Halakki Vokkaliga

When we got on the Yesvanpur-Karwar Express last year around this time I did not know I would witness mighty perennial rivers and evergreen forests. We traveled along the west coast of Uttara Kannada district of Karnataka, tucked in between the Arabian sea on one side and forest covered hills on the other side. We eventually got off at the Kumta Railway Station and spent a few days with a local family in their areca plantation, situated in the middle of an organic spice farm on the Karwar - Sirsi State Highway in a tiny village called Baragadde. It was not until we visited Gokarna that I saw her. She was confidently walking down the street in with no chappals (sandals) and was wearing a sari with no choli (blouse). Head load of firewood and basket in hand, she disappeared in the rain. I later on found out she belongs to the Halakki tribe.

Halakki woman carrying firewood. Gokarna, Karnataka 2013.

The Halakki people are scattered across several Taluks (area of land with a city or town that serves as its headquarters, with potentially additional towns and villages) of the Uttara Kannada district namely Ankola, Kumta, Gokarna, Honnavar and Karwar.
With increasing tourism in most of these areas, Halakki people are forced to find new alternative means of income. It's a common scene seeing Halakki women selling flowers and other puja offerings to eager tourists outside temples (especially in places like Gokarna). Some Halakki families also run beachside shacks that offer accommodation and continental menus to both international and local tourists.

Halakki man in a traditional langoti.

Despite their (unavoidable) contact with the mainstream world both in terms of people and access to media, I saw Halakki women more often in traditional attires and outfits, which comprises bright coloured saris wrapped in a special way and worn without a blouse, leaving the back exposed. Their necks are adorned with numerous beaded necklaces (Essentially blue, black and yellow), while glass and metal bangles adorn their hands. Women's hair is well oiled and neatly combed back and rolled into a bun and decorated with flowers such as jasmine or palm tree. The traditional attire of men is simple, a loin-cloth langoti. However, most of the middle aged men and youngsters wear shirts and pants nowadays.

The Halakki language is a dialect of Kannada and is known as ‘Halakki Kannada’. A typical Halakki home (Hullu mane in the Halakki dialect) comprises a thatched hut with mud walls, now most often replaced by concrete structures. It is decorated elaborately with traditional white drawings made from Hali (white mud abundantly available in this area) mixed with water and painted against a dark background. Different Hali are drawn on different occasions such as weddings, ear piercing or naming ceremony of a child, first haircut ceremony of a child, etc. The Hali is mainly considered as a diagrammatic representation of the event and it is believed to ward of evil. 

Hali on a Halakki home. Gokarna, Karnataka 2013.

Two Halakki women chat in Karwar, Karnataka 2013.

The rich culture of the Halakkis is mirrored in many aspects of their life including food, ceremonies and customs, songs  and dances, etc. However, with the advent of modernity and exposure to a variety of other cultures, access to media, education and many more unconventional employment opportunities, threat in their lifestyle and traditional practices are inevitable and, like many other tribal and indigenous communities throughout the country, Halakkis are an oppressed minority struggling to survive.

Halakki mom and son. Karwar, Karnataka 2013.

A night in Barcelona

Last night I decided to go out for dinner and get some drinks in Barcelona, a city I have known and visited often ever since I was a child, as I have relatives from here. We ended up in this seedy restaurant, a Chinese one. The staff was quite unfriendly, yet the food was bearable and extremely cheap. The place soon became overcrowded and we decided to leave.

Although I once was somewhat familiar with the city and its surroundings, it had been a long time since I had not lived here; besides, nightlife in Barcelona is something quite new to me that I never really experienced before. We stopped for a drink at this bar that had a big patio and we later on headed towards El Raval area; we ended up at this old club where we managed to get our groove on.  The environment was certainly unpleasant throughout the night: Drunk Dutch soccer aficionados on the streets dressed in orange and yelling unintelligible words while watching the World Cup game against Spain (a game that I could not care less about), trash scattered over sidewalks and streets, dozens of Pakistanis on every single corner offering canned beer on the quiet, victims of yet another mafia.

After hanging in there for too long, I decided to call it a night at around 3a.m and started heading home. As I walked to the closest night bus stop, the urban landscape became distressing and depressing alike as I hit Les Rambles, a very popular tree-lined pedestrian street with both tourists and locals that stretches for almost a mile north from the harbor: African under aged prostitutes making out with horny old men as some others negotiated the rates for their services. Drunk tourists and locals vomiting on the sidewalk while others still had the energy to being loud and obnoxious. Pakistanis and Indians (old and young) carrying 4 cans of cheap beer per head, desperately trying to make a couple euros by selling them to passersby.

That was certainly not the image they portray of nightlife in Barcelona, possibly the most popular destination within Spain (even though it is a city where a substantial number of people do not identify themselves as Spaniards) widely known for its great weather, endless parties and laid-back people always willing to drink and enjoy life. However, the picture from last night will remain with me for a long time, and not exactly in a good way. Although Spain is suffering the consequences of a massive economic meltdown that has left millions of (local) people jobless, homeless and helpless (in several cases even hungry), immigrants are bond to be subject to extra challenges such as racism, xenophobia, social discrimination, and other kinds of oppression. I was appalled to see that one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world and so-called 'civilized' has very little interest in those who are literally fighting the battle for survival on a daily basis. Unfortunately, there is nothing new with the fact that the most vulnerable ones always remain in the shadows. 

Well, thank you for being so openly honest when you condemn immigration to underdevelopment and crime and beatify Spanishness and patriotism. This goes to all of you, even though I know that I am taking on all risks that involve irritating you poor mediators. 

Spain was formed with immigration, so understanding a nation like an isolated island is a pretty big mistake. It is likely that your (our) ancestors were immigrants and they had to harden their souls in order to embark a new life. This country was enriched through conquests, wars, colonizations and  probably through one of the biggest robberies of resources and treasures in history. It's probable that if you at least returned all the gold to Latin America, Peruvians, for instance, would be the ones receiving you Spaniards and they would be the ones complaining (understandably) that you are stealing their national resources. 

Without going any further, these immigrants we see around here come from historically prosperous and extremely advanced cultures. Africa was a resourceful continent and the cradle of civilization, Latin America and Asia were an enclave of social and scientific discoveries (all of which Europe has taken centuries to decipher), not to mention the Islamic world, traditionally tolerant and well versed with culture; Europe, on the other hand, was a continent of uncivilized barbarians...and it still is when it comes to certain aspects (even though we have this persistent superiority complex that we use as a defence mechanism when we refuse to acknowledge that it actually is okay to be inferior in some ways). You are lucky that your culture is the thin end of the wedge nowadays. But do not forget that you could be starving to death tomorrow and you would then dream of fleeing to Burkina Faso or Pakistan. Never know.

Two girls walk around El Raval neighborhood, in Barcelona.

The European immigration movement that occurred towards the end of the 20th century was planned, as there was no internal workforce to be able to rebuild all these countries. Let's not forget the exile of Spaniards who escaped from war, destitution, poverty and Francoism and they were welcome in some of these developing countries. Lots of immigrants are your children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. 

If all immigrants in Spain were removed, the country would starve to death. Up to now, most foreigners living in this country work crazy hours and shifts. While you are enjoying national holidays and vacations, there is an immigrant replacing you temporarily. If they are illegal, they work three times as much as you do and on top of that they barely get paid. If they are legal, however, they pay for your vacations in order to have the privilege of listening to you complain that they are stealing your jobs and your social security. Let's remember that making little money for so much work is not something desirable at all because it has direct consequences over the standard of living. No immigrant would complain about earning as much as you do.

It would be interesting knowing where all these investments that support the country come from. But who is really paying? The EU lent substantial funds so Spain can straighten out its economy. So, it's likely that the Swedish are paying for your social security system. Or someone else is. Let's face it. With or without marginal immigrants, Spain is known as "the resting country"...People who come here to spend their vacations are often shocked to see that all stores are closed between 2 and 5pm, and a bunch of locals are having beer and liquor at 11a.m. Immigrants?  Spain is way behind Europe because it chooses to be. 

Regarding the civilization aspect, I will agree with the fact that economies in developing countries are a complete disaster and that it is a problem of historical domination that keeps taking place. In order to own more, one needs to crush somebody. And this deplorable lesson was learnt from the big ones; the so-called first world coutries, because they imposed their society to others. It is easy after giving lessons on economy and politics with disdain, when everything that has been acquired comes from robberies, pillages and slavery. The fact that this happens on a state level does not authorize you to feel outraged by some Black or Pakistani guy selling beer on the beach. They are hard-working and skilled citizens for the most part, and surprisingly caring and compassionate despite their lack in resources and a life full of uncertainty. The less they have, the more they share. However, how should we feel towards societies that had to take into public ownership helping one's neighbor because no one shares spontaneously. How should we react on societies that have to include special seats on public transportation in order to force citizens to give up their seat and behave kindly (and even then some refuse to do so!). How should we feel towards those who set homeless people on fire and hit women to death; those who belittle others in public without no one intervening whatsoever. What civilization are you talking about? What are you trying to defend? Little they deserve what they have achieved. 

Poverty is a broad concept, but those poor in spirit are the most miserable ones. This is how many empires ended, always due to internal weakness and abomination. Even then, when your afraid and hungry grandchildren flee to disregarded and unknown lands, they will be welcomed with no visa or work permit, just like many times in the past...because that quality is not distributed by the social security administration or by any government.

Bengaluru's stray dogs

No country has as many stray dogs as India does. A census conducted by the department of animal husbandry and the Bruhat Bengaluru Mahanagara Palike (commonly known as BBMP) in 2007 found there were 1,83,758 stray dogs in Bangalore alone, which means that there is a stray dog for every 37 people in the city. The fact that there is no garbage management system is leading more stray dogs to roam around residential areas. According to BBMP, over 7,000 animal birth control surgeries are performed every month in the city. 

You don't need to look closely in order to realize that most dogs throughout the city have a little bite missing off either one or two of their ears. At first I thought the tip of their ears missing was just from territorial street fights of some sort, but I later on found out that ear clipping is part of the government's initiative in stray dog management. 

Most stray dogs in India are the local landrace and naturally selected breed of the sub-continent, known as the Indian pariah dog (not a derogatory term in the canine context), which is estimated to have existed for around 14,000 years or more. 

Dogs waiting to cross the road. Bengaluru, 2013.

I think I have roughly petted over 300 dogs throughout the country, so far. I recall meeting the four stray dogs on my street taking a while to accept me. They would stare at me, ignore me or even bark at me. Yet not once did I feel threatened by them, as they usually keep a distance. Stray dogs in Bengaluru have massive community presence, they are really territorial and they will not cross their neighborhood under any circumstance.

Mom with litter. Bengaluru, 2012.

Dogs' behavior tends to be predictable. However, there might be unpredictable reactions, particularly among stray dogs, depending on their personality, past history with humans and other circumstances. It's obvious that dogs that have been mistreated are more likely to be skittish and fearful, while others might be more approachable and friendly. I have a fairly long history of interaction with stray dogs in India and I have never felt in danger or threatened by them, but that's just my experience. Some dogs clearly state they do not want to be petted by ignoring or barking at you or simply by walking away. Yet the truth is that most of them seek affection and love and will follow you until they reach the (imaginary) delimitation of their territory; then they will simply walk back to their street. Stray dogs are almost always at the same spot and you will (most of the times) be able to see them again right at the same spot you encountered them. 

Sadly, stray dogs are subject to all sorts violence, injuries and threats. They are often run over by cars and trains or end up victims of (in)human(e) cruelty. There are also a number of parasites, infections such as scabies and diseases they might carry. Free-roaming rabid dogs  for instance,  bite millions of people annually across the country. 

Stray dog with scabies. Bengaluru, 2013.

I have very rarely seen anyone approaching a street dog, nobody seems to bother. Dog proliferation in India and particularly in big cities like Bengaluru is becoming a serious issue, and government administration policies are certainly not effective enough. Although they can be a potential threat for humans and specially children, let's not forget it's not their fault and they do not have the faculty to be able to control their own population, but we do.

Let's keep in mind these dogs deserve a chance and some affection. They have learned the toughness of living on the busy streets of India (and any other city for that matter). They boldly cross the street, trot off quickly just to sit down some feet away. At night they howl like a mandatory prayer and they often fight amongst each other. They are the most grateful dogs you can possibly ask for. Gently petting them on the head, giving them a few bread crumbs, calling them over...and a grateful gaze of hope. With time, I have developed a special bond with some stray dogs I have met along the way. I know where to find them. And I know they will run up to me and wag their tail as a sign of excitement. The happiness, I know, is mutual.

Street dog at a public park. Bengaluru, 2013.

The cinema cart

Mumbai is the city of a millions hawkers. Last time I was there, around two months ago, we went back to Nariman Point, one of the city's financial hubs where street vendors do brisk business during peak hours by selling a wide variety of street food, all of which is vegetarian: Vada Pav (noted as the most popular street food in Mumbai), Panipuri, Bhelpuri, Sevpuri, Dahipuri, sandwiches, Pav Bhaji, etc. Although street food is common all over the country, Mumbai is noted for having people of all economic backgrounds eating on the roadside at all times. 

Food cart selling chaat (snacks) at Nariman Point, Mumbai. 

Panipuri and Bhelpuri food carts in Mumbai.

As we approached the main road we came across this children's fair with one of those jumping castles. There was also this monkey with a haunting gaze grabbed by his owner's hand, a young, low caste street-side entertainer. A tired, medium-sized horse taking screaming children for a short ride around the dusty road. And to our right, this middle-aged guy standing by his colorful and decorated cart. That cart in particular called my attention. It was not a vegetable cart nor a street food cart. It was a cinema cart, holding a hand-cranked projector. I was surprised no children were appealed by it whatsoever. It reminded me of this short film called Salim Baba I had watched back in 2006 that I much later found out had actually been nominated for one Oscar and one Emmy and had won 2 awards as well.

Everyone flocked to 55-year-old Salim Muhammad's cart when he pushed it down the streets of Kolkata. They were mesmerized by his presence and his cart, which held something powerful behind its black drapes: the magic of cinema. He inherited the projector from his father and had been screening discarded film scraps that he had edited and made into new movies since he was 10. 

Crowds gathering around him got to forget their worries and escape from one reality to another, even if only for a few minutes. Salim hoped that his children would take over his business when he was too old to push the cart, but I wonder if they ever would. As countries like India are emerging very quickly younger generations are too busy trying to copy the West, and pushing a cart holding a 100-year-old hand-cranked projector certainly doesn't fit in with this new age of a crowd that prefers going to huge movie theaters to watch the latest Bollywood movies (which mostly objectify women and make them look as Western as possible) while sipping soda and eating popcorn. 

I now regret not having asked the cinema cart guy at Nariman Point when did he start pushing that cart, a cart different from all. A cart that stood out from the crowd and no one seemed to appreciate. I was embarrassed to ask him if I could watch a few scenes from a movie that he might have had created by carefully choosing scraps, juxtaposing image and music that ultimately created a different and unique reality, a much better one. Maybe next time I am in Mumbai I will go back to Nariman Point and there he will be, standing by his cinema cart, dreaming of another reality. 

Do you speak "Hindu"?

Rabindranath Tagore once said about short stories: "They are simple events of life happy or sad, some sad strings from the train of forgetfulness, not fraught with heavy descriptions, not crowded with events, no advice, no philosophy, only the feeling that the story is not yet over, although there is no more to read...". 

Dabba ("The Lunchbox" in Hindi) was released in India on September 20, 2013 and is currently showing in some independent theaters over in Spain. It is an example of a unique short story, with a new beginning at the end. The overcrowded local trains, Harvard certified Mumbai dabbawallas amidst busy working hours, an irritable yet adorable youngster and Auntie, the best friend to a directionless housewife.

Irrfan Khan in The Lunchbox  (2013).

It had been a long time since I had wanted to watch the movie. Even if a mainstream Bollywood movie came out (hundreds come out every day) I would be willing to watch it as long as Irrfan Khan was in it. His acting is impeccable, his image so refreshing. I almost forgot what those small, often half-empty theaters in Barcelona look like. There is only a couple of them left, and I imagine they will end up closing down as well. There's barely anyone willing to watch independent films with subtitles these days.

At this kind of theaters, they usually have these sort of sheets with a summary and plot, full cast and other detailed information on the movie  that one can take for free. It took slightly longer for me to find the one I was looking for, and when I went inside the theater and started reading it I came across something rather unpleasant.

The informative sheet specified that the following languages were spoken in the movie: inglés e indú (literally "English and Hindu" in Spanish). Having lived in India for a long time and having Indian relatives as well, I felt outraged and rather hurt by that word, indú. I rapidly went online to see if the Spanish normative Diccionario de la Real Academia Española included this word in it, yet, as I suspected, it didn't. First of all, Hindu is not a language. It is obvious they were trying to say Hindi, one of the 26 official languages that exist in India. Now, the problem with using "Hindu" is that, although Collins Dictionary defines the word as "a person born or living in India or the Indian subcontinent", it can still be highly offensive for many reasons. First of, if we look closely, we can see that the second meaning is "a follower of Hinduism", which automatically labels Hindus as a dominant religious community that excludes all non-religious inhabitants or followers of let's say, Islam. Let's not forget that India is home to 10% of the world's Muslim population. That of course excluding all followers of Christianity, Sikhism, Buddhism, Jainism, and other religions that although minorities in India, they would make the entire population of some European countries. Again, the word indú has three main problems to it - it's not spelled correctly, it is not talking about religious groups or the inhabitants of a country but a language with a different name (Hindi) and on top of that it is generalizing a religion existing in one of the most diverse countries in the world. 

However, the point is that these people didn't even bother to do their own research on these issues that have literally caused conflicts such as the India - Pakistan partition, which left millions of families apart, or the territorial dispute between India and Pakistan over control of the Kashmir region. That's what really bothered me. Generalizing is (almost) always wrong. It leads to assumptions and stereotypes that are often untrue and they encourage fear to all what is different to our own reality, which mostly leads to opposition and resistance. I don't think it was that hard going to a dictionary and looking up the right word. Generalizing is comfortable and it seems a fair thing to do. Until a talk on something that questions our own identity touches a nerve with us and we feel offended, oppressed and inferior. It ain't that hard, people.

The Apology Reflex

Meaningless conversational fillers such as "um," "like" and "you know" are widely said, but the word "sorry" took over my life for as long as I can remember. "Sorry for bothering you, sorry I did this, sorry this came up, sorry I interrupted, sorry, sorry, sorry..."  — I would often start and finish my conversations. 

Being the youngest girl in the family and always surrounded by adults, I felt that I did not have as much to offer as my elders, and that what I had to say was not worth a whole lot. A broken glass? Hard times? Mistakes?  Blame and shame usually trickled down the hierarchy in my family, and usually landed at my feet. All eyes were on me. I started apologizing first from early on, just to get it out of the way, plus I found that it often mitigated heated situations.

But such approach didn't work as well when I began adolescence. If I looked at myself just sideways I would automatically think I did something wrong, and therefore would say "I'm sorry". I constantly felt like I needed to apologize for who I was. And it drove me crazy, always second-guessing what I said and did. It as well drove others crazy. I use to think saying "sorry" would settle situations and would make me gain acceptance, it would make me fit and make those around me feel more comfortable. It was not until I met my husband that I realized how many times I used the word; of course, my response to him for pointing that out was to say "I'm sorry". It was just as normal as saying "hi" or "see you". I've always put the heavy weight on my shoulders of trying to make everyone happy. And when someone wasn't, I accepted the blame for it and thought it was my fault. You can surely predict what I would repeatedly say then. 

I am not a hater, but if there is something I abhor, that is fights. I was scared of confrontation, so I felt like if I disagreed with someone he or she would leave me. But then again, I realized that such constant saying of the word made me depressed. I liked to think of myself as someone independent. But by saying the word, I was placing blame on myself, and so I was forfeiting my power. 

Saying "sorry" is synonymous to saying "You're right. I'm wrong. It's my fault". Constantly feeling like I did something wrong and always feeling inadequate is bound to make me depressed. I know others see me taking a submissive role too often and they think they can take advantage of me. I refuse to continue to always being a Yes-person, always wanting to please others. Because after all it's not wrong to want to please myself. And I shouldn't feel guilty for it. Sorry, but this time I am not apologizing. 

What they had to say

Although I was never fond of my philosophy classes in high school, my teacher used to try his best to make them quite interesting by often using the board in order to illustrate the most interesting anecdotes of each philosopher we were studying at the time. I recall him never asking any of us students to go up to the board to test our attention rather than  our knowledge  - something I really appreciated back then as I was an introvert teenager with all the insecurities that came with the package. 

We started off with ancient philosophy (Socrates, Aristotle, Plato) followed by the so-called modern philosophy, as we went deeper into Hume and Kant's different thinking; we later moved on to the 19th- century philosophy (Schopenhauer, Marx and Nietzsche) yet for some reason we could not make it to the contemporary period. We had to read a book for each philosopher, although we never read them from top to bottom because I don't think we had the time nor the patience to do so. Back then most of us had a carefree existence, which was far from being close to the school reality and even though we had future expectations related to studies (at least I did), we seemed to have temporarily dragged them away from our school life. Most of us classmates use to hang out around our small, little town and have some cheap wine in order to show off our flirting skills and maybe make out with the classmate we had two rows behind us if we were lucky enough. I was never particularly interested in knowing who had cheated on the last Latin exam, or which soccer team had won the last game, or even who was the first one in losing their virginity within our group. In a small town like mine it was either going with the flow or shutting yourself off from everyone your age from your class. It was almost impossible growing apart from those whom I considered to be my friends. At some point it felt as if I had as well been abducted from my own reality.

But that's water under the bridge now. Almost a decade after, I find myself sitting on a red velvet couch, now alone, staring at the empty walls, thinking about Hume and Schopenhauer as I wonder how to figure out someone else's mind when it took me so long to figure mine out. When it is all about yourself, you can always make excuses to cover up your fears and insecurities. Earlier in time I use to pretend that I understood someone so they would not think I didn't care for them. But deep down inside I knew I was not being fair by hiding the bitter truth: I was clueless about their feelings. Throughout time, I have managed to somehow acknowledge other people's realities other than my own, which has enabled me to understand their lives slightly better and stay true to myself and consequently to them as well. I wonder what Hume has to say about this. If he would say anything, at all. 

The feeling of isolation begins to take over this living-room as I begin to anxiously wander in circles and repeatedly bite my fingernails as I think about the Great Ones and their perspective of life. We are close enough (perhaps the closest I'll ever be to someone) that we will share what goes through our minds once in a while. Claiming that I understand other people's feelings would be amazing if it weren't for the fact that I am at a stage of denial when it comes to those thoughts that happen to be "out of the box" or do not affect me positively. The kind of secret, thought, or feeling that bothers me as I am (unfortunately for the most part) one more soul of the mainstream society. Some of these thoughts are not only not okay but they are also constantly discouraged: You need to dress a certain way, eat certain things, behave and interact a certain way. Why can't I simply be okay with a feeling that is not even my own struggle; a feeling that is merely shared because the other person happens to trust me. Why can't I swallow my pride and move forward when someone shares a painful or disturbing experience. It would definitely ease the other person's pain if I were honest; rather than burying my head in the sand and ignoring someone else's reality when I just got to accept my own. Now I know I should have listened more often to Schopenhauer: "Effortless mastery comes when you simply follow what your brain wants to do". But it's never too late, I guess.