Three Days of Building Bridges

Somehow, I find myself in the back of a large, open air truck with forty Indian school children. We're thrown into the air with every bump in the cracked, rural roads we're traveling on, and the experience is somewhat reminiscent of a hayride. Except that hayrides often have hay, usually don't last three hours, and rarely involve a hot South Asian sun beating down on you.

The group of ten year olds I'm with in the back of the truck are in so many ways alike. They're all from similar socio-economic backgrounds, all go to similar public schools, and all come from areas that have been affected by communal, or religious, violence.

It's their differences, though, that account for their presence here with me and the staff of the NGO I'm working with. I look around the back of the truck, watching the children, and distinctly see that there are two separate groups there. The Hindu children were talking and laughing with Hindu children, and the Muslim children were only talking to other Muslims.

The week or so beforehand I had really been anticipating the coming weekend when Salokha would have its first interfaith residential camp that brought together the two religious communities that they've been working with for over five years. I was curious though how I would be able to distinguish the two groups to really watch the dynamics between and amongst them. The answer should have been obvious to me from the start. When the children arrived it became clear; all the Muslim kids were wearing white skullcaps. And so throughout the weekend I was able, to some degree, to watch how much and what kind of interactions were occurring between the children.

The truck finally stops and we all get out, rattled from our long ride through the hills of Northern Maharashtra. Our venue for the weekend is the largest organic farm in the state, which surprises me as I didn't realize that were any organic farms in India. Our accommodations are a bare but pleasant farmhouse, and what it lacks in physical comfort it makes up for with its incredible atmosphere. It's one massive room, and there are no walls at all; the roof is held up by so many pillars along the side and scattered around the room. Breezes rush through the room and I see that I'm not the only one who's enjoying being away from Bombay's pollution and congestion. Kids are running around making mischief, playing cricket, and taking naps on cots. This type of place is in my opinion the best for bringing groups together. Everyone has to share space, eat, sleep and live together, whether they like it or not. Here, there's communication about who you are even when nothing is necessarily being said.

One of the main things that always shapes my experience when I go out to observe and participate in field work with my organization is language. Ironically, this time I'm not the only one for whom language is an issue; the whole group needs to accommodate to itself. The Hindu kids present attend Marathi-medium schools, Marathi being the local language of Maharashtra. The Muslim children attend Urdu-medium schools, Urdu being the language that Muslims primarily speak in South Asia. In a symbolic twist, it's decided by the staff that the language we will use for the weekend will be Hindi, a language that both groups know enough to converse in. Hindi has its roots in Sanskrit, the ancient language of the Hindu Vedas, but is also heavily influenced by Urdu and Farsi, languages that have long been associated with Islamic communities. The two groups, like the languages they use, are in many ways similar but also different in significant ways. And while we are quite lucky to be dealing with groups that know a common language, I hear small complaints and groans when the decision is made.

The weekend is peppered with a range of activities from educational sessions and group bonding exercises to skit practice and games. In sessions we talk about religious traditions and their similarities and differences, but focus heavily on the stereotypes associated with different communities. Aside from the intergroup aspect though, the weekend reminds me much of my own experiences in summer camp in the States. The kids sing songs and play group games and sports, are unruly and boisterous when they have free time, and even have a dance party one night. But instead of playing Simon Says they play Gandhi Says. Cricket replaces Baseball and Hindi pop tunes take the place of American camp classics. In the morning we have yoga, and five times a day the Muslim kids run off for Namaz, or prayers.

I watch those white skullcaps intensely as the weekend goes by, worried as they are the smaller group. Only twelve or thirteen of the forty-something kids with us are Muslim, but this is even an over-representation considering that on the national level they only make up about fifteen percent of the population. It becomes clear though that it's not simply a matter of numbers. The Muslim kids that are with us definitely have an insular feel to them, the whole group often bunching shyly together in pockets during any activity. The staff is working actively to involve them as much as they can, but is finding it difficult. Part of the issue is compounded by the practice of Namaz. It was an unforeseen issue on our part, but is having a large effect with the Islamic kids running off for prayers and being absent for a good number of activities. The issue brings up some touchy questions. How are group workers to integrate an already isolated group when they're not present for some activities? And how can this be done while still acknowledging and respecting the religious practices of the group?

The end of the weekend comes, and though these questions aren't fully answered, they also are not completely unanswered. I think what is clear is that these are still two different groups, and that integration and tolerance doesn't mean that both groups need to act in the same way, but simply in a way that has a sense of harmony and respect. The kids impressed all the staff members on the last night when mixed groups put on sketches dealing with the themes of inter-religious cooperation and brotherhood, which, while filled with the overacting that is the hallmark of Bollywood, were well rehearsed and delivered. And now, as the truck is thrown up with every bump, I watch as Hindu and Muslim kids exchange emails and telephone numbers. Others sit in groups, talking and laughing, and I see many more skullcaps interspersed than on the way here.

It can't be said that the weekend caused all of the tensions to dissolve between the two groups, but the wounds that these two communities have inflicted upon each other are deep here in Bombay. It will take a long time for them to heal, and for the hatred and enmity to die out. But I do think that is it a step in the right direction. The children were provided with an experience that can't be taught. They were exposed to each other and saw each other's humanity, and this is the first part of building bridges.