The School That Ganeshnagar Built

Last weekend I visited a special school. It is located in the middle of a slum in Ranip, Ahmedabad. It's built using only materials from in and around the slum, and by the children from the slum.

Patangyu ("Butterfly") School in Ganeshnagar is phase 2 of the after-school program for Ranip kids that was run by Manav Sadhna volunteers out of a small but colorful space near Jayeshbhai's house. The idea for this new schoolhouse is to involve the students themselves in every step of the school's development, and to make it a part of the community that they live in.

I attended the weekly Sunday session with a bloke from UK named Aaron, to see the school in action. The schoolhouse is simple: a basic circular space closed off by pillars of rocks gathered by hand by the kids, stacked into cylinders by wiring. There is a basic but sturdy bamboo roof on top. Overall it's minimalist and inviting.

When we arrived class was already in session. Any child from the slum is invited to attend, provided they stay for the entire session and are old enough to understand what is going on. But inevitably kids of all ages show up. Currently Anjali leads the classes each week. Typically she presents a theme of the day and have the kids discuss it. The theme is usually related to a holiday or festival that's happening at that time. Then she has the kids draw a picture on that theme. This week it was Ganesh, who's festival is coming up. All the kids drew Ganesh first with pencil, then colored it in. The main point of the activity is to let the kids be creative, use their imagination, and practice concentration. The kids broke off into mini groups and got to work. It was fun watching the diversity of pictures develop, the kids took drawing Ganesh in many different directions. Whenever they had trouble know what to draw or how to draw it, Anjali would ask the student to close their eyes and picture what they want to draw for few seconds, then open and draw what they saw. Worked every time. In fact part of this exercise is about unlocking the latent ability each kid has, but isn't aware of. It's a confidence building exercise. At the end of the session everyone gathers back in a circle and flip through the pictures together. Each child has a chance to describe what they drew. Finally, class ends with a few seconds of meditation and the kids are off to the races.

Watching the kids play in the space, Aaron and I commented how these kids have such active imaginations, making up random games to play with each other. They had no toys, but maybe that was a good thing because it forces them to come up with creative ways to entertain themselves. Anji mentioned that it's a known principle that children need to feel boredom in order to spark their imagination. Kids in the US who are constantly stimulated by video games, soccer practice, and dance class don't get to feel bored, and maybe that's not a good thing.

The school has it's share of problems. Adults in the community sometimes sneak into the space to drink or gamble. Others have come in and defecated. During the rains, a farmer used it as a barn to keep his animals. Each time, the kids have taken the initiative to let the perpetrators know that it's not OK, that their space should be protected. That level of ownership only comes through sustained participation and engagement.

Though Anjali is currently the only full-time instructor, the space remains open for anyone to come in and volunteer to share what they know. This week, an organic farmer from nearby visited the school to talk with Anjali about getting the kids involved in gardening by planting some vegetables, herbs, and medicinal plants in the dirt area behind the schoolhouse. They could grow vegetables specifically to meet some of the community's nutritional deficiencies, and medicinal plants that can help with common chronic illnesses amongst the children. Everything would be grown organically; the children would help create compost by collecting waste from their homes. Hopefully they will take ownership over the garden as they have the school space. There will likely be other challenges, like theft and hungry animals. But the kids have a habit of stepping up when it's called for.

Tabla Pusher

Robin Sukhadia has been in India for the past 6 months on a Fullbright Scholarship exploring the role of music education for street children in Kolkata and Ahmedabad. Last week he hosted an intimate evening at the MBL headquarters where he shared his personal journey, what art means to him, history and primer on tabla, and of course some riffs on the tabla from the man himself.

Robin took us through the history of Project Ahimsa, which he has been a part of since its beginnings. The project's mission is to empower youth around the world through music. Robin showed some videos of various projects in which disadvantaged youth came alive when introduced to creative expression through music, especially tabla. Also I learned that Project Ahimsa planted seeds for future music projects in Manav Sadhna, starting with a simple project to bring instruments to students of a local blind school. Later folks would be inspired to put together the Ekta show, which toured around the world. That laid the foundation for the latest incarnation, Ekatva.

In his own journey, Robin has been deeply influenced by tabla. Always musically inclined, he got into tabla after a chance encounter with Zakir Hussein 8 years ago. Backstage at his concert, Zakirji told Robin to seek out another renowned tabla master, Pundit Swapan Chaudhuri as his teacher. Robin obeyed, and has been practicing intensively under Swapanji ever since. But of course as Robin related, the tabla is a very subtle instrument and can take a lifetime, or even multiple lifetimes to master.

Tabla has its own language, the dha-dhin-dhin-dha that you often hear tabla players sing during a concert. The alphabet if dha's and dhe's and dhin's is what teachers use to transmit to their students. Tabla is taught completely orally, nothing is written down. Same goes for tabla making, which I learned is an ancient art. Tabla is one of the few modern instruments (and I mean really modern, it has really only gotten wide exposure since the art was opened up to the masses since Independence) that does not have a satisfactory synthetic version. No one has been able to capture the sound of symmetrically stretched calf and goat skin. The black middle part of the tabla is what gives it the sweet sound. The two drums represent the male and female, and making them dance together in different combinations is what makes tabla beats diverse and alive. My burning question from Robin's talk was a two-parter: a) Do famous tabla players grow out their hair on purpose so they can fling it around during performances, since their hands are occupied? and b) How does he cope with his own inability to do so?

Robin also talked about and quoted from the Artist's Way, and emphasized the benefits of making room for artistic expression in life. But also it's important to encourage artistry in others, especially youth. He linked art to social change and said Gandhi was himself a great artist, and how deeply he was influenced by the work of the artists Tagore and Tolstoy.

Robin is a really cool cat. Although we only overlapped in Ahmedabad for a couple days, it was great getting to know him and bonding over childhood love stories (tetherball!), Clay Shirky, and Mario Bros. I'm not sure when our paths will cross next, only that they will.

I am FOB

Welcome back to The Organic Indian! Let's dive right in and cover happenings since the last installment of this blog.

First, I graduated. In early 2011, I was in India finishing the final bit of work for my thesis. I came back to California in April, gave my oral examination in May, walked in cap and gown in June, and handed in my dissertation in August. I subsequently came straight back to India where I type these words from.

Next, I am now working full time on Awaaz.De ("Give your voice"), the startup I co-founded with Tap last year. The company is a spin-off of my thesis project, Avaaj Otalo, which is a voice information service for small scale farmers in Gujarat to access and share agricultural advice using any mobile phone. Callers dial a regular phone number and access a question and answer message board, where they can post, browse, and respond to others' questions and answers. We launched the service with DSC, our local NGO partner, in 2009, and it has been live since then. If this paragraph sounds like a rehearsed spiel that has been rattled off in verbal and written form hundreds of times to hundreds of people in the last year, you are on the money.

My dissertation was on the design and usage of Avaaj Otalo. As I neared graduation, we needed a way for the service to live on. It wouldn't be right to just pack up my computer and call it a day just because I was graduating. We had started something that our local partners had invested time, money, and effort on, and that was delivering real value to farmers who depended on it: to date AO has served over 40,000 calls from 5,000 callers.

That's where Awaaz.De comes in. It hosts Avaaj Otalo: all of the calls into and out of AO come through the servers in the our office. In addition, we generalized the software underlying AO and created a customizable voice social media platform. So now any organization in India who wants to reach remote, disconnected communities can set up their own voice application with us. We help design a custom application based on the particular information and communication needs the organization is trying to address. Then we set up the application on our servers, and give the org a phone number and a login to a web-based administration interface. They don't have to install any software or manage any hardware. We take care of all the of the technology, it is a fully hosted service. The organization is the front-facing entity for the service. They promote the phone number as a service they are provided. They are also responsible for the content on the system: responding to questions form the community, uploading new info, broadcasting and routing messages, etc. Currently we are hosting applications for eight different organizations across six states in India. And not just for agriculture, but a variety of domains like labor rights, women's empowerment, and education.

And like that the company is off and running. We acquired our partners in a relatively short time, all since last September. And they all came through word-of-mouth. We hadn't even set up a website and we were getting requests from folks, like the service we offer has been needed for a while now, only no one was offering it. So in a way I don't really feel like I started the company, more that the company started itself. All very organic and demand-driven, which makes it feel right. There was nothing unnatural or forced about how things have developed. In fact if anything I would say I have been reluctant, conservative, perhaps even in denial about the inevitability of the company every step of the way. Honestly I didn't see it coming, yet now I look back at the path and it makes perfect sense. I couldn't see that far ahead, but now here I am trying to make this a way to earn a living. So far, it's looking possible. We are revenue-generating, have one full-time employee, Chirag, and an office with a sign and a logo. The other day, we even got business cards.

As I began to see light at the end of the tunnel of grad school about a year and a half ago, I started to think about what to do next. I thought about staying in academia as a professor, or getting a job at an organization I like and care about (one I've had on my list for a while is NPR), working for the government (inspired by Obama), and of course continuing to work on the stuff we started in India in some capacity. Then we started Awaaz.De, and that option became a concrete possibility. Since then, with a more-than-gentle nudging of Tap, I started trying on the role of entrepreneur in my mind. Is it for me? I have always felt my personality isn't suited for entrepreneurship, I don't have an unquenchable thirst for it like the best ones seem to have. But over the last year or so I have begun to start embracing the role, and at this point I can say with full conviction that this is what I want to do. I am an entrepreneur. I'm excited to develop the skills that are required to be a good entrepreneur. In particular understanding what people need, working under uncertainty, innovating, having a strong vision, and leading people. No matter the level of success the business achieves, I want the learning experience and opportunity for growth. Assuming this new identity, I've seen the transition in how I think and interact with friends and others. I am more protective of business interests in political debates (fiscal conservative?). When I'm at social events, I find myself giving the AD pitch 30 times throughout the night because I have no other way to answer the question, "So what do you do?". Dad, Jay, and I are all currently running our own businesses. Only mom is doing the sensible thing and working for an institution. We are a family of hustlers, as one of Jay's high school buddies recently remarked. Danny Patel would be proud, we have "various type of a strength" and "the vizzzun".

But it's not just about entrepreneurship, I am excited about Awaaz.De in particular. I love what we do and the service we provide. I wholeheartedly believe in it and its potential. I sit in meetings with all kinds of social impact organizations across India and say with genuine belief behind it that what we are selling is an amazing thing and can be revolutionary. I don't have to trick myself to think it, I've fully drank the kool-aid. It's one of the rare things in life that feels fresh even as I dive deeper in. With some ideas, they don't stand up to scrutiny, don't have depth and nuance and complexity. After spending enough time thinking about it, the idea withers in your mind. It no longer keeps your attention and interest beyond a certain quantity of attention. But with this, the more I think about what we're doing, the more excited I get. It has a blossoming, generative property. Every day I wake up feeling excited about the possibilities, and the number of possibilities keep increasing. More than I can keep up with really. There is so much potential for what we are doing, I just want to capture even some part of it and see what kind of ride that wave takes us on. The cliche goes that the test of your love for a job is whether you'd be willing to do that job even if you had a $0 salary. So far I'm passing the test.

But all that said, I think the big turning point in making the decision to work on Awaaz.De full time was when I found a suitable living situation in Ahmedabad. The entire Shreeji Krishna crew will be shifting to Sivanta apartments, a residential community bang opposite the Gandhi Ashram. When we all put in our deposits for the apartment, my decision to come to Ahmedabad was sealed. When you are looking for a happy work opportunity, what you are doing matters, but you also have to consider your social well-being. I knew that if I stayed in Ahmedabad, I would have a strong social circle. I already had bunch of relatives to maintain the feel of family, but having a like-hearted group of friends is also key. It's a blessing to be around Jayeshbhai, Anarben, MAM, little MAM, Anji, Nimo, and other MBL angels. Manav Sadhna is an inspiring ecosystem, it's the closest thing you can get to the CF posse outside of the Bay. I needed that piece in place before making the leap. Also I have a feeling that all of the difficulties I have living in India (the weather, the crowds, pollution, lack of taquerias) will be mitigated by having my own space to call home. I look forward to carving out a corner of India that I can really make my own and be totally comfortable in.

Recently I was trading emails with Kaushal, my friend from college. Back then we used to tease each other because he's a FOB and I'm an ABCD. As we were going back and forth planning a long overdue reunion in Bombay, he made a joke about carrying passports in Malad that I didn't understand. When I reminded him that I am not a FOB, he replied, "You're a FOB now!" It's totally true, I'm a reverse-FOB.

It's been somewhat of a challenge mentally adjusting to fact that I'll be living in India. Mostly because it will mean leaving so many beloved family and friends who I always miss dearly when I'm away. For their sake I've been trying to soften the language around my "move" to India. "Move" implies that I'm going and never coming back (Jo I promise I'll be back!!!). So I tell people that for the "foreseeable future" I'll be "based" in Ahmedabad, but keeping in frequent touch with my American my roots. And for sure, I'll be back.

I always had it in my mind that I would be involved in entrepreneurship in some capacity after grad school, but assumed that the opportunity would be in California, Silicon Valley in particular. But in life you can't deal your own cards, you can only play the hand that's been dealt. My cards have entrepreneurship, but also India. I'm going all-in.

Streets Watching

Editor's Note: This post's theme music is here. Listening to it is optional because really it's just meant for Jay.

I find the streets in India to be alive with a particular vibrant eclecticism. Three stories from the roads around my office:

Couple days ago I was walking from my office to Ba's house, where I take my tiffin and have lunch most days. My regular rickshawwala Narendrabhai was posted outside my office and when I took off he told me to not walk, that he would drop me. I waved him off because I like the walk, a change of pace from my office coop. But he kept insisting, saying it was too hot to walk that day. I insisted back that it is fine, I need the exercise. So I continue on, and a bit down the road Narendrabhai pulls up next to me on in his rickshaw, again urging me to just hop in. No charge, he is going that way anyway, like it pains him that I was walking. But I hold firm and he speeds off. Fast forward another maybe two minutes, and a white Honda pulls up next to me and the driver rolls down his window. I feel the cool dry A/C air inside. This man is a stranger, I had never seen him before. Unbelievably, he nonchalantly offers me a ride. A complete stranger!

He says it's too hot, it's not a problem for him to take me where I need to go, it's no trouble at all. He was talking to me as if we were friends, which threw me off because he was definitely a stranger. All I could do was smile and thank him profusely, and that I would pass. As he drove off my immediate thought was how hard this city is trying to endear itself to me. At this point it's hate-love. I hate the heat, the pollution, the crowds, and the dearth of taquerias. But I love the people, the relationships, the connections. The warmth that comes from people, the hugs I get from MS kids, the bonding I do with noble friends at Shreeji Krishna. This was another point for Ahmedabad.

Story two is not really a story, just a feature of Indian street life that's interesting: how the public deals with vehicle accidents. Whenever there's an accident, it's pure street justice. A crowd inevitably forms around the vehicles in question, people yell, emotionally gesticulate, and point fingers, witnesses testify, and sometimes physical punishments are doled out then and there. I love how passersby naturally make it their business to get involved. The idea of rubbernecking as a feature instead of a bug is a stark difference between Indian and American street culture.

Final story: a crowd of people had gathered across the street from my office. I went to see what was going on, it turned out to be some kind of group distributing sacks of grain to poor people. There happened to be a lot of blind and handicapped recipients in the crowd, but especially blind. As I was watching the crowd disperse, an observation struck me about blind folks: they always seem to be smiling. Especially in India, where every so often you see groups of blind walking on the streets in a beeline, hand on next person's shoulder, blind leading blind. One possible explanation for the smiling blind is that a blind person is forced to live in complete trust of their immediate environment. Mostly the folks were walking down the street in groups, but one blind man was walking alone. I asked him if he was all right, and he immediately grabs for my hand. Maybe feeling to see if he could trust me, or to make me trustworthy if I wasn't. He asks to take him across the street and flag a rickshaw. When you're blind you're at the mercy of the universe by default, the only choice you have is to throw yourself into it. It takes courage. And also a shrewd strategy is to always be smiling.

I think smiling blind people is evidence that the natural configuration of our face is a smile, since the blind are not conditioned to keep their expressions based on looking at others. When I snapped my first pic of the group above, the lady in front immediately detected that I had done so, despite my camera being silent. I told her I was taking a picture of their lovely smiles. She said in that case I should take another one and this time her team would all show me their teeth:

Beautiful Game

Jesús and I have been running a weekly Sunday morning soccer practice with Manav Sadhna kids in the Gandhi Ashram. From 8-10am we warm up, do drills, and play with any of the slum kids that are interested. Jesús, a fellow soccer fanatic, started the sessions couple months ago, and since I've been here I've joined as coach #2. Personally, I have four motivations for being involved. First, I am anti-cricket and happy to introduce an alternative sport, any alternative, into the lives of these kids. Second, soccer has given so much to me, shaped who I am, that I love to give back to the game by sharing it with others. Third, it's a way to plug myself into Planet Manav Sadhna doing something I'm passionate about. Fourth, it's the best game ever.

We play in Gandhi Ashram outside Manav Sadhna, jockeying for space with the cricket match that's also usually going on. The surface is sand, which is not ideal because of all the dust that gets kicked up and breathed in, but open flat grass areas are few and far between in these parts. Typically we have about 10 kids, but the number is fluid as kids get bored and go play cricket, new ones come, old ones come back, etc. It's a constant flux and flow of players, which is a bit of a problem when you're playing a team game.

But the competitive dynamic with cricket next door is great because it's the ultimate test of how interested the kids are in the game. Right now they are just learning, so it's pretty ugly out there. Just a bunch of little terrors in a crowd kicking the ball in a random direction, chasing, then repeating. Not exactly the beautiful game. But I believe firmly that if they actually played soccer, in the proper way, it would eventually topple cricket.

So we are teaching the game from the fundamentals: dribbling and passing. After two laps around the play area and stretching from neck to quads we do passing drills. Everyone get in a single file line, and I'll pass you the ball and you pass it back. Having the kids pass to each other is too slow because their kicking is wild and the ball is constantly lost. "Ek, beh. Ek, beh. Ek, beh." I yell out repeatedly to get them to think and do two touches. One, receive and trap the ball; two, look up and make a pass with the inside of your foot. Then we have them dribble in a straight line. The drills are all about introducing a sense of control and calm in the body-ball relationship. But the drill they like best is volleys, where we toss it in the air and they let loose with headers. They get really into it, reeling back and letting fly. They also particularly relish chesting it where they just spread eagle their little torsos at the ball to send it back.

After drills I like to play keep-away to hammer at dribbling and passing. Jesús thought it's too abstract with no goal to attack, but I feel it's a necessary intermediate step in the progression from drills to full-on scrimmage. You only earn points by passing. Four passes in a row by your team without the other team breaking it up and you get a point. The game typically degenerates to kick and chase, with points earned by two teammates finding the time to make four quick touches to each other one foot apart before the opposing team comes barreling in. It's a start.

Then scrimmage. By the time it comes the kids are pining to simply play unrestricted for goals. Just like when we were growing up. The game is start and stop, with the ball frequently going out of bounds and no real passing. There is frequent picking up and touching the ball with hands, which is old cricket habits. We beat it out of them by giving one minute penalties in the corner for any hand ball. Also one constant game within the game is fighting. These kids get into fights all the damn time. There are tears (usually from the ones who instigate), and at least two situations a session where someone storms off the field in angered protest. Half of our job is cop, gathering the culprits, making the crying stop, making people say sorry to each other. The other half is doctor/therapist for when a kid takes himself out of the game, sits in a corner, and rubs a cut on his shin. You go over, tell him it will be OK, tell him he was playing so good and he should get back in. So far my favorite kids are Jagdish, a talented player but an untamed hothead (Rooney); Kamal, a diva who basically plays so he can complain that people hit him (Christiano Ronaldo); and Ritesh, the calm elder statesman (Giggs).

Of all the coaches I had in my career, the one this experience brings to mind most is Mike Bland, a 20-something who coached us when we were maybe 12 to 14. I keep thinking how much of a pain we must have been for him to handle all by himself, how remarkable it was that he had us as disciplined as we were, how he probably did a lot more babysitting than I was even conscious of, and how calm he seemed through it all.

There is an organization based in the UK called Football Action which has contacted MS recently about collaborating to bring soccer to Ahmedabad in a big way. They want to fly out, build a legit pitch in the community, hand out equipment and balls, and conduct coaching sessions with the kids all with the aim of spreading the beautiful game and using football as a means of education. It's a great initiative, and we are excited to explore working together. First step is building a critical mass of local interest in the game from kids and coaches, which is work done one practice at a time.

Iza Good Lyfe

More and more I have days like today:

Get to Delhi on a cold foggy morning after 4 hours of bed sleep plus 1.5 hours of meditation/sleep on the plane. Cab to Breakthrough to orient and train the team on using their shiny new Awaaz De voice-radio application. Joining the meeting is a young girl from Lucknow named Archana who will take the reins of the system as the moderator. She is quick to learn, asks good questions, and is sensitive to the nuances of the system. I am brimming with pride as I can see in her eyes that she grasps the implications, the power she now has at her fingertips. A tool to connect, engage, and mobilize an army of 500 youth advocating human rights across UP and beyond. During the meeting I get two comments about the heart pinned on my jacket sleeve, which gives me two separate opportunities to talk about the magical part of the human family we call Manav Sadhna. For the first time, someone gets the double meaning of wearing heart on my sleeve.

After the meeting officially adjourns I'm doing 10 things at once. Debugging and writing in new functionality based on the training, being pulled into meeting with the Breakthrough ED to discuss payment and sign our contract, talking with the ED at Sesame India Workshop to see how possible it is to scale up their deployment to set up infrastructure in Maharashtra, arranging to present Awaaz De at the upcoming mobile technology conference they are hosting. Indicative of how busy I've been the last month-plus. One day this week I skipped lunch because there was literally no gap in work at the office between coding and people coming in to have meetings. Tracking todos in three different ways on my computer. Time is so scarce I had to reserve a plane ride I would have in three days to give overdue feedback on a document for a colleague.

Later I take the delightful Delhi metro to dinner with Rikin and Saureen. They both are asking about life and I can't help tripping over myself telling how wonderful things are right now. Just had the great meeting with an enthusiastic energetic org that could really take our technology to new heights, talking to you about how we can and should take the DG deployment to another level, talking about how my PhD career is wrapping up felicitously with all possibility for ending up with a solid set of research outputs after all is said and done, talking about how we have paying customers (and NGOs at that) for Awaaz De with zero marketing or even a website, and any more would almost be more than we can handle right now, talking about the enchanted life I lead living and serving amidst the Angels of Ahmedabad, talking about how I'm angling to live a retired uncle's 6-month-in-India-6-months-in-Cali lifestyle starting at age 28, getting teaching gigs in both places to sustain. Later I'm sitting in the posh new Delhi airport typing away and Kapilbhai calls just to "share the joy" after getting bunch of happy and appreciative calls from organic farmers across Gujarat who just received the inaugural phone broadcast of Sajiv Kheti Samvaad. The skeptic has now turned evangelist. Then on the plane get a call from my Hall of Fame roommate making sure I got on the plane OK after going without a legit photo id. At this point my Cup of Goodness officially overflowed.

At the end of dinner with Rikin and Saureen I open my fortune cookie and get this. I know it's cheesy, but I exclaim at the appropriateness as I show it off to Rikin. Saureen laughs, "Yeah, but you work hard, *and* you enjoy yourself".

What more is there?

Telescopic/Microscopic

This morning me, Nimo, and Nimo's Dad were in the kitchen having breakfast when Jayeshbhai appeared at the door. White kurta pressed perfectly, big smile, warm demeanor. I had the only reaction one can have when seeing him: joy. But especially this time since I hadn't seen him in several weeks as he has been busily stepping into his new life as Iswar 2.0. He came in, we exchanged hugs, and we started chit chatting. Quickly the conversational topic turned to Gandhi. Jayeshbhai said Gandhi had two parallel types of sight: telescopic and microscopic. He could always see the big picture and zoom into the little. He told some stories to illustrate.

When India first gained independence the new Parliament gathered to vote for the first Prime Minister. All votes but one were cast for Sardar Patel. Nehru was crestfallen, his heart was set on it. Gandhi knew both his protegés well: Sardar Patel was an Iron Man of determination and discipline. His relationship with Gandhi was of unflinching respect, he would always do what Gandhi asked him. But Gandhi's relationship with Nehru was more fitful. Nehru would constantly challenge and argue with Gandhi. Knowing their natures Gandhi made the decision to request Sardar to remove his name from consideration, so Nehru would win by one vote. Why? Because if Sardar were to lose the Prime Minister-ship, he would pocket the disappointment and move on. If Nehru lost, Gandhi knew it would be a constant source of trouble down the road. Telescopic vision.

Another telescopic vision story that Nimo loved: The location of the Sabermati Ashram in Ahmedabad was not chosen randomly by Gandhi. First, he wanted the Ashram on the banks of a river, because the river is like a Mother. Second, he wanted the Ashram close to a jail. Which it was, the Sabermati jail was walking distance. Why? Because they were in the middle of the Quit India Movement, and it would be a lot less fuss for Gandhi and posse to not have to go so far every time they got arrested. Also closer for the Britishers who were doing the arresting. Just made things more convenient all around.

Finally Jayeshbhai told of a time in 1946 when Sardar, Nehru, some British Lords, blokes, and other stiffs were meeting at the Ashram with Gandhiji. As they were there, a child brings an injured goat over to Gandhi. He gets up in the middle of the meeting and takes the goat over with the child to apply a mud pack to the goat's injured leg. All meeting participants were flabbergasted, especially the British stiffs. Bad form and what not. Legend has it Gandhiji replied by simply saying that tending to the goat's pain was of greater importance than anything being discussed in that meeting. Not only did it ruffle feathers, it likely left a lasting impression. The suffering of a lowly animal at that moment was of greater concern than all the heady affairs of global politics. That's why he was Mahatma, and that's microscopic sight.