So, I will be in India for six months next week. This has been quite the journey so far. Learning many things about India and myself, but lately have become exhausted by the data I have been collecting. This exhaustion stems not from the actual collection of data but from the type of data being collected.
I have been studying this local farming family here in Banaras for going on two weeks. The live in a home that is about 20ftx25th. This open space is one room and only half covered by the tin and bamboo they have acquired. The rest is open to the sky and the elements. They share their one small twin-sized bed between the 6 family members. They also share this small space they call home with 7 buffalo and two cows. The shit is everywhere and so is the urine. The family milks the buffalo to see that in the market. They milk the cows to feed themselves. They barely make enough to feed themselves. I have so far spent every day for nearly two weeks working among them, learning their habits, wants, and needs. This is hard on me, emotionally and spiritually, but last weekend there was an event that really hurt me. It hurt me because there is almost nothing I can do about it. Here is my journal post for that evening. This is what living in India is like for them. This is why I do not know how it is changing me. Maybe you can make sense of it...
~ Craig Leon Koller
Over the last few days, I have really seen into the hearts of each and every family member. Saturday night I witnessed my first form of domestic abuse. The father of the family had snapped. The cow mother of Rose, the young calf that the family keeps, acts up constantly and causes much destruction, and I’ve noticed that this has been a large source of tension among the family.
Early Saturday morning the cow destroyed the families door. She had broken through it in an attempt to reach her baby calf. When I first met the family I had noticed that the there was only three-fourths of the door still intact, but when I returned on Saturday the door, being a swinging door with two separate sections which swing independently, now only had one-fourth remaining. The left door was barely attached to the crumbling brick wall, while this door only had a small beam protruding from it, all panels having been torn from it. The right-hand door had the top most section still intact but was missing it’s bottom two panels.
This door is usually left open so the cows a buffalo can pass through on their way into the house. At night the family shuts the door get at least a semblance of privacy, from their neighbors and the foreigners staying at the guest house. This is no longer possible, as their home is now open for the world to view and to come and go as it pleases. Imagine not having a door on your own home. The semblance of privacy for your home is shattered, only to be returned when the door is replaced, but you do not have the money to replace the door, so it remains broken, lying in pieces around your small home.
This cow comes and goes as she pleases. Coming into the home trying to eat the families piles of grain. There sound of Hut! Hut! Hut! can be heard around the neighborhood, as the family uses a stick of bamboo to hit the cow, forcing her out of the house, only for her to come back inside five minutes later, creating the same problem and being forced around the support pole back outside, or to be tied up. While she is tied up however she is constantly restless, yanking on her rope leash.
Even the other animals have problems with her. Every time she gets close to one of the buffalo they buck their heads toward her, in an attempt to hit her. I think they know the problems she causes.
The father, having told me how he was in pain earlier, had taken some medicine to alleviate some it. However, the mother had not given him any money to buy pan that day, so this only added to his irritation. The mother is in control of all the families money, and she gives it out very frugally to the members. This, I feel, is a sore point with the father, and it may have been the cause of some of his anger as well.
That evening, Shatan1 was being particularly restless and the father finally had enough. He hit her constantly, yanking her leash, trying to get her to submit and calm down. His language was very bad during this time, using every cuss-word I know, and even more than I have knowledge of. His temperament appeared to be going into a type of rage, and the women did not appreciate how dirty his language became, so they began yelling at him, trying to silence him.
He worked himself up so much, that he started yelling at the son how he doesn’t do any work for the family, and doesn’t make any money for the family. The conversation at this time took a turn for the worse, and I could not understand a lot of what was said. Annil, the oldest daughter in the house, somehow got involved yelling and moving closer to the father in a threatening manner. The other young daughter had also stood by her sister yelling. The mother, throughout the entire ordeal stood in between the father and the daughters, holding the daughters back from doing anything that would invoke more from the father. This however only cause the father to yell louder and the daughters to do the same. The father finally in a fit of rage struck the mother across the face with a backhand blow. The mother staggered away stunned at the strike, almost falling. The daughters caught her before she would fall. The room suddenly falling silent, the father returned to milk one of the buffalo, cursing the entire time.
When Anni knew the mother would be able to stand on her own, the fight continued verbally, between her and the father. The mother still trying to stand, staggered her way in between the father and daughter again, holding her face where she had been struck. The youngest daughter joined her in holding back the sister. The daughter and father lunging at each other screaming at the top of their lungs about he had hit the mother.
During this entire time I sat over on the other side of the room. I was unsure of what I could or should do. How could I help? Was it even my place to step? When does ‘participant observation’ go too far? I sat there blank faced as the father backhanded the mother. What could I do? It was not even my country, my home, or my family.
Finally, I was so moved by what was being said and the actions of each of the family members that I decided to step in. I could only see that this was going to lead to more violence and more abuse. I ran forward, shoving the father back toward the buffalo, holding the mother and daughters back with my other arm. I yelled at the top of my lungs in hindi, “KEEP SILENT! While I remain here, things in this manner will not happen!”
My hindi may have been broken but my point had been proven. The father went back to his work quietly mumbling and swearing, the daughters quietly told me to sit down and that everything will be okay. Anni went back to cooking and the mother sat down on the bed holding her face in pain. The father finished his work and left the house. The oldest son through the entire ordeal, sat quietly on a sack of grain, elbows on his knees watching but intervening in no way. Did I do the right thing? I do not know, but I did what I thought was right, and that stopped more violence.
I sat back down, stunned over the events that occurred. Not knowing what to do, what to think, I just sat there. Slowly the mood in the house changed, everyone trying to cheer everyone else up. The son, after being scolded by his sisters that he did not do anything, finally got up and left. The mother told me that this was the first time he had ever hit her, and she made threats of moving into Ashram or doing this or that. I couldn’t understand much of what was said, but I knew things in the house would not be ‘normal’ from here on out. The night finished out over a quiet supper. The father returned after a while, walked me back to my guest house.
Anni, the older daughter called my phone later that night, after I had returned home, asking if there was any way for me to take her to America with me, asking me if she needed to marry me to make it happen. I told I would think on it, and that we could discuss it later. In all seriousness, I did think on this matter. I thought on it for three days, seeing how if it would be possible if is so, could I financially make it happen. Looking online to see what types of visas would be necessary, if marrying here would be the best option or what else would need to be done to make it happen, all to try and make her life better. Would bringing her to America make her life better? I do not know the answer to that question, because I do not know what it really means to have a good life. Yes, having a house with a car and a job are all symbols of the American dream, but I know that if she were to return to America with me she would be very lonely and quite sad.
She has no formal education, and the only skill that I see she has are cooking over a dung fire and washing her family’s clothes. She can barely leave the house due to cultural restraints, and I see that on a daily basis, she only interacts with the members of her family. If she were to return to America with me, she would be a 19 year old women, living in what ever place I would call my home. I would be working a full-time job as well has attempting to educate her formally as well as trying to teach her about American culture. This, I feel, would be the biggest burden of all. She has never experienced the outside world in anyway, and to give that to her on a whim, might prove to be devastating.
In the field, I am sure, people are forced with decisions like this all time. Whether you are a field researcher, a journalist, or just an independent traveler, the question will always remain; Do we help, or do we just stand by and report our findings? ... Of this, I am certain.
I have been studying this local farming family here in Banaras for going on two weeks. The live in a home that is about 20ftx25th. This open space is one room and only half covered by the tin and bamboo they have acquired. The rest is open to the sky and the elements. They share their one small twin-sized bed between the 6 family members. They also share this small space they call home with 7 buffalo and two cows. The shit is everywhere and so is the urine. The family milks the buffalo to see that in the market. They milk the cows to feed themselves. They barely make enough to feed themselves. I have so far spent every day for nearly two weeks working among them, learning their habits, wants, and needs. This is hard on me, emotionally and spiritually, but last weekend there was an event that really hurt me. It hurt me because there is almost nothing I can do about it. Here is my journal post for that evening. This is what living in India is like for them. This is why I do not know how it is changing me. Maybe you can make sense of it...
~ Craig Leon Koller
Over the last few days, I have really seen into the hearts of each and every family member. Saturday night I witnessed my first form of domestic abuse. The father of the family had snapped. The cow mother of Rose, the young calf that the family keeps, acts up constantly and causes much destruction, and I’ve noticed that this has been a large source of tension among the family.
Early Saturday morning the cow destroyed the families door. She had broken through it in an attempt to reach her baby calf. When I first met the family I had noticed that the there was only three-fourths of the door still intact, but when I returned on Saturday the door, being a swinging door with two separate sections which swing independently, now only had one-fourth remaining. The left door was barely attached to the crumbling brick wall, while this door only had a small beam protruding from it, all panels having been torn from it. The right-hand door had the top most section still intact but was missing it’s bottom two panels.
This door is usually left open so the cows a buffalo can pass through on their way into the house. At night the family shuts the door get at least a semblance of privacy, from their neighbors and the foreigners staying at the guest house. This is no longer possible, as their home is now open for the world to view and to come and go as it pleases. Imagine not having a door on your own home. The semblance of privacy for your home is shattered, only to be returned when the door is replaced, but you do not have the money to replace the door, so it remains broken, lying in pieces around your small home.
This cow comes and goes as she pleases. Coming into the home trying to eat the families piles of grain. There sound of Hut! Hut! Hut! can be heard around the neighborhood, as the family uses a stick of bamboo to hit the cow, forcing her out of the house, only for her to come back inside five minutes later, creating the same problem and being forced around the support pole back outside, or to be tied up. While she is tied up however she is constantly restless, yanking on her rope leash.
Even the other animals have problems with her. Every time she gets close to one of the buffalo they buck their heads toward her, in an attempt to hit her. I think they know the problems she causes.
The father, having told me how he was in pain earlier, had taken some medicine to alleviate some it. However, the mother had not given him any money to buy pan that day, so this only added to his irritation. The mother is in control of all the families money, and she gives it out very frugally to the members. This, I feel, is a sore point with the father, and it may have been the cause of some of his anger as well.
That evening, Shatan1 was being particularly restless and the father finally had enough. He hit her constantly, yanking her leash, trying to get her to submit and calm down. His language was very bad during this time, using every cuss-word I know, and even more than I have knowledge of. His temperament appeared to be going into a type of rage, and the women did not appreciate how dirty his language became, so they began yelling at him, trying to silence him.
He worked himself up so much, that he started yelling at the son how he doesn’t do any work for the family, and doesn’t make any money for the family. The conversation at this time took a turn for the worse, and I could not understand a lot of what was said. Annil, the oldest daughter in the house, somehow got involved yelling and moving closer to the father in a threatening manner. The other young daughter had also stood by her sister yelling. The mother, throughout the entire ordeal stood in between the father and the daughters, holding the daughters back from doing anything that would invoke more from the father. This however only cause the father to yell louder and the daughters to do the same. The father finally in a fit of rage struck the mother across the face with a backhand blow. The mother staggered away stunned at the strike, almost falling. The daughters caught her before she would fall. The room suddenly falling silent, the father returned to milk one of the buffalo, cursing the entire time.
When Anni knew the mother would be able to stand on her own, the fight continued verbally, between her and the father. The mother still trying to stand, staggered her way in between the father and daughter again, holding her face where she had been struck. The youngest daughter joined her in holding back the sister. The daughter and father lunging at each other screaming at the top of their lungs about he had hit the mother.
During this entire time I sat over on the other side of the room. I was unsure of what I could or should do. How could I help? Was it even my place to step? When does ‘participant observation’ go too far? I sat there blank faced as the father backhanded the mother. What could I do? It was not even my country, my home, or my family.
Finally, I was so moved by what was being said and the actions of each of the family members that I decided to step in. I could only see that this was going to lead to more violence and more abuse. I ran forward, shoving the father back toward the buffalo, holding the mother and daughters back with my other arm. I yelled at the top of my lungs in hindi, “KEEP SILENT! While I remain here, things in this manner will not happen!”
My hindi may have been broken but my point had been proven. The father went back to his work quietly mumbling and swearing, the daughters quietly told me to sit down and that everything will be okay. Anni went back to cooking and the mother sat down on the bed holding her face in pain. The father finished his work and left the house. The oldest son through the entire ordeal, sat quietly on a sack of grain, elbows on his knees watching but intervening in no way. Did I do the right thing? I do not know, but I did what I thought was right, and that stopped more violence.
I sat back down, stunned over the events that occurred. Not knowing what to do, what to think, I just sat there. Slowly the mood in the house changed, everyone trying to cheer everyone else up. The son, after being scolded by his sisters that he did not do anything, finally got up and left. The mother told me that this was the first time he had ever hit her, and she made threats of moving into Ashram or doing this or that. I couldn’t understand much of what was said, but I knew things in the house would not be ‘normal’ from here on out. The night finished out over a quiet supper. The father returned after a while, walked me back to my guest house.
Anni, the older daughter called my phone later that night, after I had returned home, asking if there was any way for me to take her to America with me, asking me if she needed to marry me to make it happen. I told I would think on it, and that we could discuss it later. In all seriousness, I did think on this matter. I thought on it for three days, seeing how if it would be possible if is so, could I financially make it happen. Looking online to see what types of visas would be necessary, if marrying here would be the best option or what else would need to be done to make it happen, all to try and make her life better. Would bringing her to America make her life better? I do not know the answer to that question, because I do not know what it really means to have a good life. Yes, having a house with a car and a job are all symbols of the American dream, but I know that if she were to return to America with me she would be very lonely and quite sad.
She has no formal education, and the only skill that I see she has are cooking over a dung fire and washing her family’s clothes. She can barely leave the house due to cultural restraints, and I see that on a daily basis, she only interacts with the members of her family. If she were to return to America with me, she would be a 19 year old women, living in what ever place I would call my home. I would be working a full-time job as well has attempting to educate her formally as well as trying to teach her about American culture. This, I feel, would be the biggest burden of all. She has never experienced the outside world in anyway, and to give that to her on a whim, might prove to be devastating.
In the field, I am sure, people are forced with decisions like this all time. Whether you are a field researcher, a journalist, or just an independent traveler, the question will always remain; Do we help, or do we just stand by and report our findings? ... Of this, I am certain.
