On the 24^th of December – which is the most important Christmas day (at least where I come from –Germany) – was started off by a visit to Upasana and ended with a nice Christmas Eve dinner in Pondicherry.

Upasana is an organization that is mainly concerned with sustainable and ethical fashion, art and design.  When we arrived at their office in Auroville, two women that manage Upasana greeted us and gave us a presentation on the whole company, including its sub-brands. Uma, the one in charge for fashion and design, presented the latest addition to Upasana: the Tsunamika dolls. As the name already suggests, those dolls were made to help Tsunami victims. The history of the dolls, she said, goes back to a little child that wanted to put a smile on her mother’s face after the Tsunami had taken most of what she had owned and loved. The child crafted a doll out of waste material and succeeded in making her mother happy with such a simple little gift. Upasana’s role in this is that they hired women that needed help and liked the idea of the doll that was crafted out of waste material. The women working at Upasana still continue to make the unique dolls as a gift to others. They are never sold. Rather, they are gifted to those who make a donation for Tsunami victims.

Uma further explained to us that she and the manager of the company just came back from a business trip to Paris, where they presented their handmade fashion lines. One of them is Paruthi, the luxury organic cotton fashion line. She highlighted that all materials they use are 100% organic cotton or silk and are never chemically processed at any stage. Also, no artificially produced materials are used, such as Rayon or Polyester. The main reason for this is not only to save the environment and improve working conditions within Upasana, but also to improve health and economic situations of the tailors and the suppliers, such as the cotton farmers. The company keeps their own profit to a minimum so that farmers and tailors can benefit from sales. This is especially important to Upsana, as in India there is a high suicidal rate among cotton farmers. Mainly this results from health issues due to chemical processing during the production, but also due to not being able to make a living from their work. Uma told us, that it is common in India to commit suicide if you fail to make a living.

However, this is also a global issue. I worked for the corporation Monsanto, who produces only one single type of cotton GMO crop. This ruins local businesses as GMO crops are highly efficient and cheap due to economies of scale. Nevertheless, these crops do not only harm the environment, but also the health of workers on the field and customers wearing the final products. Therefore, Upasana’s work in providing help to farmers and tailors and solely using organic cotton is an invaluable step towards a more sustainable environment, society and economy. 

I found it especially interesting that Uma told us about how the Indian environment and also economy could benefit from this approach. Upasana does not only use organic material to create a sustainable environment and clothes production, but also as a unique selling point. Uma mentioned that many companies and wholesalers turn to China, as cotton and especially silks are much cheaper there. Therefore, she sees China as a main threat or as a “blocker” of changing society as most things we buy originate from there. “If this huge nation will not make an effort to improve environmental and health impacts during clothes production then change will be very difficult”, she said. Upasana is therefore trying to be a role model and to raise global awareness by producing sustainable and ethical fashion, art and design. I share Uma’s opinion, that people should be conscious buyers. I also believe that Upasana’s business model can inspire others and make impacts especially in sustainability-conscious nations, such as Germany and Sweden.

At last, Uma presented us other brands and projects such as “Small Steps”, an alternative to a plastic bag, which is reusable, and Navarasa, organic food and drinks. Afterwards, we went to the Janaki (House of Conscious Living), where most of Upasana’s brands can be bought.

In conclusion, the visit was very interesting as we learnt about how Upasana helps employees, suppliers and the outside environment with its work. I also found it impressive, that in contrast to the other organizations we’ve visited, Upasana does not rely on funding and aims to operate without it also in the future.

Later that day, we went to the closest city, Pondicherry, to have our Christmas dinner there. The place we ate at (Villa Shanti) was very nicely decorated and I felt a tiny bit like Christmas in the rather summery India.  

The day after (25^th of December), we were given a day off. Some Swedish girls, Kallie, Melissa and I took that opportunity to spend a day at the Mango Hill Resort, a little hotel in Auroville with a nice swimming pool area.

Happy holidays to you from India!

Janine

Shanti at work at the Auroville landfill

Today, Auroville was full of garbage.  Literally.  We kicked off the day at the dump, where we marched in our rubber boots (well, Victoria in heels!) and observed exactly how landfills operate.

We could smell the burning waste through our scarves as we conducted our own analysis of what was in the landfill and watched attentively when ­tractors dumped new loads of garbage.  Our passionate guide, Rheibu, explained how the waste in Auroville is disposed here unorganized and not separated by material.  He emphasized the importance of recycling—separating plastics, glass, and biodegradable waste—and then pointed to a woman sifting intently through the garbage. 

Rheibu introduced us to Shanti, a waste picker, who sifts through the garbage in search of re-usable items such as milk packets and metals to sell for profit in the secondary market.  As we learned, selling items in the secondary market can bring about 250-500 rupees a day.  Unfortunately, most waste pickers don’t have a long life span because of the exposure to unknown chemicals and bacteria commonly found in garbage.  At 37 years old, Shanti spoke proudly about her work and eagerly showed us the copper she had collected and the tool she uses to sift through the waste.  Also a wife and mother, Shanti works nearly everyday to provide for her sick husband and children who currently attend a local school.  It was both heartbreaking and inspiring to see such a young woman sift through the trash with the hopes of finding valuables.  In a sustainability sense, Rheibu explained that separating trash in the households can actually help waste pickers to collect material all at once and put them back into the hands of producers.  Basically, the work of waste pickers play an essential role in the sustainability cycle in Auroville.  

Next, we headed to the Town Hall for a lecture on Garbology 101 from Rheibu.  The emphasis here focused on educating our youth on the importance of recycling through a stimulating and interesting curriculum.  Through educational games, coloring books, and student input in the curriculum, this program can set the foundation for future generations, especially during a time when energy conservation is needed the most.  

Overall, aiding in the sustainability cycle comes down to one thing- YOU.  The individual needs to feel the desire to change and understand why they must do it.  Then, our actions and behavior to become environmentally conscious come naturally.  It’s critical for everyone to separate waste accordingly so they have the potential to be re-used in the sustainability cycle.  As far as Auroville is concerned, each day brings loads of new trash to the dump.  Or for Shanti and the environment, hopefully treasure.

Kristen, Victoria, and Janine at the Auroville dump

By: Melissa Lerma

By Kristen McGuiness

In Salman Rushdie’s classic book about India’s independence, Midnight’s Children, he writes, “In order to understand one life you must swallow the world.” Upon our first hours in India, there is much to swallow. It’s like my 80-year old friend in Paris says, “It’s an onslaught of the senses – the colors, the smells, and all those f*^king people.”

After a brief stop in Delhi, whose Duty Free ads of Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts and Jessica Chastain could be from anywhere in the world, we finally land at the Chennai airport. A Spartan but modern structure, we appear to be the only arriving flight. Back in the days of the East India Company and later the British Empire, Chennai was called Madras, like the drink. But now it has returned to its Indian roots, which run thick and deep across the landscape, knotted like veins as the people pulse and surge, horns honking, children sitting at the front of motorbikes, women sitting side saddle across the back. I expected this from India. I expected that all the worldly fears of the Western world would look like Boogey men in comparison to how India lives – unafraid of motor accidents or dysentery, boldly living for today.

We are greeted at the airport by Piru, one of Auroville’s native sons and an AUP alum. Ushered onto a short yellow bus with the words “One tree one life” written across the back, we take off into the Chennai sunset towards Auroville, passing scooters and live cattle as we go. All of the students fall silent as we watch this new world pass – housing developments growing up amongst thatched roofs, constructions amidst the squalor. There are a lot of people at work, more than one sees in America, and yet they seem to move slowly about it, as though hoping to prolong its end.

As night grows darker and we begin to fall asleep against the sound of chirping cicadas and the ongoing hum of other cars, there is something here that feels like home, so much so that when the men pull off to pee, we follow suit, shielding each other from the traffic as we all attempt a little roadside urination (some are more successful than others). We pull into a darkened community, greeted by a small gate and a sleepy security guard. We can barely see the building in which we will soon be taking most of our meals. Its brick columns and tropical greenery are lit up by the moon and the dull overhead lights. We sit down for our first meal – one specially prepared for Westerners just arriving (safe white people food), which we hope to digest well. We are tired and at this hour we could be anywhere, but then we get up and begin to walk down the long red dirt road, heading to our new homes. We are tired and full and excited and though we do not know what’s in store for us, we know this: we have arrived in India.

By: Tendayi O. Chirawu

After the trauma of Cyclone Thane, gears shifted and that included the direction of communications projects. Auroville Village Action Group was mainly concerned with the water situation of the region prior to the cyclone as there was a phenomenon of people damaging the water pumps by motorizing them in order to get larger volumes of water much faster. The problem is that with the constant power outages in the region, the pumps did not work whenever there was no electricity and consequently no one had access to water.

This is an illustration of the lack of understanding of low level technologies which are better suited under certain conditions as opposed to modern technologies which are not meant for the infrastructure or perhaps lack of infrastructure into which they are introduced.

Post cyclone, even though the focus had shifted from water to disaster relief, the same mismatch of technology and situation emerged in the communication project I undertook. The government handed out free television sets to all the village households which all have electricity. The reason they did this was so that they could communicate with the people
at the grass roots level. News of the cyclone reached the villagers through their television sets but no information was given on what a cyclone is or does or how to respond to it.

When I visited the villages post cyclone, none of the televisions worked any longer because without the knowledge to unplug electrical appliances during a cyclone, most of them short circuited or were crushed by larger falling objects. The project I embarked on was to bridge the communication gap that exists between the government and the villagers. Language was a barrier as I don’t speak Tamil and even if I did, many of the villagers are illiterate, hence my form of communication was aimed at simplicity and accessibility. I used a language that is self explanatory: pictures.

After focus group discussions with the village women in Poothrai, Navarkulam and Vasanthapuram, the villagers came up with ways to keep safe during a cyclone after having lived through the experience, which I then put into pictures.

The two way communication between the people on the ground is often emphasized in relation to development communications, but I think the two-way exchange should go beyond communication and extend to implementation of the tools and vehicles used to effect change in order to truly be actors of change. Considering the context into which technologies are introduced, whether formally or informally, is key for development to be meaningful. Lack of consideration results in the technologies becoming enemies of progress, as is the case with the electrical motors on the water pumps.

Unplug electrical appliances PDF

by Lacy Wood

After a long drive swerving through honking Indian drivers, mopeds carrying families, towns bulldozed for the purpose of building highways, and countless rice paddies, we finally arrived in the Shevroy Hills.

Julien Peak, located in the heart of Tamil Nadu in the south of India, is known for its coffee. Winding up the mountain, it felt as if we had just crash-landed in the Pacific Northwest, thousands of miles away from India or anything close to it.

As a coffee person, I have learned that the amount variables that go into a well-balanced shot of espresso are endless. When a barista pulls a bad shot, there is an internal list of possible mistakes: was it tamped evenly, maybe the grind was too fine, was it extracted for too long, or maybe the water was at the wrong temperature. With all of these variables, there are no rules, only taste and muscle memory. After visiting this coffee plantation, I gained an entirely new depth of understanding of this plant’s complexity.

For Ramesh, the farmer who owns the plantation on Julien Peak, creating well-balanced delicious coffee has taken years of trial and error. His family bought the land in the 1930s. Ramesh intermingles coffee with orange and pear trees, tall shade canopy trees, cardamom bushes, and pepper vines. All of these contribute to the richness of the soil and the complexity of taste in the coffee. This is called intercropping, and it is a much more sustainable growing practice than conventional methods.

His neighbors, for example, plant one variety of coffee in long rows with only a few shade trees. They weed their land, clear brush, and often spray fertilizer and pesticides. In contrast, Ramesh allows a thick compost to develop on the ground where animals make their home, creating a dynamic biosphere in the forest, eliminating the need to use fertilizers. Additionally, his plants are relatively healthy, allowing him to use pesticides sparingly – only on trees that are sick.

While he does process his coffee through the “wet” method, which uses about 2,000 liters of water per ton of coffee, he is working to buy a new machine offered in India that uses less water to wash the coffee. The beans are separated from the fruit, then washed and set out to dry for eight to nine days.

Ramesh reports that he does not follow the guidelines of Fair Trade certification. This is often a costly process with little direct benefit.  Usually farmers would need to buy new equipment, and conform to strict international standards that are not necessarily more efficient or cost effective. Instead, he invites buyers to visit his plantation and examine his growing practices. His personal set of guidelines and emphasis on quality push him to grow his coffee as sustainably as possible. Incidentally, quality is synonymous with sustainable practices.

With every sip, I enjoy a new appreciation for the time and energy that goes into growing a tasty cup of coffee. I will forever envision the coffee forest thick with compost, lush plants, and birds cawing.

By Rachel Hardy

Turns out everything I thought I knew about medical clinics in a developing nation was wrong.

They’re not sanitary. Their practices aren’t up-to-date. The nurses reuse needles. You can’t find the medicines you need. Doctors aren’t real MDs. You’ll end up more sick than when you went in. Though it’s embarrassing to admit this occidental perspective, with preconceived notions like these, one can’t help but be petrified of getting sick in another country.

So what do I do? I get sick in another country.

Consider it research towards the abolishment of misconceptions, I guess. Preconceived notions can only be combatted by acknowledging them and digging below what seems to be. Why do these notions exist in the first place? Is it a lack of information? Fear of the unknown? An isolated bad experience that is blown out of proportion? Armed with questions and cough syrup, I caught pneumonia and set out to debunk the medical myths.

My methodology? One day, three medical facilities. After orders for blood testing to diagnose why I had had a fever, chest pain and difficulty breathing for days on end, I arrived at Auroville’s Kailash clinic early one morning, referral paper in hand. The small, sari-wearing nurse opened the needle in front of me, put a tourniquet on my arm and hit my vein on the first try. Two vials later and arm in the air, I was done and sent on my way.

Since nothing had been a cause for alarm during my first medical visit and I felt the issue of medical care needed more investigation, I decided to notch it up a bit and test out another facility. Mid-afternoon I was taken to the Auroville Health Center after my fever spiked to a glorious 102˚F, inducing delirium and extreme fatigue. The doctor examined me and suggested I expedite the results of my blood test and get a chest x-ray at a hospital in Pondicherry; he feared I had pneumonia.

The Pondicherry Medical Mission? It was my best research break yet! An hour later, I walked through the large glass doors of the hospital into a large, modern reception area. Nurses in blue and white salwar kameez scrubs flit around the hospital like workers bees in a hive. A man in a traditional skirt was pushed in a wheelchair to an examination room. Women in beautiful saris lingered in waiting rooms. Though the visuals were different, the structure was the same; this was a place where sick people came to get well.

After a consultation with a general practitioner, a chest x-ray and a couple naps on whichever exam bed was available—research must include testing the equipment, right?—I sat in the pulmonologist’s office. Thumbing through the results of my blood test and viewing my x-ray, the doctor confirmed I did have pneumonia and that if I chose not to be admitted, I needed bed rest and strong antibiotics.

I decided to throw him a curveball; what would he say to my medicinal allergies? As the pulmonologist wrote my prescriptions, I added, “Oh, and I’m allergic to penicillin and sulfa drugs.” Raising his eyes from his prescription pad, he stoically replied, “We haven’t used sulfa in India in about thirty years.”

Oh. Well, then.

So after extensive research, a solid diagnosis and about ten prescriptions later, my conclusions were in: one could get sick in a developing nation and get top-quality, reliable health care. While there may be some interesting exchanges due to language barriers—I once told a Ugandan doctor I had been constantly burping only to have him ask minutes later if I had been belching often—the experiences I have had with clinics in developing nations have been extremely positive, and, well, extremely beneficial to my health. After careful observation, I’ve never doubted the knowledge of the health professional treating me. I’ve never caught a counter infection. I’ve always been stuck with fresh needles opened in front of me. Antibiotics I’ve been given have been up-to-date, modern medicines. And in fact, every time I frequent a medical clinic in a developing nation, I always end up getting better.

So while the practices may differ—I balked when I first received a prescription in a small, nondescript paper bag or paid the equivalent of three euros for an afternoon in the Pondicherry hospital—the care is the same. After digging below my preconceived notions about medical care in the developing world, my research shows that I have nothing to fear and that the misconceptions about medical facilities are just that—misconceptions.