Independence vs. Irresponsibility

I like to be independent. I like to be around people, but I don’t like to have to ask for things. In Kalamazoo, before I had a car, it was a huge weight on my shoulders when I knew I would need to ask someone for a ride or to borrow their car so I could go grocery shopping. I would put it off for as long as possible, hating that I didn’t know a better way to provide for myself without inconveniencing others.

On the other hand, learning a new place, a new language, a new culture, and new social norms is challenging. What’s more, learning a new safety regimen is hard and stressful. So, learning to go out and be independent, without putting oneself in danger or being irresponsible is…I don’t know. I haven’t figured it all out yet.

My first attempt at independence was my first solo outing, my second or third night here. I figured if I didn’t get over my fear of going out alone then, I might never learn to face it. And immediately afterwards, I was told that what I had done was unsafe and I should never do it again.

Only a few days later was my first excursion to the market, when John drove Shradha and me to find me clothes. It was very safe, easy, and fun. But, I told myself, it doesn’t really count, because you didn’t get here yourself and you didn’t learn how to buy anything yourself.

I keep comparing India to Senegal (while knowing full well that they have very little in common), and I keep thinking, “In Senegal I could easily hop in a taxi, get a good price for the ride, buy everything I wanted at the correct prices, and get back home. Why is it that I still don’t know how to even take an auto rickshaw here??” I have to keep reminding myself that there are reasons.

It’s been hard for me to try to balance not giving myself an easy out (that is, not allowing myself to just do the easy and comfortable thing because it’s easy and comfortable, not keeping myself from learning and growing because it means temporary discomfort) and not putting myself in stupid situations. I just read today on BBC News that an American tourist was gang raped in a northern state of India, and there was another rape and murder in Delhi. So, part of me says, “Safety is more important than anything. Don’t be stupid,” and part of me says, “Hazaribag is not Delhi, and of all the dozens of interns they’ve had here over the years, they’ve never had an incident. I can definitely learn to be safe and still experience things. Why have I not done so yet?”

Today, Helen and I told Rita (Auntie) that we were going to go shopping. After shoving a (fantastic) snack into our hands, she said something to the effect of, “Shopping? You two? Okay, we’ll all go.” In a manner of minutes, Auntie and Uncle (John) and Shradha and Helen and I were all in the car headed to the market. Uncle got us good prices, Shradha kept track of the list, Helen carried bags, and I shelled out cash (half of which was Helen’s, I just have a better purse for market-ing). We got tons of things—shampoo, mangoes, cockroach spray, oatmeal, etc—many of which we would certainly not have been able to find without help. As we were thanking them on the way back, Auntie said that it was silly for us to think of shopping on our own. If we needed anything, Uncle would take us.

It looks like shopping may not be where I learn to be independent. However, I am really starting to learn my way around Hazaribag, and Helen and I were given bicycles today. We rode from the bike shop to our house, which is about half the route from the office.  It was a little scary, very smelly, and quite exciting. I’m nervous, but I’m looking forward to getting some exercise and gaining control over at least one aspect of my life: when I go to and come home from work.

Yesterday was a notably good day. After work (which is much more fun now that I’m doing design work for the annual report), Auntie and Uncle and Shradha and Arun (the son) and Helen and I packed into their car and went to Alok’s house. We met his wife and his two sons. They were exceptionally friendly, which is exactly what I would have expected from Alok’s family. Then we came home and made dinner. Auntie said she had to make chapatti, so Helen and I went to help.

Uncle ended up taking over chapatti duty, and he taught us how to make it properly. He’s one of those people who does not encourage you until you are actually doing the task correctly, so the first time that he did not take the rolling pin away from me or show me yet again how to hold it or put more flour on my dough, I felt a major sense of accomplishment. Fishing for a compliment, I pointed hopefully at my nice round chapatti and asked, “Not bad?” And he nodded briefly and said, “This one, you learn to cook,” and switched places with me so I was cooking on the stove and he was rolling.