowering and equipping Dalits for a life with more infra-structure and less discrimination, the plight of Dalits in the cities have not been discussed as much at the grassroots level. There are different problems in the city caused by caste hierarchy that are labeled more as a result of urban poverty than of untouchability. Nonetheless, Dinesh, the man who "owns" a village and built a universal water well just beside his house is aware of the challenge in the cities. He also says that the Trust has to concentrate in incremental changes and local efforts.

Dinesh concentrates his energy in his own village. He carries on with Martin's teachings. He believes that step-by-step the village of Sayla grows and becomes a place for all, a place where his children will cross the centennial gate that has separated Dalit and non-Dalit for decades and will fully overcome untouchability and discrimination. After a long day in the field, one wonders how many villages like Sayla one can find in Gujarat, how many Dineshes one can find in India, and how many Martins one can find in the world.

Travels and Travails

By Noopur

Yesterday, Camila and I went to visit one of the three primary schools established by the Navsarjan Trust for Dalit children for their education from 5^th-8^th grade. The school itself was wonderful, and we had an amazing time seeing the facilities and being inspired by both the enthusiastic teachers and the intelligent children. However, our travels to and from the site were a different kind of wonderful, an interesting and more traditional experience of the utilization of public transportation by most Gujaratis, particularly those from the rural villages.

We stepped outside DSK with our guide, a Navsarjan Trust employee who is the coordinator of all the schools, and about ten minutes later, she flagged down a seemingly full extended autorikshaw, a vehicle which seemed large enough to seat six comfortably but instead had 12 individuals crammed into the small space. We were astonished when the driver agreed to take us, and the game of musical chairs began, to accommodate the three women who would be added to the crowd. Two men stepped out of the rikshaw, and instead of being able to have another seat, one climbed onto the luggage carrier on the top of the rickshaw, and another simply hung on to the side for the duration of his journey. As for us, we were squeezed tightly on a bench made for perhaps one or two people, and Camila was so scared that I was going to fall out that she had a protective hand on my leg, pulling me into her, at all times. After being insulated in closed taxi cabs, flights, and private cars for the duration of our trip, it was an exhilarating experience being in a more open-air vehicle, even crammed into a small space with more than double the amount of people that should be present.

So we were dropped off by the auto-rickshaw at the “bus stand.” When this bus stand was first explained to us, Camila and I imagined a traditional Western bus station, where busses would be coming by a regular time table, and one would be able to see their route, or at least their final destination, through some kind of set plan so as to easily determine which bus should be taken. However, I suppose we forgot we were in India. This “bus stand” would be better described as a large intersection where you must flag down a bus going by, explain where you want to go and occasionally persuade the ticket collector to take you to your destination, with some haggling of price afterwards.

Our guide said we got lucky with our selection of a bus- it was a direct bus, so would not stop so much along the way, and the three of us fit comfortably on a cushioned bench seat directly behind the driver where we were able to see all of the scenery and road through the expanse of the windshield. I, who was quite certain would need to listen to music or take medication during the trip, found myself enjoying the ride, the wind coming in through the windows, and the gorgeous expanses of land and farms that we saw as we were speeding by. The beautiful land, hundreds upon hundreds of acres of it, rightfully belongs to many of the Dalit people in this region; however darbars have encroached on the land and taken possession of it, to the economic detriment of the Dalits in this part of Gujarat. We decided that tomorrow, we would meet with one of the land rights workers, and have them explain the situation of illegal land possession, and how Navsarjan is legally regaining the land and restoring it to its proper owners.

For our journey back, we simply stood outside the school, which is located right off the highway, and our guide and one of the school’s teachers tried to flag down a bus or a rikshaw to take us back to the “bus stand.” One of the most interesting situations occurred when I saw a bus labeled “Patel” in the distance coming towards us, and for the first time, both our guide and the teacher dropped their hands and did not bother to try to stop the bus. I wondered why that was the case, then realized that Patel is a traditionally high-caste Gujarati surname, and both individuals probably thought it was unlikely that such a bus would stop outside a known Dalit school to pick up passengers. It was our first time seeing clear-cut discrimination against Dalits in front of our own eyes; we have been so insulated and immersed within the Dalit community that we had never before seen their treatment at the hands of any upper-caste individuals.

After we finally boarded a bus, the conductor informed us that they could not take us all the way, but would drop us off at a location where we could get another bus. When we disembarked at a very rural village, it immediately became apparent that we would not find a vehicle immediately- every jeep, rickshaw and bus that passed us was either actually completely full or unwilling to stop to pick us up. While we were waiting, Camila, our guide and I managed to get soft drinks and finish them, select and purchase cookies and crackers, and Camila even bargained a little for bananas. We managed to find enough to keep ourselves occupied during the seemingly lengthy waiting period before we found a bus to pick us up. However, as we looked around the village, we saw many individuals who weren’t doing anything at all, and many of them appeared to have been in that stationary position for quite some time. It was no longer surprising to me that every one of these people were men- there was not a woman to be seen in the area that was simply sitting and doing no work. In so many ways, it becomes increasingly apparent that women are the ones who do most, if not all of the work of the family, both in terms of taking care of the household chores as well as serving their husbands and in-laws and often bringing in the money as well. Their subservient roles in society as well as their increasing familial and economic burdens do not allow them to take a break, but their husbands, who do not have anything to do because the women work so hard, are permitted to luxuriate in their extended leisure time.

While we were in the very small rural village waiting for a means to take us to the bus station, we noticed that open-air rickshaws, essentially flat metal bed carts, were often available. When we asked if we could take one of them, emphasizing that we didn’t particularly care about comfort, our guide first told us that they were not made for long journeys, and we had a ways to go. Later, she clarified by saying that these metal open-air rickshaws are extremely unsafe, particularly in light of the fact that there are many accidents that take place on the highway, and without any structure or shock absorbers, we could be seriously injured should anything happen. After we finally squeezed ourselves in a jeep (Camila and I had to count a few times to realize that yes, a car that should have held 11 people actually had twenty-five individuals crammed into the vehicle, including men hanging from the doors and on the luggage carrier!), our guide spoke further. “Yes, also see these men hanging onto the side of the?” she said. “If for some reason they let go while we are moving, they’re done.” I was astonished at both the concept and the matter-of-fact tone, but for her, it was a common idea, nothing too radical, one of the daily potentially dangerous situations that can take place while riding public transportation in these areas despite the existence of traffic laws.

I think this was our one and only opportunity to be able to do something like this- without a guide, we wouldn’t have been able to catch these versions of public transportation, and tomorrow, our last day here, when we meet with the land rights worker, we will be taking a private taxi again. However, Camila and I had an amazing adventurous experience, and enjoyed our interactions with people and the environment in rural Gujarat as we traveled together on traditional forms of public transportation.