expression. begin

"see it takes a boy to live, it takes a man to pretend he was there"

Wed, 17 Oct 2012 01:03:00 -0400

“see it takes a boy to live, it takes a man to pretend he was there”

-
The Lumineers, Flowers in Your Hair

Awkward Beginnings, Acceptance

Thu, 27 Sep 2012 10:34:00 -0400

Memory

The first time I came to Mumbai three years ago I was here for less than 24 hours for a very confusing fusion performance of ballet and kathak at a corporate gala in a huge hotel. The MC for the event was Hrithik Roshan who told me he liked my “outfit” before jumping on a motorcycle he then rode onto stage. The “outfit” he was referring to was my costume- a white Swan Lake tutu, complete with sparkles, tights, pointe shoes, and feathers in my hair. After my star-struck vision cleared I performed in front of an extremely large crowd of wealthy men eating dinner. To say the least, it was absurd.

The best part of the evening though was after the show came to a close at around midnight. The rest of the dancers and I were Delhi-ites of sorts so we all decided to pile into a car that would drive us around the city for an evening tour. It was late and completely dark so I expected the city to be sound asleep (like the other 99% of India after dark). But as we began driving south the city came to life. We passed Juhu Beach where even at 1am you could see rowdy boys partying in the sand and young couples dining in a nearby café. We drove through Colaba and past the Gateway of India and watched a group of girls leaving a nearby restaurant flaunting flowing summer dresses. The city seemed to be filled with laughter and music that leaked from the windows and rooftops of its nightlife.

At the end of our tour we stopped the car at the recently grief stricken Taj Hotel which was then in the process of repair. In the mood for reflection we decided to walk along the ocean walkway. The bay breeze, smells of the salty water, and the sound of the water hitting the walls below relieved me. The vast space open in front of me leading to the horizon of the waterline gave me a much-needed feeling of freedom. It calmed my soul.

The sea last week at sunset near my apartment.

Walking along this seafront for the first time looking out across the water at the rest of the city skyline loads of questions popped into my head. What was this city? How could a city like this, so vastly different from anywhere in northern India I had seen, boast the same national identity as its diverse counterparts? How was it that this extravagant Taj Hotel was part of the same cosmopolis as the vast slums I had seen engulfing Mumbai from my plane’s window the day before? How was it that this city, the largest in India with approximately 20 million people, almost crowded to the point of suffocation seemed to be welcoming me with open arms?

The energy of the city tantalized me with romance. Romance of an India, or maybe a million Indias, I did not yet know. Then and there I fell deeper in love with India but also with this city I knew nothing about. And after leaving Mumbai the next morning, shaking the sparkles and feathers from my hair, I knew I would have to return one day.

Invitation

Fast forward three years to May 3, 2012, five months ago. I opened an email sitting at work in New York and literally began to cry with joy (cheesy I know, but its true) when I read that I had been accepted to the AIF Fellowship. Beyond the pure joy and exhilaration of being accepted to the fellowship I was overcome with excitement that I had been placed in Mumbai.

Mumbai

Now sitting in my apartment in Bandra West (which I now understand as the coolest neighborhood ever) listening to the drums of a Ganpati parade passing by my window I tip my hat in thanks to AIF for reuniting me with the beautiful and infinitely crazy Mumbai. I can now bask in my old romanticized memories of this city and create new ones as I wander the streets once more with rejuvenated excitement.

Mumbai is a cacophony of sights, smells, sounds, animals, and people unlike anything else in India (and therefore probably anything else in the world). To try and explain to someone who has never been to India just how different each city within India is seems impossible. Even beginning to explain one city in India to someone is difficult enough.

Mumbai is a world, nay universe, in its entirety.

For example only three weeks in and already I feel like Mumbai has dragged me through every range of emotion humanly possible.

Fear

That everything I eat- every single thing- might make me sick.

Auto-walla (right) and his mom (left)

Confusion

That an auto-walla only speaks Marati and takes me for a three hour tour of Andheri after work to pick up his mom and take her to the tailor before finally bringing me home in the opposite direction.

Discomfort

That you are covered in others’ sweat getting off the Mumbai public train during rush hour and encounter a heard of sheep walking down the up stairs that lead to your exit.

Complacency

Knowing that you look really strange in your salwar kameez walking into the canteen at your office (as the only American amongst some 3000 employees in the Bank’s building) and not really caring cause you’re enjoying the conversation with your hilarious coworkers.

Awe

That somehow Mumbai exists. Everything in Mumbai can leave you awestruck- its size, its population, its diversity, its youth, its poverty, its wealth, and its culture.

View of Mumbai from my plane window

Compassion

For the internet-walla you called while you were stuck in traffic who is still waiting for you when you get home three hours later, patiently.

Admiration

For the man across the street from my apartment who built an entire 10 foot brick wall meticulously, carefully and quietly yesterday.

Happiness

For when I venture out into the depths of the city with my fellow Mumbaikar fellows looking to find new friends. We all enjoy each others’ company even if/when the night goes terribly wrong.

Love

For India. And realizing that during all the anticipation and nervousness involved in my process of moving here I had forgotten all along what had drawn me here in the first place- My love for India.

Here, Now

Now that I’m back in India for the first time since my 4-month stint while studying abroad in Delhi, everything is equally familiar and unfamiliar. I feel as though I have never left and have never been here before simultaneously. And now after a few weeks of getting settled into my apartment, my neighborhood and my work I feel like I’ve been here forever but also just got here.

Everything in India is relative. Concepts such as late vs. early, sweet vs. spicy, hot vs. cold, awkward vs. funny, and charming vs. creepy can only be measured by the beholder. And as any American who has spent time in India has figured out, I know that these relative correlatives should never be compared to seemingly similar concepts in the US or really anywhere else. Being in the present here is all about the process of slipping into the norm – allowing yourself to let go of all your pre-established notions, clocks, and compasses to establish new ones.

Striving to do this allows me to really enjoy India. And letting go of any sense of control of my surroundings is a challenging but phenomenally important opportunity for me to grow.

But I also know that I am not here to simply acclimate to India. I am not here to just enjoy India’s rich culture. Part of the reason AIF has sponsored the rest of the fellows and I to work at our various NGO’s is to allow us to contribute our fresh perspective to the challenges non-profit work in India brings. I therefore want to make sure I can incorporate my own reasoning and background into challenges I face at work and in daily life when they are appropriate and useful. Balancing these motivations- leaning back and pashing forward- is difficult. And my ability to act upon this type of cultural sensitivity will be what leads to the success of my work here. Wish me luck

Seva- Service

So what exactly and I doing here and why? I am here as an American India Foundation William J. Clinton Fellow for Service in India. I work for AIF who placed me with the ICICI Foundation for Inclusive Growth for the next 10 months to gain work experience in the development sector in India. ICICI Foundation for Inclusive Growth is part of ICICI Group, which stemmed from ICICI Limited, the former leader of infrastructure and industry development in India. Now the group also includes ICICI Bank- the second largest bank in India and ICICI Foundation for Inclusive Growth -ICICI’s Corporate Social Responsibility branch. I am working at ICICI Foundation with the communications and documentation team as essentially a communications assistant who aids the programme staff and the rest of the foundation staff in getting their voices heard and their work covered. My main project for ICICI Foundation will be working to create a centralized system of communications for the staff internally so that the foundation can be updated regularly with achievements, events, and initiatives the remote programmes have to share with the foundation when they’re out in the field. I will also be revitalizing their website content, social media, and print publications. Additionally my work in the office will be supplemented with site visits to as many of the foundation’s 10+ programs as possible where I will be learning about their work on the ground, writing case studies, and giving communications briefs to the staff to encourage them to hopefully write their own case studies as well.

Awkward Beginnings and Acceptance

On my first day of work I felt like I couldn’t do anything right. In the auto ride on the way there I was completely terrified. I kept asking myself, “Am I ready for this??” In my head I could only respond, “Ready for what? I don’t know what ‘this’ is….” As I approached Bandra Kurla Complex where I work which is a cluster of all of Mumbai’s highest sky rises that house India’s largest corporate headquarters I was completely dumbfounded by their scale, architecture, and cleanliness. By the time I actually reached the ICICI Bank building, my anxiety had built up far past any level of comfort.

When I got out of the rickshaw I was mentally paralyzed. Now what? I was awkwardly 15 minutes early so I stood outside the security gate pretending to text someone on my tiny Indian phone as bank employees passed by curiously observing my existence. Finally when it was time, I showed the security guard my passport, received an official guest badge, walked through a metal detector, got my bag searched, and wrote my laptop’s serial number in a log (similar procedures you might go through while boarding a plane).

All morning I met the foundation’s staff and after lunch I was put to work making phone calls to NGO’s we were inviting to participate in an initiative called Better Tomorrow. As I made the phone calls I was sitting in the office with everyone listening in on me. Fifteen minutes in I still had about 20 phone calls to make and I could tell my staff was beginning to listen closely to try and get to know me better. Some of the NGO reps I talked to on the phone were extremely short with me, some were unpleasant, some couldn’t even hear me cause they were out in the field, and others were extremely friendly and wanted to chat.

When one conversation went particularly badly my desk mate suggested I try and speak more slowly because my accent was too thick. I felt embarrassed- what if I was disappointing them because I couldn’t even make some phone calls?…. in English!

The one conversation went extremely well- perhaps too well. For some reason one rep was very excited I had called. He asked me where exactly I was from, where my family lived, why I was in India, what I was doing with AIF, what I was doing with ICICI Foundation, and finally tried to convince me to go join his NGO instead. Everyone in the office began to cry with laughter as they overheard this extravagant conversation progress. One of my coworkers even decided she should try and yell in background to tell him, “Katie is ours!” Ten minutes later when I finally wrapped up the conversation and hung up the phone everyone clapped.

“This was your initiation.” My boss said with a huge smirk on her face. “You have passed.” Finally after a day of awkward encounters, the ultimate success: acceptance.

Now when my rickshaw approaches ICICI’s towers I feel empowered. When I get walk to through security with my employee badge the guard says hello. And when I log in my laptop’s serial number the women who check my bag know my name….we even exchange friendly greetings in Hindi. And when I need to take care of a tricky phone call in the office in front of everyone I no longer need to worry about what my coworkers will think. They’re on my side- were a team.

Let the work begin. I’m back.

Reflecting once more in front of the Taj Hotel last week.

fly away.....

Tue, 08 May 2012 16:07:00 -0400

Today I wanted to mentally once and for all officially accept my fellowship to go to India starting in September. I received the fellowship. I received the blessing of my siblings. My friends are all excited for me. My boy Chris supports my decision to go, which means the world to me. And so, to top it all off, I wanted to make sure my parents could grapple with their daughter being on the other side of the world for a year. Then I could begin to think about my own decision as well….

So I decided to sit down in Riverside park during my lunch break. Naturally I called my mother first, because she is always the most hesitant about these types of things. She brought up normal motherly concerns: “Doesn’t Mumbai have even more mosquitoes than New Delhi?”, “What type of malaria pills work best for you?”, “Will you come home for Christmas?”, “What exactly are you doing there again?”, and “When can we come visit you??”. But she eventually let me go saying she supported me and that, yes, I could give my official response to AIF, because she wasn’t going to change her mind.

Then I called my Dad. He said typical Steve Stricker things, like “well this is exciting!…. Isn’t it???!, Isn’t it???” And pretty much just said he was fine with it.

Then he said he had something else to tell me. Apparently on Sunday when he was in the kitchen cleaning out my bird’s cage he kept the back door open as he always does when he’s cleaning out the bird cage because it makes a big mess.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with my bird, her name is “The Bird” and she is a senegalese parrot who is extremely loud and likes to dance. She is so loud that when I talk to my parents on the phone I always know when they’re home because I can hear her squawking in the background. And she dances to music with my dad- bobbing her head, doing figure eights, and turning around in circles. I got her when I was young but became afraid of her sharp beak when she bit my ear one day and decided I could not quite handle her. So my Dad took over her care and they became good pals. It was more of a one sided relationship because the bird loved my dad more than anything else in the world (parrots do this because they bond to single mates in the wild their whole lives). But everyday when my dad came home from work the parrot would start dancing and squawking until my dad would pet her head. She loved my dad, and my dad (who has always had a fascination with unusual animals) loved The Bird.

We had always clipped The Bird’s wings when she was young cause she would fly into things but stopped after it seemed like she didn’t really know how to fly. And since she never left her cage or my father’s shoulder after a while it didn’t seem so important.

But on Sunday The Bird took off.

The Bird flew straight out of the kitchen over massive redwood trees in our yard, over our neighbors house and just kept flying towards downtown Mill Valley. My dad -panicked- ran out onto our back porch, around the house and out onto the street. The Bird with her bright green wings and orange chest was easy to see in clear sky but she just kept going…. faster and faster until she disappeared behind massive pines in the distance.

Apparently she could fly, and now she was gone; She just up and left us.

Although I am sad I will most likely never see The Bird again, I can’t help feeling as though that last flight my bird took meant something. According to my Dad, “she seemed so excited that she could fly so fast and so high she just kept going faster and higher.” Perhaps this was one of the most satisfying moments in her life- out of her cage, soaring over trees, disappearing into the sky.

I took it as a sign. That although I love my life in the here and now: New York, my family, my boyfriend, my friends, my dance, my apartment, my job…. sometimes you just gotta let it all go for a while and do whats right for you in the moment. Its not that I’m leaving because I have to, but maybe just because I can. Because I can fly, literally on a plane to India. I can stretch my wings like I’ve never done before- climb higher and higher, faster and faster- and fly away.

Video

Tue, 08 May 2012 09:22:30 -0400

Group Phrase 1

Mon, 07 May 2012 15:48:42 -0400

Group Phrase 1

Rehearsal

Sat, 05 May 2012 17:45:00 -0400

As a choreographer rehearsal is one of those things you come to live for… And die for. You get so nervous about preparing material one week you think your brain is going to explode or you think you might- just might- have a nervous breakdown (probs not, but if your hyperbolic like me you def think you might). And then the next week youre free as a bird not a care in the world because you know what your doing- and you’ve done this all a million times before- haven’t you? Or maybe not, maybe you’ve never really done THIS before. Never tried this weird blob of a thought in your mind you want to make into something concrete- something you can put on a body….and someone else’s body not even your own. But this is the “practice”, the “meditation”, the “process” we’ve all been harping about that is so “enlightening”. Or is it? What if the thought that it must be a struggle just limits your ability to see the bigger picture? What if it was fun? Wouldnt the happiness of it open up your mind? If the stress disappeared you could actually think, right? What if you could make the analytical conceptual gloom weighing you down a light fluffy cloud of knowledge and empowerment. I’m not saying we should stop being conceptual, stop being real, stop asking “why?” “how?” but let’s all try to also bring in some love, eh? It wouldn’t kill us….

Here’s a personal case study: Last weekend leading up to rehearsals I decided to put myself into lockdown mode and “chill” in a cafe for 5 hours to process ideas, recordings, and notes I have been hoping to put into this piece. I sat worrying, over thinking, and not contextualizing my thoughts (Bc I didn’t have my dancers bodies to experiment w or their brains to discuss the work w). By the time rehearsal came around I was exhausted, defeated and nervous. I had also neglected to remember that one of my dancers couldn’t even come to rehearsal that night and did not remind my other dancers that we had switched studio locations. So, of course, only one of my dancers showed up. And my brain was mush. I went home and started cooking dinner and literally began crying w tears running down my face as I placed stuffed peppers into the oven. Not productive.

This week I found out that I was accepted into a fellowship program to work in india for ten months starting in september. I was so distracted with processing this amazing but crazy news that I completely stopped worrying about my upcoming piece- what previously seemed like a “grand finale” upcoming show. Maybe bc the piece no longer seemed like “the only thing i had going for me.” It took the pressure off. And this week with an open mind and open mouth (i started discussing and showing my work to fellow dancers bc I’m no longer self conscious about it) I’ve had the most insight in my two month “process” leading up to this work then ever. It was all bc of the perspective- I climbed out of my mental cave and rejoined the world.

But how can I sustain this?- especially if I want to be a choreographer and so I might not always have something else “going for me”- the work is the “going”- this is IT- my “life” how can I make my choreographic process itself what inspires me?

A few weeks ago I joked to some of my dance friends that my “choreographic process” consists of the following: felling so nervous I might vomit, feeling so stressed I might vomit, repeating these feelings, sustaining them for weeks and then BOOM one fated moment of insight when everything becomes clear right before the show. This joke resonated with me- was this true?

This “method” of choreography is not a practice and not sustainable because I, the choreographer, feel as though I have no control. How can i escape this? I’m not sure…. But I’m looking to find out. I guess this is part of what every choreographer and artists must find on their own.

But i guess what ive learned is to stop looking sometimes. Bc the information your looking for will come to you somewhere, somehow. And thats what will feel authentic, real- bc you were meant to find it.

So hello world and life experience- thanks for helping me with my piece. I’ll have to mention you in the program.

and i write...

Sat, 05 May 2012 16:49:33 -0400

I believe first and foremost that everything in life should be done with passion and purpose. Since graduating from College in May 2011 my life has been filled with interesting adventures, risks, jobs, and learning experiences. In the past year I have been dancing professionally, choreographing original works, volunteering as a development assistant, working as an assignment editor in photojournalism, and exploring options for medical schools and fellowships in India. These are all great- but I’ve also bartended, babysat, dog walked, personal assistant-ed, rode the bus a lot, walked a lot, talked w friends a lot, met new people as often as possible, had intelligent and not so intelligent conversation, spent beautiful time lying in bed with my boyfriend on the weekends, and even watched a lot of TV- these things are great too. Its all relevant and its all important. It will all aid me in figuring out how I want to spend the rest of my precious future here on earth. But it also allows me to be in the present and enjoy the hear and now. Because this is real life- all of it- not just your *%#&ing resume. I dive into disparate worlds without a guide to tell me what my future can/will/should hold. But what direction should I take? Which one is true to who I am? Do I have to choose? I am a creative and hard working young woman who believes the easiest and often clearest path may not always be the answer. I believe my generation of women must stand strong and tall for what we believe and know is possible. Support from one another will allow us to create paths less taken and lives more fulfilled with confidence.

Some of my beautiful dancers (sideways)

Sat, 05 May 2012 16:07:50 -0400

Some of my beautiful dancers (sideways)

Can’t resist that I love may day had a may pole- how...

Sat, 05 May 2012 16:03:55 -0400

Can’t resist that I love may day had a may pole- how literal and perfect

Everyday is a performance and the world is your set. May Day...

Sat, 05 May 2012 15:55:16 -0400

Everyday is a performance and the world is your set.

May Day for me was a chance to analyze large bodies of people in motion as a performance. The way groups of people come together when they are passionate (maybe about the political fervor itself, or something specific, or nothing specific at all) regardless of their political or personal background is endlessly interesting to analyze. I like to look at occupy as the largest site specific work ever done, with thousands across cities and generations coming together in a largely classic re-enactment/enactment of real time clashes between different classes, between citizens and police, between establishment and lack there of. Of course the movement is real- it physically happens in real space/time, real people have opinions, and real people arrest and get arrested. But If u look at occupy as a performance- a historical performance- bringing in ties to activist movements of the past but relating them to the here and now you dive deeply into what the movement is all about. The activists are literally “acting” like activists- “performing” their role- the marches, the chants, the signs, the music, the pickets, the sit ins, the arrests are all part of the scene. Often the activists are not only physically fleeing cops, sometimes running to keep their freedom for the day, but also “practicing” the act of challenging and retreating as if it were a meditation. As if they are going through the motions of protesting to allow each individual in the group to gain perspective on the constant tick that keeps the universe in balance- to test that balance and shift it. And it is not just the occupiers that participate in this historical performance but the cops as well- dutifully fulfilling their roles in the protests as the safe keepers of order and normality- they create the friction needed for the movement to seem real- because it is. The police gather the outlying occupiers (who in moments of empowerment push those boundaries conceptually and physically). Occupy is creating a history- a historical event- and all of us- the activists, the journalists, the bystanders and the resistance participate.

And the tea party was the same way- an embodiment of resistance itself. Performing the political moves, creating the historical ties. And if you dive even deeper you can see that the structure of our government, our systems is all part of this large performance; the president, the politicians, the resistance and the citizen is all just part of the show.

I guess everybody believes supports showbiz- they just don’t like to admit it.