Final Report (for Real this Time)

Today I went to see the Taj Mahal. The Taj, for those of you who don't know, is an elaborate tomb built by a muslim king for his favorite wife. Their names escape me, but I do remember that they were married for 17 years, in which she underwent 14 childbirths. The last one killed her, and the king built the Taj in her memory The building is- well, I think the technical term is "friggin cool". It looks awesome from the outside- the structure is well known- and also from the inside, where cameras are not permitted. The hand-carved marble bears floral designs in the distinctive Mogul muslim style (of which I know exactly this sentence). Inside the taj, the flowers are brightly colored, inlaid with gemstones. As my mom keeps mentioning, the Taj is one of the only clean places in India. Everywhere else, the streets are lined with filth and refuse, paint peels from hotel walls, mangy dogs and garbage-eating cows roam the streets and children beg for money. In the Taj, food is prohibited to keep out garbage, and armed guards make sure everyone takes their shoes off to avoid soiling the polished marble. (Aparently nothing is as disgusting to people her as a shoe.) I have yet to see the Taj with the lighting "just right" (sunrise, sunset and moonlight are popular times), but it's plenty awesome with regular lighting. If I were a romantic, my heart would melt. Since I am not, I turn to more bitter thoughts...

Usually, seeing stuff like this annoys me. While forts and palaces have a practical use at least, millitary defense, nut monuments and fancy tombs seem to be extravagant displays of self-importance, foolish monuments to egotism built on the backs of those that have nothing, with money that could be used to feed the starving. The obvious difference here is that the Taj was built for someone else. (Also, as far as I know the king paid his workers, though he did lop off the had of his architect to keep him from designing another such masterpiece).

The Taj, then can be seen as an enormous labor of love (of which I am ceremoniously reminded by wild monkeys having sex on the enterance gate). It can be the pride of an entire country which still provides joy to millions (and indeed, most of the visitors are Indian), or a colossal waste of resources for someone who is still dead.

Speaking of... I've been thinking a lot about the Christian doctrine of hell lately. (I know, my posts just keep getting happier.) Seems to me that, like the Taj, my faith can be seen in two ways. Either Christianity is a beautiful light in the darkness, a banquet of God's amazing grace, in which all are invited and only those that refuse to enter are excluded. Or my faith is an exclusive club, in which the lucky (predestined?) few get love and mercy while the multitudes (most of India, for example) get eternally tortured for believing the wrong things. Both views are at least somewhat scriptrual, I think. Obviously, I would like to believe the former, especially in a country where many people have devout faith in God (or gods) but don't know about Christ. The doctrine of hell is something I need to figure out, I think, before I grow spirtually because it keeps sticking in my throat, blocking out all the good I want to believe about God. Perhaps when I get my thoughts together I'll write about that.

On a much lighter note (and I am enjoying myself immensely, not sitting around thinking about hell all the time), we went on an elephant ride up to a fort. I envy the mahouts, whose job it is to direct an elephant... what a sweet job! At the same time, I'm acutely aware that an elephant is about 20 x your size, and it only needs to get ticked off once... anyway, elephant riding rocks.

Wildlife Pics

1) Tiger stalks across the road
2) WAAYYY too close to comfort
3) Monkey business
4) sparring sambar


So, we are on the road again, which means I am glad to be male. In the cramped compartments of public transport train travelling, females have two distinct disadvantages:

1) Young men stare at them, shamelessly and openly. My beautiful blonde-haired blue eyed sister constantly attracts a gaggle of obnoxious admirers, who do everything but drool. Sometimes we glare back and it helps for a little while.

2) Toilets. There are "Indian Style" toilets that are a glorified hole in the ground, western toilets that refuse to flush, a hotel room toilet that sprays water all over the room every time you flush... oh yeah, and in lieu of toilet paper you wash yourself off with a bucket. Luckily for me, if there's one thing you learn tree planting, it is to poo in less than ideal situations.

We are currently in fort-exploring mode. Ranthambore had a truly spectacular, vine-encrusted and monkey-filled fort straight from "the Jungle Book". Tempes to Hindu, Muslim and Christian gods cover the top, and fearless monkeys boldly snatch wreaths from the worshipperts.Jaipur is filled with old castles, palaces and towers which are covered in grafitti but still radiate thje majesty of the mogul hordes whcih built them. Jaipur is fairly touristy, which means the locals make a fine living off the exchange rate. However, if you are willing to drive a hard bargain (walking away works wonders) you can get some pretty cool stuff.

Perhaps the best part of the day was when our autorickshaw ran out of gas on the road, and the one with my mom and sister in it promptly slammed into us. Undeterred, the "Back" rickshaw powered us to our location, a local sitting in the passanger's seat and pushing ours with his foot. Ingenuity, hilarity and a little excitement (we dead this into oncoming traffic) all in one.

Sorrry to make this post so short, but I had to re-start 3 times and it's dinner time.

India Report 7

INDIA REPORT # 7

"The lynx was dead. But the she-wolf was very weak and sick."- White Fang

"Rather than seek pity, sensing rather that weakness of any kind is something to be ashamed of, the animal crawls away to await the outcome: recovery or death"- Lassie Come Home

So there I was, sick as a dog, and for some reason I thought of quotes about sick dogs. I don't know why, though I blame the fever, and the hours spent lying there doing absolutely nothing. (By the way, I read those books when I was about 10, so the quotes are most likely wrong.) Anyway, I caught a pretty nasty flu bug the other day, had a bit of a fever, a vicious headache, and spent a day and a half in bed. Nothing like lying in bed, feeling like suck and having your mom and sister discuss malaria, and your presence or absence of it's symptoms. Rest assured however, that I do not have malaria, nor any other cool tropical disease, but simply the flu. By the time you read this I will be healthy again (I am already vastly improved.) Also, due to a lack of eating and sudden disgust at the thought of greasy, spicy curry, I will be thinner, with much less work, than weeks of running could do!

So, we head off tomorrow. Our itenerary for the last weekish is as follows:
We will travel to a nearby city with the Reverend and family, to see a project his daughter is running that gives milk and eggs to poor children

We will take the train to Mumbai. From there, we will train to Ranthambore National park. From there to Jaipur, which I know absolutely nothing about, except that it's both filthy and pretty- just like me! From there, probably to the Taj Mahal, and then to Delhi, where my mom and I fly back, while my sister travels with friends.

And finally, my"deep" thoughts for the day: this is the kind of stuff my mom and sister were discussing deep into the night, making me sleep deprived and thus subsceptible to ilness. (In their defence, my decision to do push-ups instead of trying to sleep did not help.)

# 1) To what extend it morality cultural? (I know the standard Christian answer is "it's not"). Most of us would agree that, say, dousing your wife with kerosene and lighting her on fire is wrong no matter where you do it. (This was how more than one of the kids here got orphaned.) However, in some cases it's much less clear cut. Although the Indian Christians disavow the caste system, we've noticed that they still seem to have a bit of a class-oriented attitude. Those with less money, less prestigous jobs, etc are expected to do simple but menial tasks for the wealther and lazier: "get me a glass", "here pass this Bible to that person" etc. Uncomfortable? Certainly. Immoral? I'm not sure... I like to think that, while I was a "holy crap it's a white person!" visitor in the villages, I set a bit of a good example for the Indian pastors by rolling up my sleeves and getting into the mud to help get a truck unstuck. Not that the Indian pastors don't do an enormous amount of good, or show a ton of love, for those less fortunate, mind you. They do, and they are much more to be admired than questioned.

And an enormous thanks go out everyone who helped to contribute financially to the mission, both readers and non-readers of this blog. (Yes, I realize that you need to read the blog to read the thank you, but the mission recieved generous gifts from people who have never heard of filth-man.) Most of the money was spent to buy rice, which is much cheaper now (it is just post-harvest) than later in the year. Thanks largely to your donations, the mission has been able to purchase over 600 sacks of rice. (We need 1000 for the year.) That's awesome.

India Report 6

Given that I leave the mission in 3 days, and I might not be able to blog again for a while, I'm gonna write down a bunch of random stuff that I haven't jammed into a previous entry. Do not expect order, flow or any kind of rational continuation (kind of like an Indian pastor's progress report). There are pics at the bottom.

When people in India want to say "yes" they don't move their head up and down like we do in Canada. Rather, the wobble it from side to side, kind of like those bobblehead dolls some people have on their dashboards. Straight side to side means no (just like in Canada), side so side wobble means yes. It gets confusing. I try to imitate the wobble, but due to my notoriously stiff neck it turns invariable into a Ricky Martin type hip shuffle.

The "hill" I wanted to run up has turned more into a "walk" up, due not to lack of effort, vut due to steepness and heat. The whole thing is a catholic shrine... you start out at the bottom, at a catholic church, zigzag up the path past devout catholics, many of whom are doing ridiculous feats that I can only assume are a form of pennance- crawling over the cobblestones on their knees or carrying heavy sacks on their heads. At the top is a statue of Jesus crucified, and it's quite a religous experience, staggering up to the cross, gasping for breath and totally exhausted. There are moments of comedy too, usually involving the locals. Trying to find a shortcut through the bush, I quickly realized it was going nowhere, I ran back to the path, realized there was a 5 foot drop to the road, jumped off it, landed in a crouch and hit the ground running. But not before seeing the look of sheer horror on the face of a couple of women and children.., may never have seen a white man before, let along a sweat-soaked wild-eyed one jump off a ledge in front of them.

Some interesting cultural differences (so far as I can tell):
Men show affection to each other in public, but not to women. One man in particular shows too much affection, repeatedly, until I finally threatened to beat him up. Really. Ask me for the full story.
Women don't expose thier legs in public. However, they do explose their bellies, in between the "skirt" part of thier sari and their top, a sports-bra-like upper body garment that they also wrap their sari around.
Chubbyness is almost a status symbol. Since the majority of the are either hungry or laborers, and thus skinny.wiry, having a bit of a belly shows that you are not poor.

Man, the kids here lead regimented lives. They are happy (as far as I can tell) but very busy.
They get up very early to do chores, have school from 10-4, come home, do homework for 2 hours, have devotions, eat an enermous supper, and go to bed. They do get some free time in there, but not a whole lot. We've been spending an hour a day playing with the kids. The boys stop being sweet little kids and become competitive athletes very quickly. They fight over the ball (even with teammates), rally around the biggest and strongest, yell and scream and basically make good candidates for "Barbarian camp". Their hand eye coordination is just sick.. one of their games is whipping a tennis back back and forth- hard- and snagging it from the air one handed.

Speaking of sports, I think my retirement from wrestling may end. I found out that I can train in South Africa- perhaps even with the 84 kg African champ, which would end in beating for me I'm sure but might be fun. they have the South African Greco championships while I am over there, so I might go try my luck. I have done ok in Canada in Greco, with 2 national bronze medals, but that's with a small talent pool that's pretty inexperienced in the style. "Umm, arm throw? Hip toss?" As a bonus, Greco seems to require less cardiovascular fitness!

We went to a village of "bull dancers". The men of the tribe dress up a bull in bright color that is better seen than described (see bottom of post), and then make the bull "dance." there are some cool tricks- who knew that a bull could fit a man's neck in his mouth? but mostly the run around with the bull like crazy, getting him close enough that you think he's gonna run you over. The control over the massive animal is impressive. Funniest of all is the village boys, who are supposed so stay away (the bull dancers will smack them if they get within range), but who really want to be bull dancers themselves and play chicken with the big animal while imitating the dance steps.

I always find extremely spiritual places, like foreign missions, a little stressful. A constant focus on God makes think about all the doubts and questions I have. I find it hard to relax when topics like the suffering of children and the eternal destiny of human beings is constantly being discussed. What this says about my own spiritual life, and dedication (or lack thereof) to my faith I'm not sure.

I don't think I've ever met people who pray as much as the pastors do here. I've written up all their progress reports, and standard is several prayer nights a week, plus a long church service on Sunday, plus several days of fasting and prayer, and all night prayer vigils, every month. then there's family and personal praying time. I can't decide if this is amazing or excessive. However, you can't argue with results, I guess... Churches and new christians are springing up everywhere like wildfire, and this among the Hindu people, which are notoriously difficult to convert.

These pastors may wear their big bellies proudly, but they are not soft. They live in what we would consider huts. One of the big goals of our mission is to build them parsonages, houses with electricity and toilets, and most importanty, good roofs. That way, rain and snakes dont' get it. Cobras are actually a common problem. I was in one hut where feral cats came in through the roof, which means a) loads of room to get in and b) lots or mice around for the snakes to eat. One pastor actually lost a kid when a friggin' snake crawed into his hut and it. Sucks.

I would also be remiss if I didn't ask for money... I hate doing it, but the money is sorely needed, and Ive seen enough to convince me that it will be well spent. Total cost to:
build a pasonage or church-$5000
buy a 75 kg bag of rice to feel childen- $25
Sponsor a child or pastor- $25-30 per month

Email me if you are interested, please. I will gladly provide more details, but I feel uncomforable providing personal info for others over a blog anyone can read. We are currently making DVD's to "advertise" the mission, I will gladly share some when I get back home. Making these DVD's is a rediculous amount of work, since the software is posessed by anti-productivity demons.

Finally, we are in the process of booking enterance to Ranthambore national park, supposedly THE place to see tigers in the wild. Tigers! My one stipulation when going to India was "I want a chance to see a tiger in the wild." My mom and sister could plan everything else (which they did quite excellently, I might add) but I wanted that shot at seeing a tiger. Now it looks as if I may get it.

Pics:
1) A bull eats someone's head
2) awww... children with puppies! Who can resist the double cuteness?
3) Some local villagers

India Report 5 (nothing happens)

So, I cut my arm today...

Relax, just a scratch. I was scrambing down a hillside, grabbed a tree to slow a skid, and got a little scrape. The way people reacted to it, you'da thought I'd rammed the arm through my kidney. Anyway, I found a "mountain" to climb... a hill, actually. It's right behind a catholic church, and all along the steep, cobblestoned path are stations of the cross. It was very wierd, put at the top, watching people pray and then turn and ask us for pictures and autographs. The obsession with white people/foreigners here is insane.

Without betraying anyone's privacy,here is the history of most of the children that are taken care of by the mission. (There are roughly equal girls and boys, but writing his/her every time is a pain, and because I am male, will be our prototypical child.) I've typed up about 10 billion progress reports. These are double-translated: they are written in Telegu, translated into English, then I translate them into "Western" English, changing such interesting phrases as "their father plays with bufallo" and ones that readers might find offensive, like "the child is not intelligent." Christianese phrases are left as written.

Child so-and-so hails from such-and-such a village. His father is a daily wage laborer/has another low paying job, and his mother is also a wage laborer/homemaker. His father is/is not an alcoholic. The parents barely make enough money to pay for food and education for the children.

After the ilness/death/alchohol or adultery induced departure of one/both parents, the child is cared for by the other parent/grandparents. However, the meager income is not enough to support the child.

The parents/grandparents approach pastor whats-his-name, and with his cooperation the child joins the mission home.

The child joined the mission in some year, and is now so old and in a grade. He does well/struggles in school. His favorite subjects are this and that. He attends Sunday School and has learned singing and bible stories. He is shy/mischivous/a natural leader with his peers. He is growing strong spiritually in the Lord. He wants to be a doctor/nurse/engineer/pastor and help the poor and bring Glory to God.

The children live in 2 different dorm houses, one of which has a school attached. They have house parents to care for them. They get plenty of food, though it's simple. Rice forms the majority of every meal. If you'd like to donate a bag of rice, now is the time to buy and it's $25 for a 75 kg bag. Please leave a comment with contact email or email me if you are interested. They are well educated in local schools, and brought to the doctor when necessary. The one thing they seem to lack is personal one-on-one attention to adults. This can nor really be helped, as there simply aren't enough adults to go around. We are trying to do our part by spending time with the kids. They especially like photos. The boys are very athletic, and like to play "soccer"- kicking a tennis ball into the wall of the opposing building to score. Bicycles, geese, passers-by and girls are considered natural obstacles. They also love cricket, which is a dumb to play as it is to watch.

Not much has actually happened since my last blog, we continue to be treated like kings, and to work in the office. The internet here- no wait, if I try to describe the frustration I will descent into cursing. Let's just say mega-suck and leave it at that.

India Report 4ish

(disclaimer: my comments on "Indian culture" and the like are based on my observations, and people telling me stuff, not statistics or objective study or anything. Probably not true in all places in all cases.)

So, we've spent a couple of days touring villages. Despite the enormous cities in India (1 million people rates a "town"), the majority of people still live in rural villages. The villagers grow their own food and/or work as daily wage laborers on the farms of the wealthy few. Visiting them (with several area pastors) is an experience to remember. The pastor at the children's mission also leads a program that builds parsonages and trains evangelists, and he and his compatriots go to "visit the flock" whenever they have guests, once every few months or so.

A typical village visit goes something like this:

1: We drive the the village by taxi. My mom mentions the insanity of the traffic roughly once for every 7 minutes of driving. All of us roll down the windows to take pictures, undoubtedly looking very stupid.

2: We arrive and walk to the parsonage (pastor's home, plus church hang-out place). The parsonages, like the other houses, are simple structures with a couple of rooms. They have electric lights and- importantly- celing fans, but few modern conveniences. These people don't have much. They- being Indian Christians- are also a huge minority in the country. The majority Hindus are usually, but not always, content to let the Christians do their own thing. Some Hindus will even come to the church gatherings.

3: The villagers line up enthusiastically to greet us. We are given garlands of colorful flowers, a traditonal method of greeting. Everyone is grinning wide, waving and cheering and laughing. You put your hands together straight up and down, bow a little, and say "namaste" to greet them in the traditional style. We were very uncomfortable with all the attention.... the pastor's non-PC (but it seems to be very true) comment that "one white person makes an entire village happy" didn't help. Finally we realized that the villages really do love to have guests, and are basically looking for an excuse to celebrate, so we decided to enjoy being Rock Stars for a couple of days.

4: There is generally some sort of church worship. Long, somewhat redundant (especially if you can't understand) songs are sung in Telegu, the local language. (There is no language called "Indian", rather there are a plethora of them. The most common is Hindi.) A pastor speaks, messages ranging from a short greeting to a full fire-and-brimstone, yelling every sentence type sermon. (The pastor yelling in English is very quite funny, as he crechendo-decrechendos at the end of every sentence. "You must accept the Lord JEEEsus!") One of the "honoured visitors" has to give a short greeting and Bible reading, with translation from a pastor.

5: Food! The villagers get to feast, but we are served first. In India, being a good host is of vital importance socially, and serving food is 1a on the list. People bring you water to wash your hands, bottled water (it is common knowledge, I guess, that foreigners are too pansy to handle Indian tap water), and fill plates with food. They will continue to fill your plate once it becomes even remotely empty. This makes eating a tricky venture when visiting 4 or 5 villages in a day. It is rude to eat nothing, but downright gluttonous to eat a full meal every time. (I might have taken the eating challenge, if nor for my wanting to get back into shape. As well, it seems poor form to stuff yourself with food the villagers could otherwise eat.) And yes, it's the women who cook and serve food. A lot of them also work in the fields with the men. Tough girls.

6: "Playing" with the kids... they are shy at first, but once you approach them with a smile they can't get enough of the attention, though the only Englsh the little ones speak is "my name is". They take great pleasure in our attempts to pronounce their multisyllabic names. The magic of digital cameras lets us take pictures and then show them to the kids (and delete later if necessary). The kids get an unbelievable kick out of this and swarm you like happy puppies, smiling and laughing and shaking hands. I started taking flowers from the garlands and putting them in the hair of little girls. They smiled, put their hands to their faces, and beamed. It was great.

The younger women get in on the action too, waving their babies and asking to get their picture taken. They are so slight of build that I constantly worried that I would accidentally pat a mother on the head. Only the men stand back, polite and even friendly, but the young ones seem a little wary. Perhaps they want us to realize that it is THEIR women and children we are playing with.

7: Leaving, followed by waving, cheering throngs. It was bizarre, I felt like Angelina Jolie. Incidentally, the funnest part of the day was when I actually got to do something useful... Our driver got one of our 2 vehicles thoroughy mired in thick greasy mud. Since the villagers don't have cars and the pastors don't have mud, no one had the slightest idea what to do, so I got to more-or-less run the show. We roped the two vehicles together to pull the stuck one out, and the drivers almost blew out the engine on the first one. He gunned it hard, while the second driver did not bother to even turn the stuck vehicle on! A quick explanation of "drive forward with BOTH cars- and other people push" later, and we were on our way.


The villages are hard to describe in their awesomeness, so I will try to upload pics at some point. Small, crumbling houses, roofed with leaves, are surrounded by lush tropical greenery. The women and girls are dressed in bright colors, somehow keeping their Saris spotless. There are animals everywhere- manegy feral dogs looking for scraps, chickens nervously bickering in the dirt, a wobbly-legged calf chasing the chickens, and the placid water buffalo everywhere. These buffalo are more like cows than their savage African cousins, easily herded with the tap of a stick.

The sheer entusiasm of the villagers is mind-boggling. I am reminded that we generally equate "developing world" with "horrible suffering"... and certainly, suffering happens. If a villager can't get work, or his crops fail, food becomes immediately scarce. Many people can not afford medical treatment. After typing up the stories for many kids .I am acutely aware of what can go wrong. However, when things are going well, they seem perfectly content, even joyful, with their "simple" lives. Theu don't need a ton of stuff. They are thin but don't look starving. (Incidentally, most people here are naturally pretty small. It feels very strange to be tall for once. Those that eat to much get the amusing skinny-fat physique: narrow shoulders and a big belly.)

I was also impressed by how hard the children work. It is perfectly acceptable for an adult to ask a child- any child- to get him something, and the child obeys without question. However, the kids do not seem to be intimidated or bullied into doing it. They work with smiles on their faces, and it is clear that their parents (the vast majority, anyway) love them very much.

The only part I didn't like was being made to feel very soft. It feels very wussy to get treated like a king; sitting there getting fanned by a 10 year old girl is slightly rediculous. As is getting your feet washed by hand because they are muddy. As is getting asked "are you too hot? Do you need a rest?" after a 10 minute walk. I wanted to scream at the guy: "I used to carry trees up moutains in this weather! Am I made of freaking glass?"

As far as our doing any work? Apart from bringing joy from our glorious presence, well, yes, we are. We are writing a bunch of letters to sponsors, doing videotaping and scripting for promotional DVD's, and taking pictures of children for the files. Yesterday we went assembly line style through a hundred kids or so at a school: Line up, snap picture, next! The strategy of the Mission people is becoming clear, and it's a pretty good one: make us feel welcome, make us feel part of the work, so that we will want to support, and send more people to the mission in the future. Works for me.

Finally, I am speaking in the English service on Sunday. If you are the praying type, I would appreciate you offering up some on my behalf.

India Report 3

I have a personality clash with Indian culture, I think. Not just the man-touching, which I wil refrain from mentioning, except right now. Indian hospitality (or at least that which I have experienced) is all about doting on one's guests, giving them your finiest food, drink and location, ensuring their comfort and giving them gifts. I feel uncomfortable without my own space, my own time, my own (as in, bought by only me) stuff. The fine food is amazing, of course, but it does wreak havoc with my plan to get back into wrestling shape. Ahh well, it is foolish to complain about being treated like a king. Especially in a place where so many have nothing. So I guess I will enjoy the lavish hospitality.

Today we went shopping, which I deplore. Specifically, we went Indian garb shopping. The way to the store was travelled by auto-Ricksaw, basically a cross between a golf cart and a tuna can. My mom wants me to mention that the streets are even crazier in an auto-Ricksaw- I entertained myself by touching the occasional bus as it went by. The Indian garb store, called "Venus" was populated by no less thast 11 workers, most of which rush to help you put on clothes (there is no privacy when changing... note to self, wear more underwear next time). The girls bought a bunch of Punjabi suits, and I got some sort of black-and-gold man-cloak. The grinning shopkeepers ensure me I look like a prince. I'm thinking "Haloween", but it really is a very nice man-dress.

I am- still- too tired to do written justice to the children's home. Also, I am kinda paranoid to write too much detail about someone who can easily read it.... for now, we live on a compound with a Reverend, his (older) family, some household helpers, and about 40 kids. The rest live in a seperate "children's home" which we will visit tomorrow. So far our work had not involved the kids directly; rather, we are helping to create DVD's and letters for present and potential sponsors, so more children can be adopted. The home has the space but not the money. A lot of our work involves transcribing "Indian" English into "Western" English... example: "so and so was menstruating constantly. Then God gave her a womb. She is now 9 months pregnant." beomes "So and so was unable to concieve for a long time, but now God has granted her a child".

Sorry about the lack of pictures, they were almost uploading but then my computer quit. Maybe next time.

India Report 2

"... two thousand pounds of education, falls to a ten rupee jezail (Afghan sniper rifle)"- Rudyard Kipling

"People go to India to learn great spiritual wisdom, but for some reason they don't see India, or what that belief system has done to those people over there. Karma, ugh!" - Frank Peretti

"If they just picked up all this trash sooo many more tourists would come"- my mom.

"Soap. You need soap. And I can see you are very sensitive. Are you a sensitive man?"- man on train.


A 24 h train ride is a lot of time to talk, think and read. I read a book called "the Afghan", a trash thriller with a technological and millitary (rather than political take on the War on Terror. The Kipling quote stuck in my head, mostly because of how cheap the rifle is. While you couldn't get a gun for ten rupees (30 cents) nowadays, but you certainly can get a lot for very little. Everything is dirt cheap in India. If you don't like the price, you can generally barter. There's always a ton of people trying to help you for tips as well- carry luggage, show you around, sell you things... We had 4 different kids come on board the train while it was stopped and offer to clean the floor with a rag cloth for money. It is most helpful if you are trying to get all your luggage onto the train, but most annoying if you only need to carry it 10 feet to a taxi.


Frank Peretti, a Christian writer who will never be accused of Political Correctness, blames the Hindu belief in karma for much of the suffering in India. He claims that the (now outlawed, but still widely practiced) Caste system, that places people in different social strata from birth, excuses the rich from helping the poor because "they earned it. That's your karma. If you are born to be a beggar you're meant to be a beggar." I don't know enough about Hinduism, Karma, or the Caste system to pass judgement.. however, we did have an endless conversation with a very nice gentleman on the train that scared me.

He imparted all his wisdom upon us, and while he certainly had some good things to say, his belief that you can discover someone's destiny and criminal nature from their hands and facial features was, to say the least, disconcerting. Someone should tell the FBI, would make their job a lot easier.. no, wait, did I just suggest racial profiling? The Peretti quote makes a lot of sense to me now. Anyway, a lot of the guy's credibility was lost when he "predicted" my age to be 21, AFTER being told my birth date. (I am 23). Also, his palm reading skills told him that I am a very sensitve man. My mom and sister actually went into convulsions of laughter upon hearing that. Oh yeah, and those destined to be poor have a certain feature on the top of their ear... don't remember if the "fortunate" have a flat or bulbous ear, but thanks to the magic of cauliflower earI now have one of each.. perhaps they will cancel each other out?

The third quote is in disgust at the incredibly disgusting streets of Mumbai. Filth everywhere. We went to a Hindu temple and a Mosque... inside they were clean, reverent, and filled with worshippers. Since it is considered disrespectful to wear shoes in the places of worship, "shoe guards" watch your shoes as you walk around. Outside the mosque/temple, beggars beg and mind-boggling mounds of trash accumumate. It's very strange to be a in a very devoutly religious country, where the majority if not Christian. Dunno yet quite what to make of it.

Our train ride was interesting to say the least. We sat 3 to a bench facing each other, facilitating the long conversation. At night time, we sleep 3 high, on bunk "benches" strapped to the wall. Because of our enormous amount of luggage (largely supplies for the children's home), positioning both ourselves and our stuff became quite an adventure. We got a good tongue-lashing from an irate 80-y-old, who eventually became quite friendly, and I had to sleep on a sack of random supplies, finding a soft comforable notch between a big tub of hand cream and a coathanger. My mom, in the bunk below, ticked my feet in her sleep. Twice. No, I don't know why.

Finally, I thought the man-holding-man-hand thing was wierd... much wierder when a man puts his hand on your inner thigh to talk to you. Takes some getting used to for sure. The grabbing of my belly was a bit too much.

We have arrived safe and happy at the children's home... but I will write about that after we have spent some time there and I have actual information. For now suffice to say the accomodations are very comfortable, the hosts are embarassingly gracious, their food is delicous and the children- dark, skinned, almond eyed and kind of shy- are adorable. And the people here don't own cows... they have WATER BUFFALO! Tame, domesticated water buffalo! How cool is that?

I realize as I am typing that my writing sucks today. I am sorry. I am very tired. But good tired.

Jens

India Report 1

So here we are in Mumbai (the former Bombay), exhausted... just got here and already been an exciting trip.

The flight(S) were long, boring, turbulent and uneventful. I break 2 long-lasting streaks of mine... the "can not sleep" streak and the "sucky movie" streak, the latter being broken by screenings of "Driving Miss Daisy" and "Rounders". Nonetheless I was bored enough to read two books, one on comlex biochemistry (Darwin's Black Box). Ah well. Our final flight, Delhi to Mumbai, was by "Spicejet", a family-owned flying company. We took a shuttle bus to the terminal in the middle of the night, driven by a Saddam Hussein look alike, complete with bristling mustache and ancient machine gun. (All the guards have huge mustaches, it seems, but they are good-natured and helpful.) My mom thought we were getting kidnapped, especially when the shuttle bus passed through two heavy gates manned by armed guards. The airport really does look like a secret millitary base- albiet with wussier planes- at night.

Spice Jet's luggage x-ray machine is in the middle of friggin' nowhere. You put your luggage through one end, then open it up for their satisfaction, then pick it up and carry it to boarding. The flight times are indicated in dry-erase marker on a white board. I was quite relieved when we got onto an actual airplane. I was half-expecting a giant catapult or something.

Finally we had to pick up my sister, who was flying in from South Africa, before finding accomodation. We are spending the night at a Hotel called "the Palace Hotel", and by "palace" I mean "prison." Prisoners would riot if they were locked in cells as small, or had celings as low, as ours. It is run by a mob of passport-obsessed Indians (they had to take ours to photocopy them twice) who entertain themselves by sweeping, so the place is immaculately clean. We ordered in some Indian food, and have yet to vomit. (Apparently everyone gets sick from eating the food here.)

We've spent the day touring Mombai, walking the streets and taking the taxis to various "famous" locations. The streets of India are a varitable cacophany of sight and smell. Men wear (almost invariably) dress pants and button up shirts, but the brightly colored Saris and traditonal garments of the women are something to behold, shining bright against the filthy backgrounds. The stench is palpable from the streets- a pungent mix of known odors (pee, poo, sweat, fish, cows and spices) and unknown ones. It mixes with a humid, sticky smog, to create a truly unique experience. The streets are incredibly diverse- the wealthy walk by the shacks of the poor. People sl;eep wherever it suits them, as do dogs, which otherwise laze the sidewalks between playing children who pay them no heed. Even cows wander around aimlessly. Men, curiously enough, walk arm-on-shoulders and hand-in-hand everywhere. In Indian culture this apparently means friendship, not homosexuality, but it takes some getting used to, especially when a man-man "couple" walks by a loving heterosexual couple who are also holding hands.

In some places the blaring constrasts are downright sickening. We crossed the street from India Gate, shaking off the prying hands of a legless beggar boy crawling around on padded knee-stumps, and strode into the most opulent of hotels. Rich and poor, fat and starving, so close together.

Transport is by way of taxis, and it's kind of fun. The taxis compete for travellers, of course, and are not above a little bald-faced lying to get you into theirs. However, the drivers are good-natured and (in comparison to South Africa) unarmed, so it's pretty safe. The roads are something else though- narrow free for alls, with people and animals jockying with drivers for space. Drivers lay on the horn constantly, not with malice, but as way of warning: "I'm coming through!" It seems to double nicely as a turn signal also. They take great pleasure of squeezing in between other vehicles, even when it offers no actual speed advantage. It didnt' help that my mom began to squeal in fear, convincing the driver to try even harder with a grin on his face.

So, ya, India's been good. Lots to see and we haven't actually done anything. Tomorrow afternoon we take a 24 hour train ride- something I am NOT looking forward to. I am out of books and I hope I can sleep most of the way. My mother and sister are quite exhausted, and am I, and I hope to eat a spicy Indian supper (man Indian food rocks) and have a long, blisfull sleep in my cell.

Good night.