October 4, 2010.

Notes from my journal. On a train going somewhere.

I’m sick. My body hurts and my head screams with anger and frustration when I swallow or move too suddenly. I packed my bags and jumped on a plane three days ago, and already I’m sick. I thought I wanted to be here. Does my body feel otherwise? I thought this was where my heart and soul were at peace. But now, in this haze of delirium and pain, I question my impulsively calculated decisions.

I can hear a maid chattering with her friend, the roar of a motorcycle coming to life and speeding away, bhajaans filling the air with soft reminders that others occupy the tiny space around me. I can smell a combination of dust, cleaning supplies, and chai leaves whirled together in a lovely way only India can manage.

I tried leaving her, twice. We met 2 years ago and every time I’ve left she’s pulled me back with a force I’ve never felt before, a force as strong as or maybe stronger than the one of my niece asking me, “Bua, when are you gonna come play with me again?” A force stronger than what I’ve ever felt for a man or a job or a place.

It’s not like we have a perfect relationship either. She puts me in my place often and I have little to retort with. She reminds me how lacking I am in communication skills, how obviously incapable I am at navigating her mood swings, how unlikely it is that she’ll ever give me the upper hand. She flips my body inside out, my mind and my emotions, she takes me for a ride and when we come home I’ve forgotten who I once was while she laughs and feeds me delicious food with her hands.

But then I realize she’s helped me grow. She’s offered her hand to me and shown me the places and the people she knows. She’s shoved me into an oblivion of situations in which I’ve been helpless and enraptured and beguiled. I want to tell her to leave me alone, to let me be, to let me go and try and be happy elsewhere, but she refuses. Even when I’m tired and home sick and sweaty and feeling ugly, she keeps me with her. She tells me I have more to learn, more to see, more to understand.

So I bow my head and I listen. I take her word for it and allow her to guide my decisions. Even though we have an unhealthy relationship, even though I wonder if she knows that she’s the cause of rushed friendships, stifled conversations, aborted relationships, I let my wall down to her and wait to see where this will go.

I guess some loves make no sense at all, but they are worth every minute you’ve spent lost and trying to understand why they’re perfect.

In the past year of invisibility off of this blog, I’ve started three projects, two in education, one in failure.

The Teach Tour began this exact time last year, taking me to random places and people throughout India and the US. I wanted to understand who was making a true impact in disrupting education and who had failed miserably. My deep desire was to uncover what it took to create a product or service for children to discover the wonders of education. Was it the product? Was it the people? The plan? The backing? Or was it some perfect combination of each of these things? I came out the other end realizing, after finding very few who had accomplished this task, that it was always about the people. Without fail.

Being a passionate yet novice change agent of education, I recognized a serious hole in my knowledge: I had been trying to help teachers but had never been a teacher myself! So I stopped off in Pune, Maharashtra to learn from the best of the best: Madhavi Kapur. A warrior for the children, a progressive educator, a vehement believer in experiential, playful education, Madhavi gave me an incredible dose of reality. Being a teacher is *ucking hard. There’s no words to explain the feeling of standing in front of 25 four year olds on the brink of distraction, in charge of teaching them something. It feels impossible. I gained a solid foundation and respect for the women and men who we entrust with our children’s bodies and minds, lives and futures. I stopped playing the blame game and started understanding just how many different moving parts truly play into any change that is going to come.

After this experience I had to step back into the promised land and try my hand at some change. HobNob began as a facebook-like tool, a “schoolbook” if you will, catered specifically for teachers and students to capitalize upon social networking- to open up communication lines inside and outside of the classroom walls. It quickly turned into a simple feedback loop mechanism for students voices to be heard in the classroom- over cell phones and text messages. The theory was, in order for education to truly engage our kids, we must ask them what engages them most. And we must act upon that information in some serious way. I piloted the idea with a school and got some fascinating feedback: students LOVED it, teachers HATED it. Ubiquitously.

Fatefully, I simultaneously toyed with the prospect of running an un-TED of sorts, dubbed “Hindsight: The other side of Failure.” The idea behind Hindsight was that although TED is fascinating and inspiring, there are often many failures that transpire prior to the successes we speak publicly about. What would happen if we were to openly discuss those failures as well? Might there be applicable learnings, deep insights, wonderful outcomes from that conversation as well? Apparently yes. And luckily, people loved it. Ubiquitously.

But it wasn’t all that I was passionate about. Hindsight couldn’t fulfill my burning desire to see children’s bulbs light up bright and shining with knowledge. So I continued working on both HobNob and Hindsight, hoping to find teammates, funding, business models, long term plans, all the things I’m terrible at finding.

It was at this point that I realized that there is a reason I am terrible at finding these things- I haven’t had enough mentorship and experience with people who are great at finding these things, and making a true impact at the same time. So I looked up the few people I know who fit this bill, and I asked them if I could work with them. One such man, Rikin Gandhi, said yes.

And so, here we are. I am taking up an incredible opportunity to work with my friend and his company, Digital Green, in Delhi, India, starting next week. And I hope to learn and apply all that I can while truly making an impact with a kick ass disruptive education company. One that is, in fact, all about the people.

I closed my eyes and sat in the Ashram until the man touched my shoulder and told me it was time to leave. As I stood up, having realized the blood had ceased running to my legs as it churned through my brain the past few hours, I felt it in my heart and deep into my soul that I had crossed a threshold into a devoted life.

Mother commited herself to the exploration and creation of human unity. She defined guidelines as to how one should live in order to accomplish human unity, regardless of age, race, social standing, or abilities. She looked towards a future in which we live off sustainable, replicable methods that enrich humanity rather than degrade it. And although she has accomplished an incredible feat in creating Auroville, there still exists the imperative questions of impact, scale, and sustainability of such a wonderful anomaly in our chaotic country of India.

I committed myself, that day, to the exploration of education. Whether it be rich or poor, young or old, “smart” or “slow,” enthusiastic or uninterested, each human deserves a chance at a fascinating, empowering, enlightening education. Each of us deserves the lightbulb moment in which we realize our strength, what we excel at, and how we can use that to benefit the world around us. However, there will still exist the questions of our ability to scale our efforts, our knowledge, and our foresight into a brighter future.

I then realized I would search for the guiding light that would lead children to success and happiness, knowing full well I may not live to see the day come, but that I must keep my mind focussed on the road ahead of me to get to where I want to go.

As the Holy Master once said, “When you have one eye on the goal, you only have one eye on the path.”

-Shabnam

From time to time I will re-post from my other blog: www.theteachtour.com. This is one of those times.

We had been discussing our purpose, our role, our reason in this world. Our expectations and our assumptions for who we were responsible to become and how we really planned to achieve such voracious goals.

I wondered aloud whether we were the ones to take up such causes as putting roofs over survivor’s heads, bringing fair wages to farmer’s hands, empowering our youth to become independent individuals. We, who had been blessed from day one, who had been given all the opportunities and all the choices to take our lives in whichever direction we chose. We, who survived tragedies of our own, at magnitudes of our own making, paling in comparison to those who we hoped to affect. We, who had enough access to knowledge to learn how to take our own lives into our hands, empower ourselves, make our ideas fly. We, who had arrived at this abandoned home in this earthly place with the mission of moving our dreams from elusive hopes to tangible realities.

The overwhelming levels of depth and humanity hit me so hard I found myself in tears. I broke down at the thought of such hope and idealism encapsulated into a new family of entangled souls, bound by the sole desire to make a difference, but that may be thwarted if we did not go about it in the right way. If we didn’t take the right steps or if we missed the golden opportunities, our dreams might slip away.

Recently, though, a realization swept over me. What we are here for, what makes us the unreasonable youth of our world, is not simply and plainly to make the ideas we have today into Gandhian movements tomorrow. What we are here for is to unravel how we might attempt to accomplish that task over time, over a plethora of ideas, over a vast expanse of opportunities and a diverse set of people who are relying on us to capitalize upon our luck, our notes, our dreams, to help them realize their own.

What I walk away with, as I pull my bags over my shoulder and embark upon a new idea, an immaterialized dream, is how drastically my life has changed. How deeply I have been moved. How seriously I have rediscovered my path in a short time. How much respect and awe I hold towards my new brothers and sisters who will change the world we live in today.

When I look back upon the memories of this moment in time, stare up at the stars we put in the sky as our ideas took flight, I imagine myself to be left laughing in bliss of how unbelievably, unrealistically, beautifully idealistic we once were. And how we still are.

The earth demands our acknowledgement, forces us to touch her softly and appreciate her beauty. Why does she work in such beguiling ways? Why does she give and take and hurt and heal? Why does she force her decisive opinion upon us, make us agree to what she has settled upon, convince us to live just as she had planned.

It never ends, but the end will come, soon or late, now or then, and overwhelm us with the immediacy of it all. With the realization that we are but one grain of sand resting alongside the vast ocean. The tides bring beautiful new shards of glass, taking with them the ones who have had their fair share of sunlight. Or less than. But somehow, somehow, we are left, in the wake, under the glittering moonlight, with nothing but ourselves, each other, and the dark, blistering, blinding night.

What is lost is lost forever, in the endless, beautiful blue seas. If we take the plunge, go searching, asking for reasons and answers, will we find what we are looking for? Will she show us the light at the bottom of the beautiful mess, give us purpose to beg for air, land, freedom? Will she guide us towards the predetermined path, or will she spit us back out, force us to find strength, discover meaning, push forward on our own, explore new trails, set our own footsteps in the ever changing soil.

Does she know what she has done to us? Does she feel the weight of her resolve, as we feel, pinning us down and keeping us from believing, from dreaming, from being. Does she snicker at us as we struggle, knowing full well that with time all wounds will heal, leaving scars that make us fight harder, think bigger, live stronger. Why does she not leave us a note with a simple explanation, a simple reason for her decision, a one word answer with a squiggly little signature that she was aware, she was once there, she was purposeful in her ways, and we can go on.

We cannot go on, but we must. Pain killers; laughter, sunlight, stories, memories, poems, beauty, will dull the hurt. Heal the open cuts. Bring us together and push us apart when the time is right. She knows what she has done. We know what she has done.

We will absolve her of her crime, in due time. But for now, we take our space, our time, our heavy heavy hearts, and we search in vain for the trail between the trees that will lead us forward, lift our spirits, and let his soul live within us.

In loving and sweet precious memory of Manish Lohani. A passionate, silly, courageous, affectionate young man, loving son & brother, and devoted friend. Keep smiling, keep laughing, and keep living…within us all.

And now, in loving sweet memory of my hero, a visionary, and a true change maker, Mr. Steve Jobs. You continue to light the path I hope to follow. Thank you.

I glanced at my watch: 9:30 pm. It’s too late to play. I’m too tired to move, I decided. Maybe they will think I fell asleep. But the door bell kept singing it annoying high pitched tune in my ears as the children’s muffled voices pleaded for Akka.

They are my friends. They are what puts a smile on my face in the morning, what makes me dance on the rooftops in the powerless evenings, what makes me carelessly skip through pungent alleyways and what makes me watch cartoons and put puzzles together on the unswept floor. They are what gives me the energy to continue on days I think there may be no end in sight to this battle I’m fighting. They are respectful and intelligent and witty to the core. They have more street smarts than I will ever have 50 years from now, and they move through the world with the finesse of tight rope walker. They have given me my childhood back. They came into my life, grabbed my hand, and pulled me through all the adventures I had so easily forgotten. When we play, we shed our assumptions of understanding through words- in fact we share no similar words in our personalized dictionaries made up of our imperfect worlds- we simply enrapture ourselves in one another’s momentary bliss, here and now.

But I see the lesions on their emaciated bodies. I notice the scar on the left side of her face. I touch her crunchy hair and dirt laden skirt, and wonder. I watch their obsession with drinking water and desire for sugar, and am concerned. Amma feeds me curries, she assures me, as I watch her wolf down handfuls of dry Cerlac cereal. Abba drinks daaru and hits Amma, I’m told.

This I could have guessed but avoided for so long because it hurt too much to be helpless. I chide them as I observe them teaching one another right and wrong. It always comes with a slap to the head. And then I chide myself. This is their world, I think. This is how they were raised. In my cushioned, protected world I am a mechanic. I fix the broken parts, plug the dripping leaks, and paint over the erroneous streaks. Who am I to waltz into their world and tell them what my right and wrong look like? Who am I to enforce my answers to fixing the leaks they are perfectly happy with? But there are certain leaks which are inhumane, and for that, I cannot stay silent.

The problem is we will not be here forever. Tomorrow I leave them for 3 months and I have not mentioned it yet. Their father will find a new job when his work is finished and they will move once again, away from the hapless, empty buildings they currently occupy over to flat, empty spaces waiting to be occupied by people more fortunate than themselves. Our friendship will be cut off by space and time and reality. We will no longer get to play, no longer get to learn, no longer get to live together.

What can I do to permanently fix the detrimental leaks in their lives? These amazing, energetic, begging to learn and pleading to grow little friends of mine. Money takes one only so far, and until now it held no meaning in our friendship. Even so, money runs out, money gets spent, money is material. To be educated though, cannot be taken from a child. It cannot run out and it cannot be stolen. But it can materialize in ways one could never imagine.

For this, I settle. I settle with the thought that they might get a second chance at beating the lottery we draw in life. I might not get to be the one to watch them grow and learn and become something greater than their father, but I might settle on the hope that there is a chance their world meets mine again some day. I know what I offer will never be enough because they deserve everything I was offered and more- we differ only slightly in the opportunities we were handed when the choice was not ours. I find solace, though in the realization that we cannot all be same but we can all be given the faith in everlasting knowledge and incurable happiness.

I have taken more from them than I could ever offer them. I leave them hoping for nothing less than what they truly deserve, as children, as humans, as comrades; to strike their own chords and live their own lives as they could only dream of.