India - Part 8 - The people

I'm lost in the labyrinth of how to talk about 1.4 billion people in some sort of generalized way - so I won't try - but there are some comments worth making.  Firstly, the parallels.  The people who came to the activation points are by and large indebted. It's depressing that the poor and those falling into that dust from the bottom of the middle class in India and Africa have that in common.  From a finance perspective, how depressing that debt is the common experience.  So, a learning from the tour as a whole, is that investment literacy is secondary to debt awareness.  Indebtedness is the modern spiked neck-ring of semi-slavery, and the masters of the trade both the silver tongue of loan shark, spurred by the unquenchable and infinite need of the many.

One of the halls for an evening event, captured by the panorama phone function, in this instance India's middle class.

Hemal and Amit in action on the edges of one of the activation stops - this time a tuk-tuk stand on the town outskirts.

Again, what it means to be a man; this boy, I think damaged in some sort of an accident, was not all there.  But such is the allure of a bicycle, that he was fascinated, and open in his curiosity, couldn't keep his hands off them as they leaned against the back of the stage truck.  The gear levers; the brakes; the lights; they all held great fascination.  The reaction was interesting; back home I'd have expected a harsh reaction, perhaps a sharp klap even.  But the men of India, either let him go for it, or very gently reached out to him, tactile, and ever so gently suggested that he not explore too fully.  Enough violence and short straw for one lifetime.

At one of the activation points, people engaging Shreenivas.

 People making a living, doing things for others.  Hemal spotted a guy cooking in a round pot fired by several large, dry cow-pats, and pulled off saying that this particular dish made primarily of sweet potatoes was an absolute must.  The pot was duly fetched off the smoking pile, and opened, and the stew of goodies inside carefully removed, served onto a paper plate on an old needle and spring scale.  I have to fight myself, despite totally trusting my colleagues (and I mean that in a deep way, trust in their love and kindness), some part of me still says, how kosher an idea is this?  But African manners thankfully still defeat fear and of course it was totally rewarding - they were fantastic and delicious and fiery and wonderful.