I saw red.

I do believe that yesterday was my low point in India. There have been too many high points to count and mostly just awkward points that lie somewhere in the middle. Honestly, I haven't been so angry at another human being since... well, probably since I was about five.

I know that I've written in here a bit about my host family, mostly earlier on in the trip when my comments were general and cultural rather than specific. I guess I didn't really want to get into it, since even though this started out as a journal, it's public. But right now, I just need to write about this or I'll go crazy. OK, crazier.

Things have been up, down, and all over the place since I've moved in. There have been some amazing experiences when I've felt close to them. Most of the time it's just weird, which is understandable given the cultural and language differences. Sometimes they won't speak to me for a day, and I'll have no idea why. When they have guests over, I'm usually told to remain in my room. It used to bother me quite a bit in the beginning, but I'm fine with it now. If nothing else, I've learned to toughen up and when to shut up. I know, I never thought I'd see the day either. Normally I say what's on my mind, usually as tactfully as possible. But here, I don't really have that luxury. Technically, I have the freedom to say what I want, which I have a few times, but a person can only take so much of the silent treatment that inevitably follows. So usually, I just sit back, smile, and think about something else.

But last night I just couldn't. I'd been feeling sick for a few days but chose not to go to the doctor. I'd feel better each afternoon and figure that I could tough it out, but then in the evening I'd get pretty sick. After a few months here, it didn't really seem like a big deal. I'd been sick before. I'd planned on going to the doctor yesterday, but there were riots all across Pune (all across Maharashtra, really) as the result of the defacing of a Dalit statue. The Dalit (previously called Untouchable) caste still faces a oppression from everyone else, even though the caste system's technically illegal. But it's sort of like outlawing racism or sexism... it doesn't root the problem out, just officially covers it up. So there were riots yesterday around the city that eventually spread to the rest of the state. Protestors were running around certain areas of the city in mobs, and several trains were set on fire. I was in a safe area, but ACM still told us to stay in the Deccan area and not go to shops or businesses. I went over to my friend's house in Deccan, supposedly to study Marathi, but really to watch some episodes of Friends. I'd never seen it before, and it definitely hooked me. But, regardless, businesses were closed, and there was no way I could've gotten to the doctor. Besides, I was feeling better.

At dinner that night, my host parents asked me why I hadn't gone to the doctor. I explained the situation with the riots, and they didn't really want to hear what I had to say. My host father started berating me for not going, which I kept telling myself was just his saying that he was concerned. I told them that I appreciated that they were looking out for me.

Somehow this led us to the topic of one of the other girls in my program who had switched host families a few months earlier. She hadn't been happy with her host father, but she stuck it out and hoped things would get better. They didn't. Her host father made blatant sexual advances at her, and she moved out. She is one of the strongest people on the program, and probably put up with it longer than she should have. But my host father started talking about how you "can't clap with one hand," and how the girl had deserved the advances. It takes two to tango, even if the tango involves unwanted sexual advances from a married man who she's supposed to see as a father figure. My host father had met this girl once, and apparently her body language and way of talking justified such behavior on her host father's part. She'd asked for it, apparently. Nevermind the fact that she was living in this man's house with his wife and two children, and that the man was more than twice her age.

I just sat there at the dinner table, not sure whether I'd start yelling or crying first. He then had the audacity to tell me that surely, I must agree with him. I just didn't know what to do. Every inch of me was screaming to set him straight or at least to politely disagree. But I just couldn't take what I knew would follow. I'd seen him argue with his wife, and he would never admit when he was wrong. I knew that if I voiced my opinions, there was no way that I'd escape the dinner table with any sort of composure. And I would not cry in front of him.

So I just sat there. "I see what you mean," I said, and betrayed everything that I believe about standing up for yourself and what you know is right. Certain cultural things cannot be challenged, and I'd let a lot of potential arguments go because of this. But this is a family who has hosted dozens of students before. The father has traveled all over Europe. They have a son who loves watching American movies and the latest Bollywood production. And this was wrong. I don't give a damn if it was cultural or not.

After what seemed like an eternity, I excused myself and crawled back into my room. Blasting the angriest music that I own on my iPod, I sat seething, both at him and myself. I picked my my phone to call a friend before remembering that there's no place in the house you can talk privately. India has taught me when to keep my mouth shut, and I know that this can be valuable. But there are lines you just don't cross, and this was one of them. Even now, I wish that I'd said something. I wish I'd told him exactly what I thought and not cared how he reacted. I'm only here for a week more. It may not be constructive, it may not be wise, but at least it would've been right. I've had enough.

Love,
Sarah

iPod: "Gun In Hand," Stutterfly, "Cross Out the Eyes," Thursday