In my earlier series I seem to have forgotten perhaps the most interesting happening of my trip to India.

The second half of the trip was spent traveling into rural southern India. Specifically the Wayanad region of the Kerala state. It is largely an agricultural rainforested region with large discrepancies between the rich and poor.

We traveled by bus. 20ish students, half from an Indian university and half from mine. As well as two teachers and two bus drivers. Both teachers were Indian, one from our University and one from theirs. The bus drivers reminded me of the two befuddling pirates in Pirates of the Caribbean. One was tall and extremely lanky one with popping eyeballs and the other was rotund bearded nonchalant and with a giant golden looped earing in one ear.

We were gone for about a week on this journey and these mates were with us the entire way. Their english wasn't so hot so to be honest we never really bonded. We just sat and stared at the back of their heads and at pivotal times lowered our eyes in prayer that really they were better drivers than all first-hand indications would suggest.

So. On the last night before we were to travel all the way back to our starting position a bunch of us were sitting around talking on the patio of the residence where half of our trip was staying. The group included both teachers and about half of the students equally proportioned Indian and American.

The conversation had been going on for some time and it was amazingly pleasant. It was largely an intellectual sum-up of a lot of themes we'd just explored through fieldwork with a local NGO: rural empowerment, development, undevelopment, caste, freedom, women, etc.

Then, in the midst of this, the conversation edges a bit closer. One of the American girls, this amazingly genuine altruist from an Island off of Maine (who I will refer to as Laura) wants to talk about the bus drivers.

So, for the duration of this trip the bus drivers have been sleeping on the bus. Our accommodations, though not spectacular by any means, include beds and the common features you would expect in housing. What Laura wants to know is why. Only as a discussion in relation to the themes already present. Why were the bus drivers on the bus every night? The trip was a weeklong, is it such an investment to add one room to the bill for the two men responsible for our physical transportation?

A kind of shadow immediately fell over the circle. There was a momentary and noticeable silence.

And then it got heated.

It's just how things are done. Bus drivers always stay with the bus. They told us. One girl said whenever she went on family trips her parents would hire a driver and when they stopped at hotels at night the drivers would stay in the workers' quarters.

The drivers were obviously Dahlits, of the untouchable caste, but this is something not to be discussed. So other issues were obviously at hand. The owners of where we were staying might possibly not allow lower caste admission. And the bus drivers would never request it because as Dahlits that just doesn't happen.

We could tell our teacher had taken Laura's conversational question as a personal assault on her and the class. She read the question as In a class about development and cultural empowerment, what are we doing just talking about these larger ideas of freedom when the opportunity to implement on a practical level is right here in front of us.

The Indians and both teachers had no problem saying we as Americans can't just waltz in to a country and expect that we can immediately effect positive social change. But this was not Laura's point and me and another girl on our trip rallied behind her meaning. Our point was, what is in front of us is a single night. We are not trying to break down in one solid swing social and cultural walls built over eons of history and tradition. Tomorrow on our 12 hour bus ride back to the city we want our bus drivers well-rested, if only for our sake and our goodly well-being.

So this is where I cut in. What seems to be in front of us is this question of theory vs. practice. We're studying all these concepts of change, but how do we, as movers, move from the study to the doing. But right now, in front of all of us, is a concrete move to make. Anyone of us can right now go to the bus drivers and forfeit his or her room for them.

A short silence. And then another American girl, equally as altruistic as Laura and equally as genuine (I kind of love them both: and this one I'll name Irie) jumps up. She looks at me. Patrick, you're right! You wanna do it? We lock eyes and I nod with a smile.

The circle looks horrified. Laura not the least, not knowing exactly what she'd started.

We look to our teachers for their approval. They look pissed. But the teacher from the Indian University nods in acquiescence. Sure, fine. But don't you think we already asked them? This stops Irie (well, that changes everything!) but I am 99% this was a lie based on an earlier conversation, and besides, why after a 20 minute conversation would you leave this (not-so-small) piece of information for right before we are going to act? And so I say, well, we can ask again.

And so Irie and I go to the bus where the drivers are currently playing badminton outside. Their English isn't so hot but we get the question out, Irie ludicrously giving a charades performance of what a bedroom is. She practically lies down on the ground and pretends to sleep. Their english wasn't that bad.

At first they say no, but thank you. All we have to say if "are you sure?" And then they agree and are obviously happy.

We go back to the group beaming for our achievement and me and my roommate start planning to move our stuff to Irie's room and have the drivers take our room. Now the teachers obviously didn't think the drivers would accept and so we were dropped with another bombshell. There's an empty room across the hall, they can have that one.

Now this is worthy of a what the fuck. But we smartly didn't take it up. And so we brought the drivers to their room and ate dinner. Me and Irie were at the table with the two teachers and it was awkward but we tried to move past it onto whatever other topic we could manage.

Laura ate with the Indian students and the conversation continued. Apparently it was even more heated than before without the teachers present. One student was considerably angry. How can you do that, invite them in to our hotel where they can conceivably rape our women or steal our things. Ludicrous. Absolutely ludicrous. Not only were there locks on the door and a million people present, but the bus drivers had been trusted to safeguard the bus with all of our expensive belongings on it while we went off to do whatever. They had every opportunity to rob our cameras and computers and money. My god.

And so Laura spent another hour arguing with them and got their unanimous support.They said they'd always thought when they got older they would act the way we just did and make the small little moves that in the long run might impact everything. But when it was presented so ugly in front of them it felt like an assault on their personal culture. It felt like we were ignorant and naive Americans trying to spit on the faults of their country.

That night I had trouble falling asleep. The cold reactions of the other students and more magnanimously, our teacher, had me feeling like I'd done something terribly wrong when my brain was telling me that I should be happy for the little I'd done.

The next day Irie and Laura said they'd felt the same. And our teacher, who had prized us three as her favorites just the day before, was now stand-offish and even mean towards us.

There's a little more to the story which I'll continue in another post because this one I think is exceedingly long. But the main question is here:

What the fuck did we do?