To be an Indian woman, and poor

Right now I’m in a hotel room in Dholpur, a city in the state of Rajasthan about a 4-hour train ride southeast of Delhi. Rajasthan is popular among tourists because it is home to the palaces of many former kings. The typical tourist circuit for visitors to India is Delhi, Agra (where the Taj Mahal is) and Jaipur, the latter of which is in Rajasthan. Taken together this is known as the Golden Triangle, because the three points vaguely form an equilateral triangle.

The once home of kings is today home to some of the poorest people in India.

Over the past few days I visited some of the villages outside of Dholpur, talking with people my organization works with; families that make $500 U.S. per year, if they are lucky. It has been an incredibly moving experience. It is hard to put into words, partly because it is still fresh in my mind and I have not fully processed my thoughts yet, but there is one thing that keeps pushing to the front of my mind: Indian women.

I have been no less than shocked to learn some of the numbers and phrases that make up Indian women’s lives. 78. This is the percentage of married women in India who need permission from their husband in order to go visit a family member. This number rises to 89 if the woman is going to stay overnight, which is common and considered respectful, especially during festivals.

93. This is the number of women in India for every 100 men. If nature were allowed to run its course, there would be 103-105 women for every 100 men (because women outlive men). What the number 93 means is that girl infants are killed at birth because the family does not want them and would rather try again for a boy. It means that women who have had boy children begin practicing contraception, because they have already had the baby/ies they, and society, most want.

It means wife burnings, where husbands set their wives on fire, killing them for the most mind-bendingly small and subjective of infractions, such as cooking dinner poorly. Wife burnings are often disguised as accidents and some say that for every wife burning reported, 250 go unreported. There are also dowry deaths, bride burnings and widow burnings, with the ultimate result in each case being the death of a woman.

While it is shocking that women are killed frequently enough for there to be common phrases for their murders, most women do not face such grave circumstances. Most women do, however, believe that it is OK for a man to beat his wife. That is, across all of India, looking at everyone from women from economically-advantaged, urban, high-caste, college-educated backgrounds to women from poor, low-caste, rural backgrounds who have had no schooling at all, most women believe it is OK for a husband to beat his wife. Indian society is publicly debating wife beating right now, in the aftermath of a high level Indian diplomat, Anil Verma, beating his wife until her face bled.

When I first got to India and was reading some of these statistics I was shocked. I knew that India was a strongly patriarchal society, but the numbers breathed shape into that reality. And then I went on this trip and met some of the most marginalized and oppressed women in the country. And it was surreal to meet these women. Because they were so present and so open. Talking about their experiences, sharing their joy over a stranger being interested in them, telling me about the comaraderie and sense of social and emotional support that being part of a self-help group (this is the Indian name for microsavings and lending groups) brought to their lives.

I asked one group of women to share the single biggest change they have experienced as a result of being part of a SHG. One woman, who looked to be about 40 years old, shared this story:

Before the SHG, my husband bought all my clothes for me and the saris that he bought were very thick. When I had to cover my face (women here practice purdah, requiring that they pull their sari over their face when in the presence of a male elder, keeping it covered as long as he remains, which can be seconds or an hour) I could not see. After the SHG, I gained the confidence to go to the market by myself and began doing my own shopping. Now I buy sheer saris and when I have to cover my face I can see.

I was shocked by this woman's story. As she was telling it, my brain slowed down to a putter and I just stared at her, trying to take in what she had said. The idea of her being cut off from the world every day, for decades, and for such a simple reason, was hard to understand.

...

I often ask myself what I am doing here, half a world away from home. I am still so fresh to this culture and it is so different from my own that I frequently feel like a puzzle piece trying to fit into the wrong puzzle.

I am here because it is exciting to discover and navigate a new culture. It makes me feel alive. Just as hearing that woman’s story did. And I am here, and doing the work I am, because being a part of her story, and women like hers’, infuses my life with meaning.

*This was partially written 2 weeks ago, when I was still on this trip, and finished today.