Chandigarh: Day 2

Dr. J sent a car for me! A car! It was like a miracle. I had gotten to the botany department very early, and made friends with the security guard and janitor, and sat and learned how to count to fifteen, finally. I mean, in Hindi, obviously. But by 10, as I was writing a note to Dr. J that I’d be late to the appointment because I hadn’t realized when “office hours” started, she called to say she’d sent the car my way. So I hied myself back to the hostel and waited.

And it was awesome! Pure white, outside and in, with white curtains that kept it cool. Even white curtains covering the whole back window (another traffic observation is back windows are completely unnecessary here, as the term “cut someone off” would have no meaning whatsoever, given the driving habits).

Dr. J was amazingly helpful, giving me several reports, in hardcopy, that were chock full of information I could use. About the state of the environment in Punjab. I was there a few hours, and while I didn’t do an interview, I think I got the most information in a two hour stint a I have from anyone so far. She then sent me back in the car as well. I didn’t know if I should tip the driver. I hate how sometimes tipping is offensive, and sometimes not tipping is offensive. Not just in India, where I don’t know the cultural rules, but in the U.S. too. I hate having to tip in person. Andy and I have discussed this.

But anyway, he dropped me off at the botany lab, where I met a student in the computer lab, who was doing her PhD with the hydrologist I was set to meet later that afternoon. So I went in and got an early meeting with her. She agreed to be filmed, and we did a very short interview, though I’m concerned about the file because of my computer not working. I can’t get it onto my jump drive either, probably because of the computers here in the lab.

Then I went over to speak with someone in the geology department. His office was filled with rocks, on shelves. To my untrained eye, they all looked exactly the same, but you wouldn’t put hundreds of the same rock on a shelf, would you? Anyway, he’s more of a surface water expert while Dr. Rishi is more of a groundwater expert (hence her short, though helpful, interview). We made an appointment to meet tomorrow. He was late for lunch.

After lunch, I spent hours writing and sending letters of request for data. I’m always shocked at how long that process takes. Writing, reading, attaching all the pertinent documents, not to mention that I’m still often having to track down the contact information for whomever I’m writing to. I know I’ve written many of these requests already, but have received no response. Without my “planner” from my computer, I’m kind of lost a to what I already have and haven’t done.

Now it’s almost 6, and I’ve been in the computer lab almost 4 hours, doing almost all work stuff, despite my 14 personal emails (several just short one, worried about the bombing).

I’ll have lots of time tonight to peruse those reports. Or maybe not peruse, since peruse actually mean to go through with a fine-tooth comb, and they are rather long and detailed reports. But you know what I mean—the colloquial “peruse.”

After all my letter-writing today, I’m tempted to sign off…

Sincerely,
Sarah C Dickerson

Chandigarh: Day 1

I got up as early as I could the next morning, but I knew there wasn’t much I could do before checking out of this hotel, and getting the other guest house stuff straightened. I talked to Dr. Kohli, the contact I’d made by emailing the environmental department cold from the website address, and he very kindly got me into the last guest house opening, in the faculty house. So, perhaps once again I will be mistaken for a French lecturer (as Jenny and I continually were at LBSNAA). The room has no AC, and as far as I can tell, no sheets or pillows. I’ve been so tired, it hasn’t mattered much so far.

I agreed to meet with the professor after lunch so I could go up to the BBMB and talk with Mr. R.B. again. He was extremely helpful, and very complimentary of my salwar-kameez (Sara’s). He gave me many reports, and thing that were already publicly available, and we met with the secretary, who agreed that data could be shared if it was for research. Therefore, I need to get a memo stating that I am doing research, and also put my request into writing. Mr. R.B. is going to a dam site for the next two days, so I will get back with him Thursday. I thought about going with him there, as he kindly invited me, but after I spoke with the university people, I realized that would be too much time spent there.

So Dr. Kohli was incredibly helpful and interesting. He talked about allelopathy and cell phone radiation, which scared me into wanting a landline when I get home. I then met his associates, two other PhD’s, and they spent a long time trying to fix my computer. They were so kind and helpful! Afterwards, they took me to the market to buy my dinner and some other food to keep in my room (granola bars and some fruit, and PEANUT BUTTER!), and then I rode back with the gentleman on his scooter, no small feat considering I was carrying four bags of groceries, and trying not to grip the hell out of his poor shoulder. Luckily he was a very good driver. He was also a very good person. He helped me select the best bananas (which I can attest are excellent bananas), and helped me choose a cheap knife (which he tested gingerly against his thumb, in such a manner that made me feel he really knew knives, and had appraised this one as a good deal; I can also attest that this is a good knife) for fruits.

On the way back, I asked why no one wears helmets. It’s not just because this is the Punjab region, and every other man has a turban. As Elizabeth Gilbert noticed, it’s not that people don’t buy helmets—they often ride with them inexplicably tucked under one arm. Just as I asked about it, someone passed us, wearing a helmet. But as soon as he was in the university gates, he took it off. I was told you don’t have to wear them in the university grounds. It made me think of seat belt stories, which are as follow:

1- While riding in the car from Dehradun to Delhi a few weeks back, the kid in the car with me kept telling me I didn’t have to wear my seatbelt, that it was only required in the city. They thought I was uncomfortable with it around my neck. But they didn’t understand I’d be more uncomfortable without it, sitting in the front seat, with all the near-miss accidents we’d experienced thus far.

2- Mr. R.B., when he took me around the city, had fake seat belts. They were just straps that you could lay across your front, and they looked like seatbelts (for the cops), but didn’t attached to anything. There wasn’t even a buckle. It was just straps. I found this hilarious.

So anyway, personal safety hasn’t entered the public consciousness here, as it has at least in my demographic of the US. Maybe not in Louisiana. Which reminds me of another interesting story. Mr. R.B. saw I was from Louisiana, and informed me that he was the exact same caste as Governor Jindal. I guess that’s a coincidence? It’s so interesting to me that people even know that kind of stuff, for some Podunk state in America. I guess it’s a big deal, though.

Oh, and the bombings are of course on all the channels, which is disturbing. It just feels a lot more real when your in the same country. I was in a town called Rajpur the day after the blasts, and that was coincidentally the name of one of the areas hit. That’s disturbing, I’d say.

In the evening, I met with Dr. and Mr. Jerath, whose son was going to UT. They came to my hostel, and had lots of questions for me, only some of which could I answer. They were very kind, and luckily, Dr. Jerath has a lot of information she is happy to share with me regarding irrigation in the Punjab region. She’s a scientist, and her husband is an irrigation engineer. Amazing coincidence, and really useful!

Travel Day: Dehradun to Chandigarh

I got up early and was the first one at breakfast (I guess everyone was tired from the party, which Alex and I only made an appearance at). It was dosas, and I thought it was good, but then again, I haven’t had much problem with the WII food like everyone else does.

The next morning, I ordered a car to the ISBT and Alex and Molly came along for the ride, since they were going to Rishikesh. It was really nice to have them there. Just having someone there seems to make it all go smoother. At least you know you have someone to talk to if everything goes wrong. But everything went right, I was on the right bus, for half as much as the car cost me (150 v. 300). It was a long ride, with two stops, and I was as usual covered in dust by the time we arrived. Also, wet from the rain that happened during hour 4. I had the worst seatmate in history, asleep and spreading out the whole time.

When we got off, I called Mr. R.B. of the BBMB because he seemed eager to help. I had been calling him during the trip, and he told me he lives near the Chandigarh ISBT (sector 43), and even offered to come get me if I could wait a while. I told him it was a really nice offer, but as I was surrounded by rickshaw drivers, I would just go with one of them to the University Guest House, although I hadn’t been able to get in touch with them successfully. Maybe it was for the best that my cycle rickshaw driver hijacked me and took me to what must be Chandigarh’s most ghetto hotel (sector 42). I really had to be OK with the roaches just running around willy nilly. I HAD to. After I got there, I mentioned this to Mr. R.B., and he came right over to argue with them. I told him it was OK, but then sat down and talked with him a while. He decided to take me to meet his family, and then on a driving tour of the city. So, despite inauspicious beginnings. Chandigarh was starting to be my favorite city I’d visited yet.

Travel Day: Mussorie to Dehradun (WII)

After Mussorie, another nightmare of a day traveling. I took an overpriced car to the ashram, where they dropped me off at the wrong place after about 30 minute of driving around looking for it. So they just abandoned me with all my stuff at the bottom of a Incan pyramid-esque staircase. I walked all the way up with my huge backpack, only to find it was not the ashram, but a school. Finally, Swati sent someone to find me, and we walked over to the ashram, and she gave me something to settle my stomach (first serious stomach pains). It was lemonade with pepper basically, but it did the trick. She was a very calming influence, and I liked her very much. Perhaps someday I will return to study Iyengar yoga in full. Then I took the bus the rest of the way into town, which was surprisingly both the cheapest and simplest leg of the trip. People were hanging off the outside, yelling the whole time. It was great! I had a pretty sweet seat up front, with my stuff, since I got on outside of the city.

I went to Café Coffee Day, and regrouped. Read Eat Pray Love, had some caffeine. Then got a rickshaw driver to bring me to the ISBT in Dehradun, so I could see about getting a bus ticket to Chandigarh. They told me to come back the day I was traveling, so I capitulated, slightly annoyed that I had made the trip for nothing. I offered a rickshaw driver half of what they first suggested to get to the Wildlife Institute, and one guy agreed at once. The others immediately undersold him, but I agreed to go with the guy that first met my price because I read that it’s incredibly rude not to.

I got to the WII, and got my stored bag from them. I went through all my stuff, which incidentally was filled with Wildlife, and I had to kill much of it. Not the stuff, the wildlife.

I went to the computer lab and chilled out because my computer had died while I was at LBS in Musoorie. Mostly checked personal emails. Then when I came back, Alex said he’d be back in about 2 hours, so I finished up my book, and waited for him, meditating. He came back, and we had a great time catching up before we went over to the party in the old hostel (where most of the Indian students live—we are put up in New Hostel, which is bigger and nicer, but not as social). I got to see Jenny and Molly again, and everyone else (Sahas, Asif, are the only names I remember now).

week in mussoorie

My week at Mussoorie was spent reading books and trying to order the same books from the bookstore. We talked with people, but it wasn’t very directed networking. I spoke with a couple of the administrative people, and they assured me they’d get me together with some Phase III people from the states I needed before Phase III went to Duke University, but that never happened. Perhaps I should have pressured them more, rather than talk to multiple people about it. Especially since we were banned from Phase III classes (Jenny what did you DO??), I didn’t get much time to network with them. That pretty much sums up my time in Musoorie.

pictures!

me and Dr. Asawa

Dr. Asawa
me and Dr. Jha

Not strictly a documentation of my work, but let's be honest, much of this journal isn't. It's a documentation of my time, and here are pictures to document that I actually met these people.

Mussoorie: LBSNAA part I

Jenny was still too tired this morning to go to breakfast. I waited for her to maybe change her mind and did some yoga. I was all dressed in Sara’s salwar-kameez for the interview she was going to do with IIP in Dehradun. Eventually, I went to breakfast alone. It was delicious, and I met one person, whose name I’ve already forgotten unfortunately. He was in Phase II, and was very nice. It’s always easy to start conversation by asking “What’s this?” about the food (it was coconut chutney, incidentally). It happened that we were sitting next to each other, too, by coincidence, although we’d met in line.

I’m nervous about all the “networking” I’m meant to do in this week. I’m feeling pretty low because of the altitude, though not as bad as that one afternoon in Leh when I ran out of my medication for it. But I just feel headachy, and generally achy. And tired. That weird all-over tiredness from altitude sickness. But luckily, not much nausea, and eating seems to help the other symptoms. Eating and drinking water. So I’m doing lots of that. Jenny wasn’t feeling well (maybe the altitude’s getting to her too) so she rescheduled her appointment with IIP till tomorrow. So I changed out of my salwar-kameez into something more warm, because it’s rather cold up here. There’s so much fog, it’s really like being smack in the middle of a cloud.

Anyway, Rakesh came to take us around the grounds and show us things. We might be able to ride horses some time while we’re here! I’d have to get my stuff from the WII, because my jeans and sneakers are in there. But it would be cool to do. The rest of the tour was great, too, although we found out Kalpana, our original contact here, had left the academy entirely. She had just asked Rakesh to take good care of us, which was really nice of her. We also met her more-or-less replacement, who was similarly nice and helpful, so at least we aren’t left hanging here. The replacement’s name was Arti Huzar, or something like that. I’m trying to remember all these names without the benefit of cards—just hearing the name said once, and it’s hard. But she said I would benefit most from sitting in on the Phase III people’s classes because they’re the mid-career people, and would have more contacts for me. She also said she’d try to introduce me specifically to some people from the states I’m interested in (Punjab, HP, and J&K).

Rakesh said we’d be able to borrow some books from the library, which would be great because I’m really comfortable in my room, and wouldn’t mind taking out some books on water resources, and just curling up to read, as unfriendly as that sounds. I need some time to do that if I’m going to be spending the rest of my time networking, I think. At least both things will be productive.

We ended the tour by sitting in on part of a phase III class, on e-governance and service. We’ll have to check the schedules to find classes more suited to us. So far, no luck on finding a class called “Governance issues and the Indus Waters Treaty.” Dang it.

I was going to go to the library to see about catching up on a little current events (there’s a reading room that has The Economist and other such publication), and also see about checking out some of the water resource books I spotted last time I was here. But by now it was drizzling pretty hard, so I decided to come back to the room for a bit, since Jenny was already anyway. She has to work on some article for her “other” work here. I just wanted to catch up on a few days of this journal. Hopefully the rain has let up by now.

We did work out how we’ll get down to Dehradun for the rescheduled meeting tomorrow. Bus, or share-taxi, and then rickshaw. We’ll do a few other errands in town if we’re there too early, like get our phone minutes charged, and I might just go get my stuff from WII, even though it means lugging that stupid suitcase with me to Chandigarh. I wish I could take it to Delhi and leave it at Jenny’s, and then take the nice train from Delhi to Chandigarh. As it is, I’ll have to take a bus from Dehradun to Chandigarh. But maybe I can take a train back, since I’ll be doing my Delhi interview directly after that. Depending on what central government contacts I can make, I might skip Simla so I have more time in Delhi. I can’t believe Delhi is the last leg of this trip! Then home, blessed home, and Virginia, blessed second home.

Travel Day: Roorkee to Mussoorie

Got up early to get to breakfast at 8 on the dot, though it turns out they aren’t actually read when they say they are. So I went to get my book and read it, and at 8:20, they were ready with some toast. I had 6 pieces, with lots of jelly. I kind of regretted this later, but I was hungry at the time.

I checked out of the hostel, finished the last minute packing, gave the room a thrice-over, and then went to wait for the cycle rickshaw they said they ordered me. I waited about 20 minutes before they noticed me and said it should be there by now. One guy went out on his scooter to find me one. I told him I was going to the train station because I wanted to try to meet Jenny’s train at 10:38, and I knew there were some seats left, or at least there were last night at midnight. But I heard him telling the rickshaw guy to take me to the bus stand! I corrected him again, but he just nodded. I said “train station!” and they asked “railway station?” really doubtfully, but I assure them that I really meant the railway station. So finally, I got on the rickshaw, and the guy asked me “Bus stand?” and I said “No, railway station.” “Train station?” he asked. Yes! What is so difficult to understand about this? Maybe it was really far away or something. Because after agreeing to take me to the train station, he took me to the bus stand, then tried to obscenely overcharge me. I feel particularly guilty about cycle rickshaws because it’s so much physical work on their part, but I was dumbfounded by this whole transaction. But there was a bus for Dehradun, so I got on it. And now I know why the other bus was called “Deluxe.” This one was a series of benches made for people whose femurs are no longer than 1 foot, apparently. And when it rained (which it definitely did), huge blasts of water came in through a loose window and drenched me. Just me. Just me and my travel luck. But I did arrive at the bus station, where it was flooding, alive, and only sopping wet with filthy water. So, that was a blessing. Or something.

It took me a while to find a rickshaw, but I eventually did, and he seemed pretty nice. I told him to take me to the train station, (“railway station?” “yes”; I just put these conversations in here because I KNOW these guys understood what I said, they’re just pushing their own agenda somehow). He took me to a taxi stand. I think it was because I had mentioned I was going to Mussoorie, and there are no trains to Mussoorie. But I explained I was meeting a friend, and he took me to the station. I sat for a while reading, until a guy next to me asked if I was reading a book about yoga (he must have read over my shoulder because I’m reading the part of Eat Pray Love that takes place in an ashram). We talked a bit, but I was glad when Jenny’s train finally arrived an hour after I got the station. I found our driver, and then spotted Jenny in the crowd.

Our driver drove crazy, which was kind of scary on those mountain passes, and we both got a little car sick. But it was better than the bus ride last time. We got to our rooms, which are swank, then we went straight to lunch. Which was delicious, I thought. I napped in the afternoon because I was so tired from sleeping poorly and being so nervous all day about traveling, and then gorging myself at lunch because I was so hungry from my early breakfast of a mountain of toast. I will be glad not to have the Roorkee hostel food again. It really was awful. Except the sliver of strawberry ice cream they gave me once at lunch.

There’s even internet in our rooms, and the sink doesn’t drain by dripping all the way across the bathroom floor (full of your toothpaste spit or whatever) to a drain in the floor. It has a little trough that it goes through to get to the shower drain. And they have toilet paper and trash cans and a towel. Like I said, swank.

Jenny didn’t want to come to dinner (she’s also very tired), so I went alone and sat in the middle of a bunch of elderly gentlemen. It was only slightly awkward. They were nice enough to my presence, but we didn’t talk about much. I thought dinner was good, but they didn’t have the delicious butter naan that they’d had at lunch.

I came back, wrote a few emails, both personal and official, made a few Skype calls home, and then went to sleep to have strange dreams. I think I have strange dreams all the time in India because I’m always in a new place, and people have strange dreams in hotels and new places.

Transribed Asawa’s interview and edited it slightly to put on the disc for him. The editing was an ordeal. Read through the Brahminutra Basin book that Dr. Ojha gave me, and called him at about 5 so his student could come pick it up. I gave him the disc, too, since Asawa wasn’t in his office.

Finished editing the transcription for Dorjay back in Leh, and sent that on to Moses Kunzang. The video file got kicked back twice for being too big, so hopefully he at least got the transcript.

Got annoyed with the sound quality of my interviews, and just after that, I found a little electronics shop right by the hostel, where I got a microphone for 200. I also got some candy bars for the trip tomorrow. Tried to get to bed early, but couldn’t sleep well, probably from being nervous about travel tomorrow. So I wrote a lot of letters and did things that were nagging me about the upcoming semester and such. Felt a little better, but still didn’t sleep well. Keep having nightmares.

Roorkee Day 2

I think the milk must be making me sick, because this was the second morning in a row that I really couldn’t stand up properly due to stomach cramps, but then was fine a few hours later. But after I was better, I went to see Dr. Jha of the National Institute for Hydrology (whom I had met a couple of months ago), who it seemed had not gotten any of my emails at all for some reason. I double checked when I got back, against the card he gave me, and it was the right email, so it must have been going to the spam folder. It’s too bad because he’s been such a help. He once again got me some good contacts in the places I need them. We sat and chatted for more than an hour, and then he drove me to the Hydrology Department, which was embarrassingly right next door. But it was really sweet of him to drive me. He’s moving to Rourkela, or some such town, to teach at the NIT. I’m glad for him, but I hope he gets my emails in the future, or else we won’t be able to keep in touch! He’s really such a kind man. We took a picture of the two of us together.

I went to the Hydrology Department and talked to the head of the department, who was very busy. He’d gotten my emails but hadn’t responded because he didn’t think he had anything to say about the matter (so he just ignored them, ha). He said the state governments, irrigation boards, for all the appropriate states are who I want to talk to. I don’t know how best to put that I know those are good contacts, but everyone’s opinions are valuable to me. However I’m putting it, it’s not working to get them to talk about what they know. In this case, I’m sure it’s because it was near the end of the day, and he hadn’t expected me to come by.

So afterwards, I went into town to find the bookshop. But failed utterly. I did get a little lost, which I normally would enjoy while traveling, but here, as Jenny puts it, I’m the White Girl Freak Show, and everyone stares. Ginny nailed it when she said it’s because (the both of us) are sure when we’re being stared at, it’s because we’re doing something wrong. So when it happens all the time, every time we leave the door, it’s discouraging. Especially when you don’t even find the dang bookshop you were looking for. Oh well. I still have tomorrow, even though I’m counting on it to transcribe interviews and read try to read as much of that book as I can. I’ve only achieved mapping out which chapters would be best to read, so that’s a start anyway. Not all 500 pages—that wasn’t going to happen anyway. I wish I were a speed reader, but I’m not. At all.

I did eventually find my way back, under the watchful eye of EVERYONE IN ROORKEE. I felt pretty proud of finding my way back, actually.

Some kids locked me in my room. I thought I was SOL, but then I found a phone and a phonebook, so that was lucky. Someone came to rescue me, and we both had a laugh. Dang kids, get off my lawn!! The reason they can do this (just an interesting side note, one of those things that might never get mentioned) is that the way doors are generally locked around here is with a deadbolt on the outside, and then a padlock. So even without a padlock, people could just slide the deadbolt in place and lock you inside your room. And then set a fire and kill you. So even though I didn’t have anywhere important to go, I thought it was important to get that taken care of right away. It’s really the fire issue that makes me realize it’s not such a clever idea to have deadbolts on the outside, as clever as it is in ways.

As I said, I should be spending this time on work, not on this “explaining why I did not get productive work done” thing I’ve got going. If it BECOMES the reason I don’t get work done, that would be crazy!

Roorkee

And I did basically sleep the clock around. About 12 hours of sleep later, I got up to discover what this thing called breakfast is. The food is going to be mediocre at best here, but I’ve already paid for it in full, so that’s that at least. I was so hungry on my travel day (note to self: have got to remember to eat every day), but luckily a Clif bar that Jenny had given me saved the day for dinner. I had like a mountain of toast and chickpeas for breakfast, but there was no coffee. There was, however, boiled milk. I guess that’s as good as pasteurized, but it tastes weird and bland. I tried adding sugar, but it still tasted an awful lot like scalding, boiled milk.

I wasn’t feeling too well after that breakfast, so I had to further put off my meeting with Dr. Asawa, the head of the civil engineering department. I finally felt up to walking around by about lunchtime, and went to talk to him then. We scheduled a meeting for after month, and he said he had no problem with the recording, but as everyone does, expressed doubt that he’d have anything useful to contribute. We had about a half hour interview, to be transcribed, and he definitely wants a copy of the transcription, his video (which I’m going to try to shorten for him to be able to copy to disc tonight).

After that, I had an appointment with Dr. Raj Pal Singh, in the Water Resources and Development office. He was a Ganges basin expert (36 years on the field), but didn’t want to be recorded because he thought he had so little to offer. I sat in his office about 30 minutes, and he was very genial, but I did think about how difficult transcribing his accent would have been. He recommended two fantastic resources in the form of government reports. I am going to try to pick them up when I’m in Delhi. While we were talking, my appointment with Dr. Ojha, also of the civil engineering department, got moved from tomorrow at 11:30 to this evening at 6. So I went back to my room to regroup all my stuff, just in case he would be willing to be recorded.

He was not willing to be recorded, but again for the same old reasons of “I have nothing to offer your project.” But he was again, very helpful, and I was wishing I were at least recording it for my own sake, if not for the sake of the documentary. He talked about some water issues in Simla, that I think would have been very applicable to the study. He talked about a group in Haridwar, the goal of which seems to be to find the middle ground between the environmentalists and the money-makers, when it comes to hydroelectric projects. He also talked about climate change, and how Rajasthan had a huge flood in 2006 because its infrastructure is only set up for a certain intensity of rainfall, which is now changing because of climate change. We drank tea together, and he let me borrow a book he’d written. I have all tonight to read 500 pages. Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen, but I will read as much as I can because it does look useful. Also, I wish I had time to read and comprehend all of his Hydrological Engineering textbook, because the parts I went over looked really useful. As in, it would help me understand which data would be most useful to collect vs. which data is kind of useless. I feel like I’m collecting useless data, as well as collecting useless information in these interviews. Just generally feeling pretty useless.

But it’s always nice to be settled somewhere. I’m always grateful for a day that doesn’t involve traveling, doesn’t involve staying conscious on a moving vehicle (difficult for me) to be hyper-aware of when my stop is, doesn’t involve arguing with drivers, or trying to find drivers to begin with. A day that involves spending a set amount of money, for instance, at a hostel.

Since three people had recommended their books to me, they also had recommended I go to the Indira Ghandi book depot in the Civilines part of town. I will be reliant on rickshaw drivers, even within the campus, because there are no campus maps to be found anywhere. I feel so at-sea without knowledge at-hand, but it makes me realize how spoiled I am. Not only to always have the internet, but to always know the internet will tell me what I want to know when I get to it. Here, I mostly use the internet for communication; getting information any other way besides email hasn’t seemed to work.

I hope I will be able to find an internet café somewhere in town, too. I ended up not going to town this evening because I was afraid it would get dark too quickly. I’m kind of a chicken about that. It’s hard enough being lost in a city during the day, but at night, it’s also scary on top of that. I also wanted to make sure I didn’t miss dinner because I was hungry. I didn’t have much at lunch. I did meet someone from the electrical engineering department, though I can’t remember his name. The people eating at this hostel aren’t student-aged, generally, but they’re very friendly. Dr. Ojha had mentioned there are two students from the College of Charleston here, so I have their numbers for when they get back later tonight. Maybe I can meet with them, although they’re not in my hostel. I’m meeting people left and right, but it’s not quite the same as meeting people somewhere roughly in my age group. These students might be actually younger than me, but I’m not sure. And I think at least one might be Indian, judging by the name.

Tonight, I’m going to transcribe as much of the Asawa interview as I can. It’s going to be difficult because the AC in the background makes the sound not as good. It’s funny that my indoor interviews have had the worst sound so far. Maybe I’ll figure it out. Maybe I just need to get a good microphone. I already edited his video a little bit, getting out the bits at the beginning, and where he answered the phone a few times. I think it’ll save some space, and now I’m compressing it so it will fit on the disc he gave me.

Travel day: Delhi to Roorkee

Ugh, another bad day on a bus. Getting to the ISBT in Delhi took much longer than I remembered, and I had to leave a little late so I could get my phone minutes topped up before I left (I had zero). I said goodbye to all of Jenny’s roommates, only one of whom I’ll see again (a bit sad, as I’d gotten to know them a bit living so much at Jenny’s). I got to the ISBT, and was headed confidently to the Uttaranchal section, as I’d gone to Dehradun already this way, but someone redirected me to a “deluxe” bus. I suspect this person was getting a commission for selling a private company route instead, but last time the person directed me, they indeed sent me to the correct stall. This time, not the case. The bus was bound of Haridwar, and they swore it would stop off at Roorkee for me. I paid as much as I did for the AC bus to Dehradun, but there was no AC on this “deluxe” bus. I can’t count the number of times during the journey I thought “In what way is this bus deluxe?” It was rather filthy as well, and bumpy. I at least had a nice seat-mate, and elderly gentleman, about 70 he said. But he helped me out, and told me after the rest-stop when to get up. I spent the first half of the trip asleep with my mouth gaping open, so no telling what dust and bugs ended up in my digestive tract. I haven’t gotten sick yet, so maybe it’s just yet another punching bag for my immune system.

So, by the seat of my pants, I got out at Roorkee, got my bag out from underneath the bus, and hopped quite quickly onto a cycle rickshaw, who took me straight to the Civil Engineering building, and then to the hostel, when the department turned out to be closed. I went in and crashed by about 8pm. The place was swank! Hot water, toilet paper, AC, two sheets and everything! This is probably the nicest place I’ve stayed since the Madhuban in Dehradun. It turned out to be about 350, much more than the WII hostel, but then again, it really is nicer, and I’m here a shorter time. After all, it’s really just $8 that seems so steep to me.

I dream every time I close my eyes of being home. It makes me want to sleep for the next month, till I got home. That’s so awful to say! But I’m so homesick. And exhausted by everything.

Delhi

Finished up a transcription and started another. I started with the easy ones, and now have only the very quick-talking Sonam Jorgyes’s interview to transcribe. Finally got in touch with a professor at Roorkee who can fix me up at the hostel, and he has done it for me. So nice of him! I also have an interview set up with him later tomorrow, so I hope my travel plans go OK. I don’t have any money left on my phone now, and I don’t know when I can get it refilled. Schnikes! Got in touch with LBSNAA, after tracking Kalpana Dube down in Delhi, and finally getting in touch with someone at the academy, after being hung up on countless times. I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong. Maybe speaking English is my problem. Anyway, I feel like my plans for the next week and a half are at least shored up, and that’s a relief, though I still have to get through the actual travel part of it tomorrow. I hope I have something to read on the bus. There are a few reports that Jenny got for me that I still haven’t a chance to look at, and they’re in my bag. So maybe I can do that, if I don’t get carsick from reading. I feel I’m again going to be last one on the bus, with my giant backpack, which means I’ll be at the back again.

I just feel like a lot of this project is going to be more drab, without Sarah or Alex or Jenny to return to in the evenings after I’m done. I will have to keep being “on” all night, meeting all the new people in the hostels. Which is OK, really, I’ll appreciate the experience and getting to meet so many people, but it leaves me little time to recharge my introvert nature.

I think it was today that I spoke with Dr. Eaton, who was very encouraging, but I still feel I’m accomplishing nothing (hence, I’m still keeping this journal up). Even as I transcribe these interviews, I feel I “did them wrong,” and there are so many points in the interview I want to shake myself and ask “Why didn’t you say or ask this??” So frustrating to myself. Still, when I talked to Dr. Eaton, I probably sounded positive because I had gotten three very friendly interviews recorded, and a number of others achieved, though in written form. But I still wonder: how much useful information am I really getting?

Monday: Delhi

Today I spent a lot of time on the phone, running down my already-paltry supply of minutes. I wasn’t able to get much accomplished despite that. I did finish my transcription and start on another one. I felt so tired, it was hard to keep up momentum on any one project. I went down and bought a lot of stuff at the market to make me and Jenny and Stephanie some dinner (what turned out to be moussaka and French fries). Even if I don’t have a productive day, at least I can support someone who did. I did send out a lot of emails/letters to the Roorkee contacts I have, but I was unable to book myself into the hostel, so I’m worried about that.

Sunday

Today, I’m planning on transcribing as many of the interviews as I can. I will start with the one I don’t have the recording for, Mr. Dakpa.

--
Well, I didn’t get as much transcribed as I had hoped today. Having everyone around makes it harder to work. That’s my line anyway. I was able to do half of one, with my earplugs in, but I felt quite rude with everyone around being social.

No work day: Delhi

Today was mostly spent getting a few errands done for Sarah before he plane left. Bangles bought, FabIndia visited, coffee drunk. Then we went to Jenny’s “parlor” down the road, got the thick coat of dirt scraped off our feet. Packing ensued. Taxis called, last minute time spent. Then Sarah was away, in her taxi, hopefully successful on her flight because once you’re in the Delhi airport, it’s hard to get back out.

After excruciating discussion with the rickshaw drivers, less about money and more about if they knew where we were going, we got a ride to a party that Jenny’s friend was having. Everyone there was nice, and we left by about 1:30, when more excruciating rickshaw negotiations ensued.

Travel Day: Leh to Delhi

Another day full of traveling. We got to the airport before it even opened, which caused a few problems because we were two hours early for our flight. But after a few baggage scans, and several pat-downs, we were safe in the terminal, where we met Shlomi, from Israel, who partook of a prayer session the likes of which neither Sarah nor I had ever seen before. We tried not to gawk, but it was very interesting.

After we arrived in Delhi, there was a heated rickshaw exchange, and we had to pay 30 more rupees than I had had to pay to get to the airport in the first place. But we really were not given any choice. I guess I lucked out on the ride to the airport, even if he dropped me at the wrong terminal. So we got a ride to near Jenny’s house, and camped out with all our stuff at Café Coffee Day for a few hours, then retired to the park near Jenny’s house to sit on a bench and talk for the next 6 hours. Jenny’s phone had died while she was at her conference, so we couldn’t get in touch with her. I promised myself another weekend workday to make up for the day of not working. But there was nothing for it, so there was no point getting frustrated, and we tried to enjoy sitting out for hours in the scorchingest part of the day in the Delhi heat. It was easier because I had Sarah with me. I’m worried about similar situations when I’ll be alone again.

Sarah was very sad that night about her impending departure, so we tried eating ice cream and watching Sex and the City to cheer her up. But the real problem was probably that we were so tired from our scant few hours of sleep, and sitting out in the heat all day.

Leh :Day 4

This morning I had the interview with the CEC, who much be a pretty big-wig, top-brass kind of guy. His house was ginormous, and when I told the taxi driver where I was going, he knew the name of the person who lived there (“Chering Dorjay?”). Basically, this guy was the governor of the Ladakh region, so he had no problem letting me film the interview. The view was beautiful, and afterwards he gave me some tea, and there was once again belabored small talk. The problem is they don’t ask questions back. I wonder if there is some cultural difference, and they’re thinking “God, she talks a lot, doesn’t she ever stop asking questions?” While I’m thinking “It’s like pulling teeth to get this conversation rolling!” Maybe it would be nicer just to sit in silence and sip tea. But it would have been awkward because he wasn’t having any.

Then I walked down to the Women’s Alliance, which had its headquarters and a café right down the road from his house. I was there very early, but luckily there were some tables for the café outside, so I sat down and wrote yesterday’s entry by hand. Then a little later, two women showed up, and I hoped they were some of the ones I had the names of to contact. They were all whities’ names. But Sam and Ellie, the women, were just tourists, here for some breakfast, so we all ate together. They lived in Goa, but were from England and Cyprus. After they left, I wondered a round a little bit because more and more people were finally starting to show up. I asked around, and found one lady on my contact list (Sharon Hoffman), and she suggested Alex, her colleague, also participate in the interview. Sharon turned out to have lived in New Orleans for a while, so we hit it off about that. I liked them both a lot, and they were so nice to submit to the interview without any advance notice. I hadn’t had any contact information for them. On the way out, I got a video about the NGO and the Ladakhi region, thinking it could count at research, but it also looked moderately interesting to me, too. It’s about local Ladakhi’s traveling to the West to see the “civilized” world, but of course they also see all the downsides that they don’t have to deal with, like nursing homes and landfills.

After Women’s Alliance, I tried to walk to LeDEG, another NGO right down the road, but I couldn’t find it despite Alex’s very good map. So I kept walking into town, and eventually got a taxi out to the guy that the Mr. Dorjay, the governor, had recommended I talk to. It turned out to be basically in the next town, so it was a long taxi drive, and then once we got to the Power Project Development Compound itself, the taxi driver had to take me around to a few different buildings, trying to help me find the right guy. Eventually, I found him, and he had a line out his door, so I knew this was going to be a foreshortened interview. I did get to skip to the head of the line (Why does this happen, I wonder?).

I forgot to say that I had gone home to change out of my green salwar-kameez because I realized it was doing more harm than good—it was Indian culture, not Ladakhi, and I was interviewing a lot of Ladakhis. So when I went out to PPD to interview SK Kakroo, I had changed to pants and a white kurta. And wouldn’t you know it, he was Indian. But I am not good at guessing from the names because I don’t know any of the languages I’m working with.

The “interview” was not particularly successful. He was very brusk, and also had his executive engineer, MK Varikoo, in the office with him. Both answered the questions, and neither seemed happy with me. But I got a few smiles out of them, so maybe they were just rushed and over-busy, and it was very nice of them to meet with me at all. I didn’t even ask to record this interview because I was pretty sure they wouldn’t want it recorded, and it would just set a poor tone to begin the talk that way. I probably only talked with them 15 minutes, which was frustrating considering how far I’d ridden to get there.

They did recommend I talk to someone else, Dean Mahmood, the executive engineer who would have the discharge data on the Indus. Of course this was very much of interest to me, so I walked around the compound to find this guy, but ended up finding only a few of his colleagues, who said he wasn’t in that day. Curse the luck, and it was my last day in Leh! I talked to his colleagues for a while. I seemed to attract an entourage wherever I went, which was weird. I don’t know if my research is really all that interesting, or if it’s just because I’m different and foreign and seemingly interesting. But anyway, after another short interview with this “subsidiary” guy, he mentioned I could walk to the Indus from where we were.

I was very excited about this possibility. Suddenly, the long taxi ride didn’t seem like a waste. I managed to go get some shots of the Indus, and it really was beautiful. There was a bridge over it, covered in prayer flags. The river was so small, it was hard to think of it supporting all of Pakistan. It will be interesting to see Tabby’s photos of the same river, and try to reconcile the two.

I then called the LeDEG guy to get the directions to his place. Grabbed a taxi straight back to him place, and conducted the interview, which he let me record. His name was a difficult-to-pronounce Sonam Jorgyes. He was helpful, but in a hurry, so the interview, while dense, was only about 30 minutes. I had to use the video camera, not the camera-camera’s video function because the batteries were dead. I was really nervous about the sound, but at least it was the first indoor-interview. Later, I at least found the sound was hearable, if nothing else.

Afterward, Sarah and I went to get a yak-cheese sandwich for dinner. I didn’t do my interview transcriptions that night as planned. We instead packed up for most of the evening, got all our bills taken care of, etc. Then went back to the roof to sleep, but it was already raining. It stopped eventually, so we got some sleep at least. Despite our rude Belgian roofmate.

Leh: Day 3

This morning I went to the same Wildlife Office as before because there was a sign that said Ladakh Hill Development Council, which was whom I was going to try to meet with today. But I asked someone at the door, and they laughed and said no it wasn’t and then gave complicated instructions that I wasn’t sure were in English, so I found a phone to try to call Moses K, my contact in the office. I told him I was at the taxi stand and he said “oh, good!” my heart leapt! I was in the right part of town after all! Then he added “Take a taxi to our offices.” At first I thought I’d try to walk, because one of my crappy maps of Leh showed it not too far away. But I lost my confidence partway there, and went back to take a taxi.

There was no red carpet at the place and though there were several police asking my business, I think it was mostly to help me, since there were no metal detectors involved. I met with Moses, though he quickly got me audience with his boss, the chief executive council (woah) of the Ladakh Development Board. “You can stop wasting your time with me” said Moses. I had a brief meeting, which seems to be par for the course. I’ll try to remember to set up, or plan on these pre-interviews. We made an appointment for tomorrow morning at his house for the real interview. Then I ent back to Moses’s office for some tea. The was very nice, though the small talk was somewhat belabored. In the end, he asked me to email him If I needed any help, and to let him know all the places I’d be going so he could see if he could find me any help there. So nice of him! I saw some stupa-eyes, and we talked about religion some, so I asked if he was Buddhist. Surprisingly, he was Christian, and the stupa-eyes were a gift from Nepal. I guess I did only see those eyes on the stupas at Nepal. He got me a car back to the market, which was incredibly nice of him. The driver and his companion were very amenable, but I don’t think they spoke much English.

Next I went to see if Jigmet Dakpa was back in his office after yesterday’s emergency. I didn’t see him in there at first, but he was in the corner eating his lunch. He finished up quickly when he saw me, which might have made me feel bad, but everyone is so happy and friendly, it’s hard to feel bad about anything here.

He said he could do the interview now, but when I started to set up the camera, he balked, even though we’d talked about it. So I ended up not recording, but taking detailed notes, which I hope I can read later. I better type them up quickly while my memory is fresh. He was very kindly and seemed amused by the lacunae in my knowledge. A few times as he gave me a lesson, he would jovially command “Educate yourself!” he studied as a civil engineer then switched to forestry and studied the 2 ½ years at FRI! So we talked about little about Dehradun.

I then called the name I’d gotten from the CEC, at the PPD. He said to try to come by that day, but I only had ½ an hour to get to his place. I went back to the hotel to get some supplies, but it took longer than I thought to walk back from where I was, so I’ll have to see the guy tomorrow, which he said was OK.

Sarah and I had a long tea to kill time before meeting Lena, Catherine, Nadine, and whatever entourage they had picked up that day, for dinner. They’d picked up a couple of Aussies and a guy from Detroit, for their Sunday bike ride. Dinner was nice, though I was still full from my Nutella pancake.

We slept on the roof again, and watched the Watcher in the Woods, as well as the stars, which were amazing. I saw a few fall.

Leh: Day 2

I think the acclimatization caught up with me today. I went into the office for the second, “real” interview with Mr. Dakpa, but he wasn’t there. So I ran back to my hotel, leaving my camera and stuff all set up. Of course I was completely out of breath, but that had been normal since I got off the plane. I grabbed some extra cash, which is what I had gone back for, and then ran back to the office, where he still wasn’t yet. After sitting a little longer, adding a few potential questions to the trough, someone came up and told me he’d had an emergency meeting with the electoral council, or something like that, so might not be in all day. I was disappointed, but I said I’d come back later. I packed up my stuff and went to the post office on the way to the internet place. I mailed all 51 of my postcards, and I only have about 15 left to write. It took forever to lick and affix 102 stamps, but I was able to listen to interesting conversations of other tourists.

I went to an internet place to write down the contacts information for some people because I didn’t feel like going all the way back to the hotel.

Leh: Day 1

I just finished up a pre-interview with Jigmet Dakpa, who works in the Department of Wildlife Protection as the Conservator of Forest (Wildlife). Dr. Hussain had recommended the Wildlife Warden, Tahil Shawl, but when I called him, he was out of town, so he gave mr Mr. Dakpa’s number, and Mr. Dakpa said he could only meet today, so I rushed to get ready to meet with him. He was already meeting with a journalist/documentarian, Janki Kathayat, who was doing a few projects on climate change and wildlife in the Ladakh region. She also turned out to be incredibly helpful, so I really lucked out. They both recommended a lot of government agencies to go in town, and by the end of the interview, Mr. Dakpa even offered to give me a guide to take me around to these offices tomorrow, since they are difficult to find online.

Both of them also recommended I visit Jammu, if not Srinagar, to talk to farmers in the villages of the area, particularly right along the border. Ms. Kathayat offered her help in getting me military clearance to go there, which is unbelievable, but I’m still not sure of the safety issues. She said if I went with a local person, they would have a better sense of when there is real danger, and when not. This may be so, but she also makes “finding some farmers to talk to” sound like a simple task, when it’s been one of the most daunting of this whole project. She also looked at my release form, and said it was pretty standard, and she doesn’t have trouble getting hers signed for her documentaries. She also said there was no need to get it translated because people in Ladakh speak better English than they do Hindi. Their native languages are too varied for translation into all of them. So that’s good news—no translation needed. Whew!

In Jammu, specifically, Ms. K particularly suggested visiting Joria, Lacampur, Callor, Undamphus. Not sure of spellings of any of these. Joria is very agricultural. Also look into the Iggo Phey canal in Ladakh. It’s nearly complete, but there’s no water for it from the Indus—here, before its tributaries dump water, it is very small. Himas. They recommended talking to the Flood Control Department, and the Command Area Development Department, which builds canals, for one thing. Meet with administrative staff as well as ministers, and as well as locals. Meet with the External Affairs Ministry in Delhi, regarding the Indus Waters Treaty. Also look into the Neemo Bandgo aachi dam project, with Mr. Sharma as the project manager. Look at Spituk, a village. Meet with the Board Development Corporation and the Board Development Department. Go to Chogiasmsar (part of the city) for these guys.
Ms. K’s documentaries: Human Invasion, about turtles in the Sunderbans mangrove system (island, very large, a few hours from Calcutta). Survival Sunderbans, about the River Lung in the valley.

Long day of travel from Dehradun to Delhi

Today I left the Wildlife Institute. It was so nice to have all those facilities to use for that week. I feel really behind on everything because of the days of traveling I took first, but at least this way I won’t lose momentum by traveling in the middle, or at the end.

I spent the week reading reports, looking up contacts online, looking up data online. Besides the data, it was basically what I’ve been doing to a lesser degree already on this project. The first day I had access to the internet, Saturday the 28th of June, I worked for 10 hours straight, and got myself locked out of the dorm, so I slept in Dr. Badola’s office. Luckily she had a couch.

At the moment, I’m in the airplane on the way to Leh. “On the way to Leh,” heh. Outside the window is a glorious view of mountains capped with snow! I know a pictures would come out crummy, so I won’t even bother. But it’s beautiful, with the black and white relief.

Anyway, Dr. Badola and Dr. Hussain at the WII were so incredibly helpful. They pointed me in the direction of different contacts for the same organizations I’d identified, more specific names and emails, different from the heads of the office I’d found, and who are so uncommunicative.

On Thursday, I finally sat down to call the people who didn’t answer by email, or for whom I didn’t have emails. Some were helpful by phone (the Central Water Commission quickly gave me two contacts in the areas that are better suited to the project, Chandigarh and Simla), and some were incomprehensible. A few for whom I had no email address, and who were having trouble with the language barrier, asked that I send them an email so they could better understand what I was doing. However, I think I must have written their emails down wrong. The accents can sometimes be so heavy.

Now the mountains outside are brown and rocky. They are so barren! I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like being on another planet, or the moon.

But enough about my progress, or lack thereof. I need to talk about my nightmare of a day. I’m constantly tied up in knots about days of travel, and it turns out I have good reason to be. Today went about as badly as possible, without me actually missing any connections. So I don’t know if this will make me more nervous about travel days, or less, since it could barely get any worse. I’ll go into detail because I’m so baffled by the whole ordeal.

I thought I had it all under control when I got a fellow student at the WII to order me a rickshaw to come up to the campus and take me to the Interstate Bus Terminal (ISBT). However, as I was walking up to the rickshaw, a couple outright stole it from me! I was dumbfounded by how blatantly rude they were. So I had to order another rickshaw, at cost to myself in the form of the STD/ISD/PCO phone calls that were made. This rickshaw offered me a price 40 rupees higher than the other one would have been. I’ve been in no position to bargain all day because I really needed to go to wherever I was going, and needed to get there quickly. So I didn’t argue much. But it was frustrating that Sahas’s work negotiating me a good rate was also stolen by that couple. So, I got to the bus station much later than I meant to—it was about 2. Some of this lateness was my fault—not realizing how long it would take to close up shop, pay for room and board etc, at the WII hostel. Packing up wasn’t too bad because I’d done most of it the night before. I left my suitcase in the office of the hostel, so hopefully it will be safe there. Dr. Hussain must have forgotten to tell them I would be doing that because they seemed really unsure about the process when I finally was able to communicate that I wasn’t taking it with me.

So, I got the ISBT, and went window to window, trying to find some information about when and where the next Delhi bus was. I was happy to take deluxe, non-, AC, or non-. But no one spoke English at the first two windows. Either that, or they just blatantly ignored me. I’m not really sure what’s worse because when they don’t speak English well, they tend to tell you “yes” no matter what you ask, which is confusing, and they tend to tell you any answer rather than figure out what you’re actually asking and figuring out how to tell me the correct answer. So the first information I got about the “next” Delhi bus was that it was at 10;30, which I knew was false because they went hourly, even on Sundays. Finally, someone who spoke good English told me where (stall 40) and when (3pm) the bus would be leaving.

I went to sit near stall 40 and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally a bus pulled into stall 39 at 3:15. I asked the crowd that instantly thronged around the bus whether it was going to Delhi. But I was told “They are taking Jaipur riders first.” At first I thought maybe the bus was going to Jaipur via Delhi, so I wasn’t too concerned. But then someone told me I should get in line for the bus tickets, which was weird because I knew the tickets were sold on board the bus. But I went and got into the “line” just in case. The “line” consisted of a group of Indians, all with cash in hand, thrusting it towards the attendants. I guess whoever got the cash snatched up was first in line. Eventually, from scraps, I picked up that the bus was basically being auctioned to either Delhi or Jaipur—whichever group bought the most tickets. Which seems like an unsustainable system. So we were still in line for the regular bus that would leave later, which let me tell you, looked a little grim. First of all because there were about 50 people in line, and second of all because the bus really looked uncomfortable. I hadn’t been set on having AC or a “deluxe” bus, but a little room for my huge backpack would have been a must. But that one sold out, and there were no prospects for another because of the rain, I guess. And this rumored landslide.

Luckily, I found three kids (students) in the same predicament, and long story short, we decided to share a taxi back to Delhi. I offered to pay more for it, and in return they offered to accompany me on the second part of my trip to VasantKunj, Jenny’s part of the city. They said it wasn’t safe riding alone at night. Ignoring the part where I’d only just met them an hour before, I could tell they were being quite chivalrous, and I know for sure now that I made a good character judgment in the end.

I had really looked forward to sleeping on the bus since I hadn’t slept much the night before, up late packing, up early paying off debts and having breakfast. But the boys kept asking me lots of questions and wanting to chat, which was sweet, but annoying when they would do it right as I dozed off. They got me some dinner, chat and some paella, as well as a lassi and a piece of gum.

Finally, I arrived at Jenny’s, where she took good care of me, and then I slept for one blessed hour before the taxi I ordered was due to arrive. Only, it never came. I tried calling them (waking Jenny to get the number), but they had no record of the order. Just as I was ordering another one, a rickshaw drove by, so I was able to catch it. This was very lucky because if I’d been in that neighborhood any longer, the packs of dogs would have probably torn me apart. Nothing swayed them or scared them.

Got to the airport, had been dropped at the wrong terminal and abandoned. Another auto driver offered to take me to the other terminal for 100 rupees! It was ridiculous. I said I’d walk, but he said it was 4 kilometers the back way, which was a mistake on his part. I said I’d pay 40 rupees max if it was 4 kilometers. After all, he’d still be at the airport and able to get another fare right away. He said OK, and he drove me what was significiantly less than 4 km. I got out and gave him a 50, but he said no, and demanded a 100. I argued with him but he was obstinate, as if we hadn’t had our bargaining conversation at all. Finally, I gave him the 100rupee bill that I’d been carrying around for weeks because no one would take it—it was really ratty and had some weird stickers on it. He tried to give it back to me, but I was so angry at him, I jumped out of the auto and said “Huh! I guess you should have taken the 50 after all! Hope you’re happy with your life.” And ran through the ticket gate to where he couldn’t follow. I hadn’t been that angry in a very long time. It was partly because I’d had such bad transportation luck the whole day so far.

After that, it was pretty clear sailing. I got through the tickets bureaucracy pretty easy, thanks to going to Nepal, and was sitting in the terminal waiting, a full hour before the flight took off. There was a slight delay once we got on, maybe because of the rain. They served breakfast, and gave water, and I had taken my altitude sickness pill, and I was sure things would be looking up. And as you saw from my interjections earlier in the entry, things certainly looking more beautiful.

Book Report: On the Edge of Darkness

On the Edge of Darkness: Conversations About Conquering Depression
Kathy Cronkite

I. About the book and authors
1) Concept of book
§ Cronkite cast a wide net to talk with dozens of people who have in some way experienced depression, and gets their thoughts on a variety of topics. There are celebrities (very successful people), mental health professionals, family members of people with depression.
§ Many of the entries are, as the title suggests, very conversational—they are probably transcriptions of interviews. Many of the more professional opinions are better organized, and obviously have more scientific research behind them. It’s interesting to see the clinical view and the layman’s view laid side-to-side on so many topics.
2) About Kathy Cronkite
§ Former sufferer of unipolar depression, and currently an advocate for depression awareness, here in Austin as latest I can track. She is an author, has had a few other jobs in shows business, and is Walter Cronkite’s daughter.




II. Summary of Book
1) Chapter 1: The Dog and I
§ Cronkite talks about two images of depression: a black hole, and Churchill’s image of a black dog. She prefers this second image—something with you that people not might realize is even there, but you’re constantly aware of it. She gives the straightforward history of her lifelong suffering of depression and the relief when she finally was able to treat is successfully. It depended on her recognizing that it was a chronic illness that she would always be recovering from.
2) Chapter 2: It Takes One to Know One
§ Since it was Mike Wallace’s admission of having depression that gave her courage, she starts off with his account of his own depression. It is interesting that as the accounts progress through the book, one emerging theme is that they list all of the things that were bothering them at the time—in Mike Wallace’s case, a lawsuit, and some worry about his career. But as he and others eventually determine, these things are separate from the disease itself. Everyone has hard things that they have to suffer through in life, but not everyone is victim to the hopeless despondency of depression that renders them incapable of dealing with the issues. Wallace’s account focuses more on his physical symptomotology than his mental state
3) Chapter 3: What Is Depression?
§ A discussion on the colloquial use of the word “depressed,” versus the actual clinical disease. As comes up many times later in the book, this overlap may lead to misunderstandings about what depression actually is.
§ In this chapter, Cronkite mainly talks about bipolar and unipolar. Bipolar has a strong genetic component, and occurs by some studies more or less equally in men. Women are much more likely to suffer from unipolar depression (1:4 by one study). See also the attachment at the end of this book report, with the most up-to-date clinical diagnostic tools for various types of depression.
§ Depression can kill you if untreated. Some of the contributor’s discussions in this chapter made some clear metaphors that opened my eyes—I will stick with the metaphor of diabetes (II). There is a strong genetic component. But people do have some control over whether or not it manifests; but even people who avoid sugar all their lives can still succumb. It also can be treated with ongoing care, but can easily kill you if ignored. This made me think of a literary work, The Sorrows of Young Werther, by Goethe. It comes at the end of a longer conversation, also interesting, but the gist is captured here:"Human nature," I continued, "has its limits. It is able to endure a certain degree of joy, sorrow, and pain, but becomes annihilated as soon as this measure is exceeded. The question, therefore, is, not whether a man is strong or weak, but whether he is able to endure the measure of his sufferings. The suffering may be moral or physical; and in my opinion it is just as absurd to call a man a coward who destroys himself, as to call a man a coward who dies of a malignant fever."Later in the book, there is a moment with Cronkite heard a woman on a radio show arguing that if assisted suicide is okayed for people with chronic disease, people with depression should have the right to make this choice, too. This may have been somewhat the case in Goethe’s time, but the Cronkite wanted very much to make the argument to the caller that 80-90% of cases are successfully treated. There is some more discussion of this in chapter 9, but that chapter is more focused on individual’s experiences with it (but obviously with no one who attempted successfully).
§ This is the first chapter that has a lot of different voices giving their experience. It drives home that depression can have a lot of varying symptoms and degrees of intensity, and one can see why it might not be a simple diagnosis. There is also distinction between sadness and depression.
4) Chapter 4: Black Dog, White Dog
§ Short chapter on bipolar disorder. I found the chapter by Susan Crosby (Lindsay Crosby’s wife) a more interesting examination of the phenomenon. It was interesting that even though bipolar people sometimes will not want to treat their illness because they miss the “highs” and the energy and feeling of accomplishment, it was the highs, and not the lows, that were completely devastating to the Crosbys.
5) Chapter 5: Effects on a Career
§ This and the next chapter on the stigma go together hand in hand. A lot of the discussion in this chapter was about how sufferers had to hide their depression and treatment from employers, mostly out of fear of judgment.
§ Aside from the stigma, however, there is discussion about the difficulty of carrying on a career with consistency with an untreated affective disorder. The Styrons (writers) had to kind of reset their lives when William came down with an unexpected case of severe unipolar depression late in life.
§ One weakness I found in the book was so many of the contributors had rather atypical careers. A lot of them were in show business or politics. And while I did come to see how those particular freelance-esque careers, when you deal with constant judgment by others, could easily precipitate a depression, for the purposes of looking at it from a management perspective, I think the book misses out a lot on the experience of how everyday life depression would exhibit, in and office for instance. The discussions from psychiatric professionals picked up the slack here, but the first-person accounts still seemed unbalanced.
6) Chapter 6: Overcoming the Stigma and the Shame
§ There are a lot of connections between this chapter and chapter 13, which deals with men and women’s different “relationship” to the disease.
§ Many of the accounts say it’s more than just the stigma of a “mental illness.” Whether true or not, many felt there was less stigma with coming out with a substance abuse disorder. Some felt they would still be judged as having a “moral failing,” rather than a disease. One doctor has heard people call it a “wimp’s disease.”
7) Chapter 7: Substance Abuse
§ Several of the contributors had some substance abuse issues as well. There is an interesting discussion about the connection between substance abuse and depression---and how difficult it can be clinically to determine which is the cause and which is the effect. Or if one is masking another completely. Kitty Dukakis’s story most clearly showed how important it is to get to the root diagnosis to really help someone. Substance abuse can be a way of self-medicating a depression, and then can be a way of prolonging it.
8) Chapter 8: Love’s Labour’s Lost: Susan Crosby
§ Susan Crosby tells the story of her marriage to Lindsay Crosby, son of Bing Crosby, who suffered from bipolar disorder. Interesting points: she spent years and years getting herself therapy to figure out why she was so bothered by things (for instance, his sleeping with other women, going on rampant horse-buying binges). There is more discussion of women’s “place” in society and how it relates to depression (she also exhibited signs of depression eventually). Also interesting that as a celebrity and trust-fund kid, Lindsay was surrounded by false friends who just liked him when he was high and fun, and didn’t try to get him help. In fact, they got him out of the psychiatric ward early before he eventually killed himself. Susan blamed this entourage phenomenon on why it took so long to get him treated.
§ On the celebrity phenomenon, in modern terms: it’s not surprising that Brittney Spears is getting treated for bipolar disorder—would it have gone untreated this long if she hadn’t been a celebrity? Because at the same time, she had more opportunities to exhibit her mania—possibly her symptoms wouldn’t have been so pronounced and easily diagnosable if she hadn’t had lots of money and documentation of her every move.
9) Chapter 9: Suicide
§ One repeated theme in the accounts from everyone is that they all had fleeting glimpses of suicide. For some it was just a thought that it would be great if they never woke up. What’s also interesting, since these are all survivors of depression, is what things prevented it in the end. Personal connections, even though they are hard to maintain as a depressive, are important. While one person did owe a friend her life after an actual attempt, more of them explained that there was just enough of the rational sense of them to realize how much it would have broken their families, or anyone left behind.
§ Joan Rivers’s account of her husband’s suicide, and her own subsequent, eventual suicidal thoughts reminded me of another theme that creeps up throughout the book: that in many ways, depression is contagious. While there are clear studies on the strong genetic component of bipolar disorder, unipolar depression is more common, and does occur in families. The idea of how it can effect friends and families is dealt with in chapter 17.
10) Chapter 10: Leslie Garis
§ An short individual account of a woman’s experience with a very long depression, until she sought treatment successfully.
11) Chapter 11: Ya Gotta Have Heart
§ There is a connection between heart disease and depression. In fact, most patients who have had heart attacks or heart surgery are specifically counseled to be on the lookout for depression.
§ Discussion about whether this is because people are facing their own age and mortality.
§ Cronkite mentions that there is frequently a form of post-traumatic stress syndrome when people undergo any surgery, from discussions half-overheard while anaesthetized.
§ While most of the medical professional in the book have been in mental health, there is an account here from a cardiologist that seems to lack some of the empathy of the others. There is definitely an implication from him that heart disease is a more real disease than depression. Naturally, there can be arguments about whether it is more urgent, or more serious. But this is one time where the conversational tone of the book fails—people aren’t given the succinctness to really state their cases, and some sections, taken out of context, might be misinterpretable.
12) Chapter 12: Living with Loss
§ Death and true loss of course cause sadness. This is normal. One difficulty is deciding when a despondency has become a diagnosable depression that should be treated. There are some arbitrary cut-offs (“three months”) for clinicians, but the chapter does drive home that even though there is a difference between normal sadness and depression, it’s still a gradient, and the line is still something drawn by we humans.
13) Chapter 13: Being Woman, Hard Beset
§ Simplified: is the prevalence of unipolar amongst women hormones or society? There is definitely evidence that there is some connection to hormones (women on birth control pills experience atypical depression more often, pregnant women are least likely to experience depression, and postpartum depression is common).
§ Because of the discussion on hormones, a discussion on seasonal affective disorder (SAD) is brought in here because it is believed to be a hormonal issue (in this case, melatonin).
14) Chapter 14: Lifting the Fog
§ Various treatments for depression: drugs vs. cognitive therapy. Strongest evidence is that both combined is much more effective than either separately.
§ One lesson to take away from this chapter’s testimonies is that treatment is not always straightforward or simple, even once the diagnosis is correct. Many doctors don’t have a clear grasp of drug interactions, which can be particularly problematic if a patient is simultaneously undergoing substance abuse treatment.
§ Cognitive therapy: Cronkite had almost been offended that this could work because it seems like someone telling the patient to will themselves out of it, which she had not ever been successful at doing, until she started medication. The lesson is that the treatment will not be the same from one person to the next, but it’s important to believe that there is something that can work.
15) Chapter 15: Beauty and the Beast
§ Are artists more prone to affective disorders? Does it improve their art?
§ Answer: Artists with bipolar disorder can have great productivity as they enter into their manic phases, and this can give them a creative advantage, because their every thought is sped up.
§ Answer: No, artists are only more susceptible to depression because they feel things more deeply, and sense things more acutely as a matter of course in their work.
§ Answer: Artists are constantly exposing themselves to criticism, which may act as a precipitating event, which would make them more likely to suffer.
§ I didn’t find this chapter particularly enlightening—I think this debate can be very interesting. Artists are by definition atypical. People with mental illness are by definition atypical. How much is this coincidence, and do we as society have something to gain (art, beauty) by an artist’s disease remaining untreated?
16) Chapter 16: Existential Blues
§ How do psychology and spirituality overlap? Some might interpret depression as a distance from god. The author’s experience with religion was helpful to her personally, but ultimately she knew it was a separate issue from her depression, and it remained dangerous to go off her medication.
17) Chapter 17: The Black Dog at Home: Support of Family and Friends
§ This chapter was interesting—it was one of the chapters where there was some disagreement within the testimonies. Sufferers of depression and medical professionals talked about what it was best to do if you suspect or know someone is depressed. Some felt it was best to act as if everything was normal. Some felt it was important to recognize that they are suffering from a disease, and to get them help accordingly.
§ There wasn’t as much discussion as I would have thought about protecting yourself from a depressed family member. It had been mentioned in other places in the book. Obviously, in cases of manic patients, physical protection is necessary. But the potentially “contagious” effects of depression are real, with the learned helplessness of dealing with and caring for someone who just won’t get better.
18) Chapter 18: It Tolls for Thee
§ Depression and marriage. A more specific discussion than the previous chapter. Spouses must be patient, but if they are willing to understand the disease, they can be important in helping wit the diagnosis. They may notice early warning signs before a sufferer does.
§ Mostly this chapter seemed to be a way for the contributors to thank their husbands and wives for putting up with a lot and helping them through.
19) Chapter 19: Families in the Dark
§ A chapter introducing the importance of recognizing that depression can run in families, and why talking about the disease can help make diagnosis, and therefore treatment, easier. It’s a bit of a lead-in to the following two chapters.
20) Chapter 20: Children of Depressed Parents
§ Of all the feelings of helplessness that family members can undergo (see previous chapter), it’s the most crucial time for children. If they don’t understand what’s going on (if the parents doesn’t know, or if the parent is too ashamed to explain), they can easily blame themselves for the irrational moods. Several accounts give what they think is the best way to approach the subject with kids. Several accounts show kids who are still afraid of the disease, and who don’t want to talk about it (Cronkite points out it’s important to explain that it’s a treatable disease, something she feels she may have forgotten to stress to her kids).
§ Cronkite’s son: “One thing [that has changed since finding out about the disease]: I’ve known what’s going on, which has made it a whole lot easier on me. Like if you’re on the fourth floor of a building and there’s an explosion, you have no idea what’s happening, but if you heard on the radio that there’s a bomb in that building or a technical explosion, or something, you’d be less scared because you’d know what was going on.”
21) Chapter 21: Children with Depression
§ People have relatively recently begun diagnosing and really accepting that children can be depressed. It is hard to sort out a depression in a kid, because so much diagnosis is based on criteria like “less interest than normal,” when a kid hasn’t been around long enough to have established a normal baseline.
22) Chapter 22: Old Dogs, New Tricks
§ Deals with depression in older people. Again a more difficult diagnosis than with the mainstream population, for one thing because it’s hard to parse out from dementia. They have a few overlapping symptoms, but more difficult is they often occur at the same time (similar to substance abuse—it’s hard to figure out cause, effect, and treat both effectively).
§ Discussion about whether sadness is a normal part of the aging process. There is, after all, loss—loss of youth, and eventually loss of most friends. Again, the distinction has to be made about when it’s time to cut them off, define it as depression, and get them treatment.
§ The longest essay is from Jennie Forehand, who had one other long entry in the book. Her experience with her mother, who was kicked out of assisted living places and suspected of psychotic disorders before she was diagnosed with depression, was fascinating.
23) Chapter 23: Advice to the Players
§ This short chapter is mostly of very short urgings by many of the contributors to get help for the disease if you have it. The advice ranges from “make sure to take care of yourself” to “see a psychiatrist as quickly as you can.” One doctor stresses the importance of both—he believes in alternative therapies, yoga and meditation for instance, but thinks these are largely just a palliative, while medical treatment can offer a real cure.
§ This is an interesting distinction (palliative vs. cure): if depression is just overwhelming sadness, isn’t something that takes one away from the sadness a cure? No, the argument is again, there is something more basic to depression than just the outside emotions, and with a medical origin, it needs a medical cure (see next chapter).
24) Chapter 24: Healing
§ This chapter stresses that the “cure” makes the recovery sound quick, when in reality it’s a long process and involves a lot of work from the patient. Medication may be necessary, but it doesn’t mean it will work like a switch—it will just make it possible for the patient’s willpower to have some effect.
25) Chapter 25: Ad Astra per Aspera
§ “To the stars through difficulty” (uplifting conclusion)

III. Other themes of the book
1) Images of depression
§ Black dog (Churchill)
§ “mist seeping slowly” (p48); hangover/residue (p49); “dark cloudy gauze” (p118); smoky room (p144); “When I would try to explain to people my experience last time I sobered up, I would tell them about a famous painting traditionally called Nightwatch in Amsterdam. It was painted by Rembrandt. It’s a scene of a bunch of seventeenth-century gentleman on the wall of a fortress keeping watch during some battle. For hundreds of years, it has been assumed that it was a night [scene], because it was so dark, until they cleaned it about ten years ago. To everyone’s amazement, it’s actually a day portrait. That’s what it’s like when alcoholics stop drinking. Everything is still there, the way is still there, the kids are still there, all the same people are still there, it’s just a lot lighter than you thought it was.” (Mary Jones, p93)
§ The comparison to diabetes and other diseases.
§ Moral weakness (p78) (this reference made more in relation to the stigma, not any contributor’s actual view)
§ Disconnect from the rewards system (p91) (one of the more clinical assessments, but very a very interesting way to view it)
§ On sadness vs. depression: like a hangnail versus a shotgun wound (p111)
§ The book of Job as a parable about suffering from depression.
2) Arbitrary distinctions that must be made, or things that exist on a continuum
§ Biological vs. psychological (“the brain is the organ of the mind” p31-2)
§ Beck Inventory—one of the most common ways to measure depression. A 21-question quiz
§ Feeling vs. thinking (p49)
§ Schizophrenia vs. bipolar (p57)
§ Alcoholism <-> depression (p88)
§ A call for help vs. a “genuine” suicide attempt
§ Mind/body/spirit

Depth Psychology: Jung

[...Depth Psychology continued...]

Remember, Freud in particular saw only ill patients, with “fat and juicy” neuroses.

Transference—patient see therapist as all-knowing, wise, father-figure etc. Similar to the defense of identification (think teens with sports heroes), but it’s not a defense mechanism, the word is just a phenomenon in the therapy process. It’s important because in the organizational setting, which is based on rank/hierarchy, underling may transfer childhood needs. Mentor may also transfer parental feelings (sort of counter-transference).

Jung’s additional level of consciousness:
-awareness
-preconscious
-personal unconscious
-collective unconscious (Jung’s idea)

Collective unconscious composed of archetypal “memories.”

Jung was impressed by shamans, who would make the distinction between “little dreams” and “big dreams” (which were composed of/included big, archetypal symbols). He felt those came from collective unconsciousness. Myth important to understanding the collective unconscious.

Handout: Jung’s diagram of the psyche.

The shadow: all the things we’re ashamed of about ourselves. Often suppressed, therefore often revealed in dreams.

Jung’s goal of individuation: to move more of the personal unconscious into the conscious. Also, integration of the anima/animus, because the pathway to the collective unconscious is our opposite-sex figure (clearer from diagram).

Alex’s book report: Jung’s autobiography
Schott’s additional notes: Jung had a psychotic episode in 1912. Possibly some rebellion against dogma/organized religion because of his father’s church affiliation.