Making Trouble Makers

Jess and I have worked in law offices and studied in libraries.  We have suffered through finals and written memos.  We have met clients and been to court.  But, we have never seen anything like IRRAD’s legal literacy camps: not in America, not anywhere.  We have now been to three legal literacy camps.

All of the camps kicked off the same way.  Dignitaries gave speeches of varying degree, almost all praising IRRAD’S effort in the villages and emphasizing how important it is for villagers to interact with their government.  It was very hot under the tents, so generally, the dignitaries kept their speeches short.  Some local government officials also visited our camps.  Some of them were not very popular with the villagers and suffered hours of complaints.  

Interns sat at booths in the back of the tent handing out literature, taking complaints and giving advice.  As you can imagine, the villagers were eager to tell us their problems.  We have heard many of them before: The Anganwadi (free mid day meal for lactating mothers and pregnant women) is not functioning, charging women for their meal, making women cook the meal and charging them for it; the school is not functioning, is charging a fee, is being held at someone’s house; the Public Distribution Center is not giving out the proper ration, not giving out a ration at all, is charging more than allowed for rations; the school is not serving a mid day meal, charging for a meal, making the kids cook the meal and charging them to eat it.  Over and over and over again.  These are the most common complaints.  Government does not provide the basic services guaranteed by law in Mewat.  Often we can tell the villagers what they need to do and where they need to go.  First the villager must file a complaint with the delinquent authority.  Then, the villager must file a Right To Information request (RTI) to learn what, if anything, the agency is doing about the complaint.  The government has up to the 30 days to respond.  If the problem is with a national government agency, the state agency answering the complaint gets an extra 5 days to answer.  If, the law says, the agency does not answer a RTI within the 30/35-day period, the official in charge is fined 250 rupees everyday it is late.  Strong medicine.  But, we are told it is not always enforced.  Nevertheless, officials do take RTI’s seriously.  They complain a lot that all villagers in their districts do is file RTI’s against them.  :-)- 

Some of the complaints are more complex.  The power company is charging for electricity, but not providing the power.  A man wins a judgment in a lok adelat court (a type of arbitration court where parties are “in the spirit of settlement”, held in the evenings and on weekends, presided over by retired judges, and lacking normal civil process) but cannot have it enforced by the police.  The local city council takes land from a farmer without authority and without paying compensation.  A father’s three sons have been in jail for more than a year, arrested for violating some “unlawful assembly” law; the lawyer wants 60,000 rupees – $1,363, just to file a bail petition.  We take these complaints and begin the process of resolving them.  What is striking about these tough issues is the number of years attached to them.  Without any help, some of these issues, some of these people, live years without resolving their problem. 

Jess and I try to help where we can.  That usually means listening to a villager speak to us in Hindi, pretending to understand, and waiting for a break when we can say, “muja hindi nahe atti” (I do not speak Hinid).  The villager usually looks confused and stumbles out “na, nahe? Attii??”  We shrug and say, “no hindi”.  So, we take pictures and hold important looking posses.  We like to think that IRRAD can use the pictures, and we can add a novelty to the camp that will encourage the villagers to come back.  We understand that we work best behind the scenes, in English.  

We get a lot out of the camps, as well.  Jindal Law students learn to work with clients, dissecting their complaint into legally relevant facts and giving the villagers guidance on the next steps in the process.  Jess and I get to try and talk to people who are generally happy to see us.  They seem proud that we are there, even though we can’t really communicate.  We feel close to the problems the villagers face.  And, we enjoy their hospitality.  One man was so proud to be at the training camp that he invited all of us, including Professor Pandey and Navneet, back to his house for refreshments.  Etiquette prevented us from declining, but it was so hot besides, we didn’t want too. 

The man had a very nice house for the district.  We sat in his bedroom, while members of his family set a small table with snacks.  He gave us cool water to drink and “lemonade”.  Jess immediately decided the drink was not to her liking.  She described  it as smelling like sweat and lemon with some black pepper in it..  The drink had a retreating oily taste, like pure lemon with water and some lite castor oil.  I had never tasted anything like it. Jess quickly got her glass down on the table.  I, however, took my time.  Before I could finish my first glass the man’s daughter started pouring lemonade in my lap.  I had to put my glass out to catch it.  We sat in silence, sipping our drinks, and munching on odd snacks.  I was trying to finish my drink without catching anyone’s eye but I was unsuccessful.  Again lemonade flowed into my lap, and again, I had to put my cup out defensively to save whatever was left dry in my lap. I tried to keep drinking but I was too full.  But I knew that if I didn’t finish it quick and put my cup down on the table I would get another splash of lemonade.  So, I took a shot and smacked my cup down like domino mother &^*$#2! The pitcher was empty and it was time leave, anyway. So, I sloshed out of the house and back to the withering heat under the legal literacy tent.  

Our camps and internship is finished.  Jess and I presented our rural lawyer training manual and our memo arguing to repeal Indian Bar Council rule 49.  We are packed and ready to come home. 

It's the Taj Y'all.

(This is a Jessica Weinberger dispatch.)

Finally, the day to visit the number one out of the Seven Wonders of the World had arrived. Our train was leaving early and the station is approximately forty minutes from our guesthouse so it was an early to bed early to rise day. We had to get up and out the door by 4:30 am to catch our 6:15 train. We were both excited and a little nervous to take the train. I was excited because we had first class tickets and I have never sat first class for anything. Nervous because the morning before I read an article in the newspaper reporting 4lbs of explosives were found hidden in a train seat, but discovered before the clock ticked zero. And not to mention the horror stories of people who will befriend you, offer you a poisonous biscuit and as you slip off to sleep, rob you. But we arrived at the station with our guard up and no one would have a chance at pulling a fast one on us at 6 a.m. We stood in line to make sure we were checked in and a man approached Tommy telling him he was in the wrong line and there was a separate line for foreigners. We had just seen two French women go through the exact line we were in. Tommy handed to the tickets to the service worker who circled the ticket and said “all set.” Tommy sarcastically thanked the “kind” man for his “help”. We then pulled a trick that most Indians pull on us daily, we cut the line to get through security faster in order to make our train. Again, that “kind” man found us once inside the station. He tried to offer us some more of his “help”. He told us that our E-ticket was just a reservation and we had to go back outside the train station, across the street, find some building, and there we would receive paper tickets. We ignored his instructions, refusing to the leave the station. Our time was running out and we were not going to miss our one shot at visiting the Taj Mahal. The man continued to follow us down the platform to our train car, yelling at us, insisting that we needed to follow his instructions. Once in our first class seats, we looked at the reservation, which read “E-Ticket, valid with proper I.D.” We were very proud of ourselves for not falling into his trap. Had it still been our first week in India, we probably would have followed him and missed our train. We soon saw the “kind” man helping another group of tourists, who probably gave him a tip that he didn’t deserve. Tommy gave him a friendly one-fingered wave. When the porter came around and checked our tickets, he looked them over, handed them back and moved on. I let out a big sigh of relief because we actually got it right. It only took us two hours to arrive in Agra. The train ride was very nice and we enjoyed the first class service.

When we arrived in Agra, the platform was packed with people trying to catch trains, exiting trains, selling things, and offering guided tours of the Taj. We hired an A/C car complete with guide for 1,200 rupees for eight hours – that’s about $27. The tour package included transportation to the Taj Mahal, Agra Fort, the tomb of Itmad-Ud-Daulah, and various Mughal handcraft demonstrations and shops. Our tour guide for the day would be Javed, who told us he gave tours part-time to help pay for his education, and because it was a good way for him to practice his English. He warned us on the ride to the Taj that on the pathway in we would be swarmed with people trying to sell us everything, but to buy nothing. He explained it was a scam to get tourists to reveal where their wallets are located and further up the road the peddler would pick your pockets. He told us not to hire any of the guides because he would tell us everything we needed to know once we got back to the car. Thanks for the heads-up Javed. A “tour guide” immediately engaged with Tommy, flashing some fake certified tour guide ID, giving every reason why he wasn’t a phony and how he was a great deal. Pesky little kids approached me trying to sell me worthless elephant key chains, Taj Mahal snow globe key chains, and pet wooden snakes that never stopped dancing. As we continued to approach the gate, the quantity of the items increased as the price decreased. “What makes you think I want ten key chains, if I wouldn’t buy one?!” We arrived at the West gate around 9:30 a.m. which was early enough to beat the long lines and heavy tourist traffic that would arrive a few hours later. It was 750 rupees, or $17 each to enter. Indian citizens paid 20 rupees, or 40¢. We paid more because we are foreigners, but the ticket included booties and a water. Photographers lingered around the gate, hoping to be hired to follow us around and take pictures as we gazed at the marble spectacle. We just flashed our own cameras and tried not to make eye contact. We went through the normal gender separated pat-down lines, stripped of any food, chewing gum, and weapons, and proceeded to the entrance. Our pictures do a much better job of recounting what we saw than I can with words. It is definitely beautiful, elegant, and expensive looking. There is a lot of marble, and twenty-eight different types of semi-precious and precious stones shaped into flowers set in the marble throughout the entire structure.

The Taj Mahal meaning “Crown Palace” was built by Mughal emperor Shah Jahan to show his true love and affection for his third wife. It took twenty-two years to complete and over twenty thousand workers were employed day and night to construct it. The archway to Queen Mumtaj’s tomb is chiseled with passages from the Holy Qu’ran. The marble dome is the most spectacular feature. During the Indian rebellion, the British made sure to deface the Taj by stripping the gold finial off the very top of the dome, and chiseling out precious stones from the walls. Our tour guide told us that some of the diamonds from the Taj Mahal are now part of the Crown Jewels in England. To the left of the Palace is the mausoleum, and to the right of the Palace is the guesthouse. The two buildings are actually identical.

Our tour guide made it through the gate and caught up with us, he felt he needed to be the one to document in pictures our once in a life-time visit to Taj. No matter how much Tommy and I expressed to him, and as if our body language did not demonstrate enough, he could not understand that we are not dating. He kept telling us that we were in the “City of Love” and found the most majestic and romantic spots where he would make us pose together with directions to get lost in each other’s eyes. Barf! Just as we were finishing up our tour of the magnificent tomb, tour bus after tour bus was unloading visitors. Our timing couldn’t have been better, we waved goodbye and headed to our next destination.

Next stop on the tour was a visit to a few of the different handcraft stores in Agra. Agra has been designated by the Indian Government as an official handcraft city. First we visited a carpet factory, where a very nice man named Yogi knew his geography very well. When I mentioned I was from Upstate, NY he immediately guessed Rochester, and then gave us a tour. He explained the carpet process to us. We watched two men making a carpet tie knots faster than our eyes could see, and I got to participate in the singeing process. Then his assistants showed us about a hundred different types of carpet, unveiling them before us as if each time they were rolling out the red, or green, or gold and black, or bluish, carpet. The carpets were gorgeous, the cashmere thread felt silky between my toes. I sat there thinking this is awfully nice of them to unroll all these carpets out for us, and they are very beautiful. Too bad I am a poor law student and do not yet have my fancy house to put my fancy carpet in. Next we visited the marble stone craft store, where the technique used to build the Taj Mahal had been passed down through generations and the same ancestry line is still designing marble. Here, you could purchase a large marble table with intricate detail of semi-precious and precious stone work for about $3,500, which we found to be reasonable, hint-hint, mom. We suspect our tour guide would get a commission cut on our purchases, too bad he picked up two (relatively) poor travelers.

The second monument on the tour was the tomb of Itmad-Ud-Daulah, also known as the baby Taj. We were more entertained by the energetic monkeys tumbling around in the gardens, and the packs of dogs swimming in the musty river, than the tomb itself. Again, it was made of marble and fitted with semi-precious stones. We paid a man 10 rupees, 20 ¢, to put the protective booties over our shoes, instead of bending down to do it ourselves. I felt like Cinderella. I was most impressed with the delicate paintings that lined the walls and ceiling inside the tomb. Our entrance fee was 250 rupees, or $5.60, after the Taj discount.

Our day was almost over. We had just one monument to visit. Agra Fort is a massive red brick base that was built sometime before 1080 A.D. Agra Fort was first occupied by Hindus but was captured by the Moguls and home to many of the famous Mugal Kings whose tombs we have been visiting these last six weeks. Shah Jahan, the man responsible for the Taj Mahal, was later imprisoned by his son in Agra Fort for spending too much money on a black marble version of the famous tomb. The Fort was later occupied by the British, and was the haven for many expatriates during the Indian rebellion in 1857. Arthur Conan Doyle wrote about Agra Fort in his Sherlock Holmes tale, The Sign of The Four. Tommy wouldn’t shut up about it. He chased away several would-be guides trying to tell THEM all about Agra Fort. Unfortunately, both of our cameras were exhausted, probably from straining to make out romantic photos of Tommy and I, so we could not get many pictures. I did run into an unwitting Buffalo Bills fan. He was eager to take a picture with me, probably because he is a huge Bills fan. The Fort was enormous, and you can see the magnificent Taj Mahal easily from the upper decks. Tommy and I walked around, trying to extend our time before leaving because it was only 4:30 pm, and our train wasn’t scheduled to arrive until 8:30 pm. But it was too hot, so we gave in and left the Fort for the train station.

Agra train station is not nice to spend several hours in. Agra is hot and humid this time of year as the monsoons push up from the southwest. The climate is more like Washington, D.C., on the equator. Tommy and I sat in the “upper class” section even though we did not hold First Class tickets. The room had some fans and it wasn’t packed yet because we were so freaken early. But it was too hot to read, so I taught Tommy how to play Gin. Time flew because I was crushing a novice, and soon we were standing on our platform waiting for our train. There is precious little room because many people arrive hours, even days before their trains. Transportation is precarious in rural India and many people wisely take a ride when they can get. They sleep and eat on the ground, while rats scurry everywhere sifting trash for food. Tommy and I stood between families waiting for our train, which was late. It came soon enough, and we made it back to Delhi right on time, tired and satisfied that we actually made it to the Taj Mahal.