The Most Ridiculous LA Moment Ever

So I’m sitting down to lunch with Matt Miller, Youth Venture’s rockstar extraordinaire, at a little sidewalk café in West Hollywood when – at the table next to us – a woman plops down with her dog. They’re clearly on a date. I’m perusing the menu, Matt is perusing the menu, the woman next to us is perusing the menu, the dog is panting. I order, Matt orders, the woman orders, the dog is yapping. I get my food, Matt gets his food, the woman gets her food and the dog…gets a bottle of Evian poured into a restaurant-supplied dog dish!


Homeless people are cruising the streets right in front of the restaurant, 25% of the world’s population doesn’t have access to clean water and this dog’s chugging down a bottle of France’s finest. This was my first post-trip experience when I couldn’t help but wonder, “why does the world make absolutely no sense?” I was born in the US inside arbitrary borders (lines) that were drawn by people hundreds of years ago and because of this randomness my life equates to sunshine, a college degree, patio restaurants and Evian-drinking canines. Person X was born in India inside arbitrary borders (lines) that were drawn by [western] people dozens of years ago and because of this randomness his or her life equates to monsoon rains, limited access to education, and quite possibly, extreme poverty. Does this arbitrary nature make sense to anyone? Why, because I was born in this “box,” should I be entitled to so much while someone else, in an entirely different box, has so little? I don’t get it.

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Kyle Taylor

India Video Up!

Alright, here it is - the illustrious India video! I met some incredible teams doing extraordinary work, and this short hopefully gives you an idea of the great stuff happening in India! Enjoy!



The link, in case this doesn't work:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Q40GtQC-5E

Also, the India pictures are up too! Find them here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/kyletaylor/sets/72157600870570037/

Taj Mahal? Don’t You Mean Taj MaHOT?

Thankfully, the Youth Venture India team was able to carve out a day for me to visit the famed Taj Mahal. The entire nation was still riding high after the Taj’s recent inception into the “New Wonders of the World” (which, by the way, was determined by internet and text message voting. Wouldn’t that leave, say, oh I don’t know, 3 or 4 BILLION people out of the voting process? How fair does this system seem? Hmm…). As most tourists do, I made it a day trip, which meant I had to be up at 4:30am to get a 5am car in order to catch my 6:15am train. Ish!

I arrived at the train station by 5:30am, only to find that there were no signs indicating what train would be departing from which track. Perfect. Thankfully, the lack of signage seems to have sparked an entire industry built on guiding unbeknownst tourists to their seats en route to Agra. For 25 cents, I said yes. Even at 6:15am, I was sweating. Thankfully, the ride there was in CC, or chair class, which is air-conditioned and includes breakfast.


We pulled into Agra station by 8:30am and I was quickly hassled by every tout in India, all wanting to drive me around the city all day for “best price in town.” I thought I was only 2km from the Taj but it turned out I was actually at some other train station, a good 9km from my destination. Only 8:30am and already I was on fire, yet sopping wet, thanks to the mind-altering humidity. Thankfully, Mustak crossed my path and for $6, I had transportation the entire day.


The Taj was, as you’d expect, brilliant. In one word, it’s perfect. Absolutely symmetrical right down to the scripture carved into all four walls. For someone like me, it was heaven on earth – the same number of shrubs on the left and the right, the same number of fountains in front and in back and an equal distance from one entry to the other. By 11am the heat started getting oppressive, so my two new friends (Maryam and Marloes from The Netherlands) and I decided to take a nap in one of the large decorative cutouts.


Mid-snooze we awoke to find ourselves in the middle of a torrential downpour that was, for whatever reason, not cooling us down at all. Still, it was brilliant.


We decided to tour the rest of the city together (or rather, I decided I was tired of being alone and they didn’t mind if I tagged along). Mustak found a friend who was willing to join our caravan for the afternoon and we were off to lunch, followed by Agra Fort.

From this point forward everything is a bit hazy, not because I was punched in the face or anything, but because it was SO HOT. The big thermometer read 50 degrees Celsius, which is roughly 128 degrees Fahrenheit. Add on 99% humidity and were cruising at a “real” temperature of about 140 degrees. Do you know what 140 degrees feels like? Maryam and Marloes were able to duck under their scarves. Sadly, I was left to roast.




From there we parted ways, email addresses exchanged. They headed home for a nap and I headed with Mustak to have my head shaved, which has easily become the best decision I have EVER made. Mustak took me to his barber and for 75 cents, it all went; my hair, that is.


At this point, Mustak and I said our farewells (phone numbers exchanged) and I boarded my un-air-conditioned train back to New Delhi. Three and a half excessively hot hours (and one cow casualty) later, I arrived back in the city just in time for a Monsoon! Fortunately, a friend of my new friends from the train (did you follow that) helped me into a rickshaw before getting totally drenched.

Unfortunately, the rick had a hole in the roof and was in desperate need of some bailing out. The driver handed me a plastic cup and pointed to the puddle my feet were now floating in. “Scoop,” he said in English, as if he’d said it 100 times. Eager to get home, I did as I was told and he pulled away. The only problem was, his windshield wiper was broken, which meant he had to find his way using some sixth sense that I myself am not in touch with.

So at this point, I’m bailing out the back of the rick while water is pouring in through the torn sealing. Meanwhile, the driver has one hand on the wheel and is using the other to brace himself in a contorted standing position that allows his eyes to see around the windshield while his feet are still able to hold down the throttle. Water is pelting me in the face. My bailing isn’t working. Then suddenly, without warning, we bottom out in an enormous puddle and the now-stalled rickshaw comes to a dramatic halt.

The driver tries to kick start us back into motion. The sad little vehicle utters an abrupt “put put” then dies again. I decide to stop bailing. The driver keeps trying. Nothing. Five or six attempts later he turns to me, throws his arms in the air and says “no go.” No truer words have ever been spoken. From there he turned on the cabin light, rolled a cigarette and started to smoke it.

So here we are, in the middle of New Delhi, no street lamps or people to speak of, much less other cars. Water is pouring through the roof directly onto my head. The rickshaw is stalled. My driver is smoking a cigarette. All I can do is laugh, accepting the fact that we can’t possibly be here forever, right?


Twenty minutes and three cigarettes later, a rather dramatic kick start attempt is successful and we bolt back into action. Only now, we can’t stop, or else we’ll stall again, which means we’re zooming through stop signs like it’s our job, me bailing us out, him smoking and puffing without using his hands, neck cranked around the windshield to miss the cars we’re zooming by while running red lights.

We’re careening around the second to last corner before reaching “home” and, without warning, drive straight into another puddle and stall out. I decided to forego the wait and attempt to pay the man with the intention of walking the last two blocks. I pull out the inflated fair and hand it over, to which me replies, “You can’t walk. It’s not safe.” Not safe? You just stalled us out TWICE in the middle of New Delhi then drove through numerous red lights while smoking a cigarette and looking around the windshield because your wiper is broken, but this two-block walk is NOT SAFE?

I thanked him for his concern, gave him the “thumbs up,” and went on my way, thankful for the ride of my life that, if nothing else, cooled me down from my simmering 128-degree body temperature. Long-live the rickshaw.

“I Felt I Had To Do Something”

“We’re building the next generation of entrepreneurs in India,” Anirban and Nidhi told me, just minutes after arriving at their offices in New Delhi. Quite a mission statement, and quite a vision to back it up.

Anirban and Nidhi are two thirds of Dhriiti’s leadership team, part of Ashoka and Pravah’s Change Looms program. Dhriiti is an organization aimed at combating entrepreneurship from “both sides,” as they explained. On the one hand, they do the education piece, helping to open the minds of young people to the idea of entrepreneurship at a younger age with education programs and training sessions that bring the students into a simulated world where they are guided through the process of both developing and operating their own enterprises.


At the same time, they are working to build real-time enterprises in agricultural areas of India by developing new, eco-friendly products and service that require little start-up yet offer fairly decent profit margins. So far they have supported 17 enterprises, bringing them together under a federation (similar to Fair Trade coffee co-ops) to sell in larger quantities, obtaining significant economies of scale.

With degrees in subjects from Rural Development to Business Administration, the founders of Dhriiti weren’t satisfied with the “traditional” job track in India. “I got a job with GE, which my family loved,” Nidhi told me. “The only problem was, I didn’t love it. The social sector isn’t the most family-friendly career in India,” she told me. “Mom and Dad want you to make money. Still, this has grown on them, and I think it will continue to change the more people do it. Lots of people our age are leaning this way now.”


Indeed, Anand Mishra of “Steps For Change” (also a Change Looms team) had the same inclination. Five years ago he came face-to-face with the education crisis of impoverished youth and street children (there are more than one million young people living on the streets in India). He started with theater and music projects but realized that the real need was in basic subjects like reading, writing and math. Now he oversees an army of teachers who reach out to the poorest shantytowns in New Delhi, attempting to give the children at least a bare minimum entry into the basics. So far it is working. Dozens of kids show up to these lessons each and every day, and his program is growing. They’re planning to be in a dozen communities by the end of the year.


The situation in India is unlike any other place I have ever been. There is a spirit, energy and life in the people that is inspiring and yet, at the same time, there is poverty and heartache like nothing I have ever seen. Thankfully, as seems to be true of the youth in every country I have visited, a sense of duty is brewing inside India’s youth. As the world’s largest democracy, there is no telling where this passion may lead. I, for one, am excited to find out.

How To Make It Through The Day On 45 Minutes Sleep, & Other Thoughts on India

I’m four days in and I still have no idea what is going on around me. I thought that 7 months in China would offer some semblance of clarity here in India, but I could not have been more wrong. Minus the whole billion people and booming economy thing, these two nations are worlds apart. That said, I do have some advice and insights for future visitors:

• Cross the street whenever you feel like it. Sometimes, if you raise your hand, cars will stop. Also, don’t be totally shocked if cars are driving on the wrong side of the road. They probably really need to get to where they’re going.
• Stand your ground in lines, as they’re not “official.”
• Remember that 10 Rupees in only 25 cents, so don’t waste too much time bickering with rickshaw drivers who want to charge you 50 rupees instead of 40 to drive you 25 miles across town. At 40 rupees to the dollar, we’re talking about a buck!”
• If someone offers you a “great guesthouse with A/C” make sure you see it before you buy it. Windows, running water, sheets, towels, electrical outlets and A/C may not actually be included. This can result in restless nights of 45 minutes sleep.
• English is not widely spoken, so bring a friend or just be prepared to have no idea what is happening, ever.
• Embrace the cold-water bucket shower. It is an art form. Fill the big bucket then use the little bucket to trickle water over your head, working your way down the body while massaging the water into the skin. Soap, rinse and repeat.
• If someone offers to let you sleep in the office, say yes. Internet works 24 hours and they’ll bring in a cot. Plus, there is no commute!
• In the summer, it’s ungodly hot. Be ready for 128 degrees and 100% humidity. Shave your head. It feels great, and they’ll charge you 75 cents for the whole operation.
• Be prepared to fall in love with the people and the culture, knowing that you’ll probably “go native” within a few days. I’m sitting here typing in my cotton “fabIndia” shirt and linen pants listening to Bollywood music while eating Naan and I couldn’t be happier.

Giving Voice To An Entire Generation

After 24 hours in Mumbai it was back on a plane, en route to New Delhi. Six highly entertaining hours later (which included a disappearing rickshaw driver, two car accidents, reasonable airport security screenings (do we even know why we have to take our laptops out of the case anymore?), a rather delayed flight, exit row seating on the World’s oldest aircraft and one more go at the whole luggage, x-ray, driver thing) I was at Youth Parliament, a Change Looms (http://www.ashoka.org/changelooms) candidate team working to give a voice to young people across India.


Ishita started Youth Parliament five years ago after being asked at a government forum what young people wanted. “I didn’t know the answer,” she told me. “It seemed that no one knew the answer.” She gathered her closest friends, converted her family garage into an office and began building an organization that could give her generation a voice. “We can’t just sit and complain. We’ve got to prove that we deserve to be heard. It’s about active citizenship.”


Ishita ha built a structure that encourages leadership and entrepreneurship. She oversees the organization as a whole, but each issue or policy area is headed by a different department director. They’re tackling everything from peer mentorship to arts education and transgender rights, all with a passion and a poise that would make you think they’re actually members of Parliament.

Ishita started with 15 people around her; now there are over 800, and the numbers continue to grow. They recently hosted a conference and education session with actual members of India’s parliament, teaching them about HIV/AIDS issues and how they effect young people. Their social interest film competition received dozens of submissions from across the country.


To top it all off, they’re exceptional Hindi teachers! I butchered the two phrases I know (thanks Gunjan and Gunjan’s mom for that knowledge) then managed to butcher another six or seven phrases. Still, their patience was much appreciated, and I was blown away by their commitment to building this organization on a national level over the long-term. “This social activism isn’t a phase that we’re going to grow out of,” Ishita said. “This is who we are as a generation. People better start paying attention.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Welcome To India! Oh, Did You Want Your Bag?

I hopped on a plane in Joburg and 10 magical hours later (I watched Wild Hogs and a bad Chris Rock movie, ate the “chicken” for lunch and the “lamb” for dinner, read my book, took a nap and watched the sunset from 30,000 feet) I was in Mumbai. My first thought after stepping off the plane: “OH MY GOD, IT’S SO HOT!” Indeed, the temperature is hovering somewhere between 85 and 115 degrees.


My second thought, you ask? I wonder if the bags are ever going to come out…We landed at 12:30am and that baggage belt didn’t start spinning until just after 3am. From 1am on a woman would come on every 10 minutes to let us know that “the bags will be out in 10 minutes.” People drove their little baggage carts right up to the belt, leaving absolutely no room for humans. Pilots and patrons alike were peering behind the plastic curtain, attempting to identify the hold-up.

True to form, mine was one of the last bags to emerge. I dropped it on my baggage cart and headed for the door, or so I thought. First, I had to send my bags through an x-ray machine. The line here was a good 20 minutes long and of course, people were standing far too close to each other. Fortunately, I don’t enjoy walking on my own two feet, so the constant railing of carts into my Achilles tendons went only half-noticed. Finally, it was my turn. I flung my bag up onto the conveyor belt and walked to the other side, only to find the x-ray operator asleep under the machine, pillow, blankets and all! Safety first.

Cart reloaded, I headed for the door in search of a sign with my name on it. Thankfully, it was easy to spot, though before I could reach him 3 other guys emerged, all anxious to help with my luggage. One pushed the cart, another cleared a path and a third opened my door. Sadly, I had not been to an ATM, so ended up giving them $5 US – all I had. That converts to roughly 200 rupees. A normal tip in this situation would have been 10 rupees. They were excited.

Forty minutes later we were at the hotel where another three guys were anxiously awaiting my arrival, despite the fact that it was 4am. One carried the suitcase, another hung my sweatshirt in the closet and folded down by bed and a third explained (in extreme detail) how the remote control worked. Immediately my mind was reeling with comparisons between China and India (First below is China, second is India).



Both struggle with a surplus of people to do anything and everything your heart can imagine; things people would just never do at home. Both enjoy absolute chaos in traffic patterns and both are home to people who just love honking their horns. Still, beyond that, these are two very different places, home to very different people. I haven’t wrapped my mind around it completely just yet, but the wheels are spinning…

Webisode #9 - Mumbai, India

Here it is, webisode #9. Enjoy!



The link, if that doesn't show up:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nIqfxpahfkg