I'll say a capo, some lemonade, and a dollar-fifty.
If they ask me what I want, I'll be left speachless because I'm still unsure.
It seems like Diwali was a million years ago and so much has happened since then. Last thursday, on our day off, a group of about nine of us took a taxi out to Dhapa a part of Kolkata on the fringes of the city. We went looking for something that the locals could not understand why we would possibly want to see; The trash dumps.
The trash dumps of Kolkata were something like I've never seen before. Literally the only hills around the relatively flat city, compared to Yakima or Seattle, are man-made mountains of trash that stretch for miles and miles. We got to the entrance and were stopped by the manager of the mountains saying that we needed to obtain permission from their offices in Kolkata before we could enter.
Now many people might ask, "You saw it didn't you? Why on earth would you want to go in?"
Answer: To visit and meet with the thousands of people who live there.
We had a discussion with this man that included calling the main office about four times and getting permission and then handing the phone over and him telling us we still couldn't go in. Frustrating to say the least but we did get the chance to get stared at by many of the people who work at the dump and to have our taxi drivers laugh at us the entire way there.
So we didn't get to go in but we decided to take a walk around the fields surrounding the dump where people were harvesting and growing all kinds of different vegetables that I can't pronounce. We walked around getting lost on some backroads for a couple hours talking with a few of the workers, but mostly just enjoying getting out of the city for the first time in a month and a half (WOW A MONTH AND A HALF CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!?!?!). It wasn't too hard to find our way back because all we had to do was follow our noses, and look for the biggest man-made structure in Kolkata, but we ended up walking a little further than any of us were bargaining for and took the first ride offered to us by a flat-bed truck.
These trucks, known as goods carriages, are a very normal site and we see many of them every day hauling everything from trash to bamboo poles to corpses to people and statues of Hindu gods. Secretly I think we have all always been envious of the people who get to ride in the back of these trucks and we finally got our chance that day! Our driver was a middle aged Indian man with three other people in the cab of the truck and three more in the back. They pulled up next to us and asked if we wanted a ride back to the main road and the nine of us piled into the spacious bed lined with trash and spare tires. We sped off down the dirt roads going ungodly speeds of speed bumps and being chased by children. It felt like the equivalent of being in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (which sadly I will be missing this year).
We hopped off the truck back at the main road, a little closer to the city, thanked our new friends and decided it was time for another adventure. We had heard that Salt Lake had an area where you can rent paddle-boats and knew that it was fairly close by so all nine of us piled into one cab and made our way to Nicco Park.
Nicco Park is a small theme park straight from the bowels of hell. It is every child's nightmare complete with creepy clowns in glass cages and eery voices flooding the park from loud speakers saying things along the lines of, "Weeeelcome to Niiico Paaaaaark. I aaaam your beeeeeest friiiiiend."
Us being the mature group of young adults that we are decided to brave the apparent danger in search of these elusive paddle-boats. The park was almost empty seeing as it was just about to get dark and we had a run of the rides to ourselves, save the families being dragged around by their children for just one more ride. We found the paddle-boats and to our disappointment they were not on Salt Lake but rather on a tiny man-made lake in the center of the small park. We got in and paddled around the water for about an hour or so talking to other Yachtsmen and getting the usual questions of "What country?", "How long India?", and of course "Why big hole in ears?" We had a lot of fun and decided it was getting to dark to try and brave the rest of the park but made for one more ride, a tiny rollercoaster that drops into an even smaller pool of water. Imagine Disneyland's splash mountain for ants. It was still fun and now we can all say that we've been to the creepiest theme park in the world. We caught a cab to Sudder St. and grabbed some dinner before calling it a night.
On a different note, yesterday was a very sad day as Emily, Michelle, Lizzy, and I had to say goodbye to one of our best friends that we've made in Kolkata. Matt worked at Kalighat with Michelle and I and we all clicked instantly. Our senses of humor were right on par and whenever we would lay out laundry to dry on the roof me and Matt would sing awful mainstream rap songs to pass the time and the heat. I can easily say that he has become one of my best friends and there is an even bigger hole in my heart without him here. His personality and light-heartedness was the perfect contrast to the heavy-hearted work that we do daily. A big group of us got together for dinner on Saturday night to see him off then we all headed to the roof of the Hotel Maria for a little goodbye party. It started out with about 10 of us hanging out eating cake and exchanging memories and turned into about 35 people playing guitar, singing songs, laughing, and crying. It's amazing how fast joy is contagious in this city. People from all over the world, France, U.S., Portugal, Spain, Japan, South Korea, Scotland, and other countries just enjoying each other's company. Some people knew Matt, some didn't. Some were volunteers, some were just travelling. Some were here for six months, some just for the night. But it was truly spectacular to see everyone together like that. I really can't do it justice with words.
Okay, enough of this, I'm going to go grab some lunch then go play with the rugrats at Daya Dan.
Namaste,
Heath
Monday, October 26, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
G.W.C. Pt. Deux
Well we ended up shooting off fireworks for a couple hours with the rugrats then made our way home to the good ol' Hotel Maria. Where as luck would have it, there was another celebration happening across the street. The speakers were blaring Bollywood music and everyone, and I do mean everyone, was in good spirits. More fireworks were lit and there was much dancing and merriment to be had. If merriment were food we could have fed nations.
The two things I don't think I can overstate enough are the amount of people celebrating and the noise level. Literally you couldn't walk more than thirty feet without running into a pandal (A temporary shrine to Kali, some of which were 4 ft. tall with one statue, some of which were 60 ft. tall with up to twelve statues) where speakers were set up playing as loud as they possibly could. And each pandal that you came to was playing a different song. It was irresistable at times to break into dance as we were walking home. The only thing was, we had to switch the dance every thirty feet or so. So we danced until about 11 o'clock or until I thought I was going to pass out right where I stood from pure exhaustion from the days festivities and made our way back up to our room. I hadn't been laying in bed for more than 5 seconds when a wall shaking, "BOOOOOM!" was heard seemingly directly outside our window. Ah, more fireworks. It actually sounded like we were in the middle of a war zone with nothing to do but wait out the falling bombs. Accompanying the fireworks in a similar fashion that a cow with a bell tied around it's neck accompanies a concert violinist was the drone of atleast 8 different pandal's music. We hit the lights off but for some reason our room remained illuminated like it was the middle of the day. I toggled the switch back and forth trying to make sense of this conundrum when it hit me like a ton of bricks, this is the Celebration of Lights. It seemed as though every light in the city was on except for ours. Imagine a "Home Improvement" christmas special and Tim Allan's lights on every building. There were quite a few people actually wearing sunglasses outside, and for good reason.
The blasts continued for a while and I was able to turn them into some sort of African drumming in my head but every once in a while I'd be interupted by a giant explosion directly outside our window. It got to the point where it was truly comical how ridiculous it seemed. I'd be teetering on the edge of being asleep when "BOOOOM!" I'd be dead awake again. The girls and I could do nothing but laugh about our sleepless situation and ended up staying awake until about 5:30 in the morning when the festivities finally died down.
The next day marked the end of Kali Puja, when devout Hindu people break down the shrines and march their statues to the Ganges river to send them to the bottom of the holy water. It's a beautiful sight to see. Marching drum lines and children's classes, truckloads of people, and vendors selling balloons and high pitched whistles. All to ceremoniously throw thousands of statues, some over ten feet tall, into the river. These statues, much like the pandals that they sit in, take weeks, sometimes months to make and as a sign that their work is not their own the people get rid of them and start all over for the next puja, usually only a few weeks away. People were painted in purple and red dust and joy resounded through the streets. Emily and I made the short walk from Daya Dan to the local Ghat and found ourselves in the middle of a beautiful celebration. It was really an incredible thing to see with truck after truck backing up to the edge of the street, unloading a giant statue into groups of mens arms, shouting praises, then walking it to the water and tossing it in, never to be seen again.
Ah Kolkata, you never cease to amaze.
Namaste,
Heath
The two things I don't think I can overstate enough are the amount of people celebrating and the noise level. Literally you couldn't walk more than thirty feet without running into a pandal (A temporary shrine to Kali, some of which were 4 ft. tall with one statue, some of which were 60 ft. tall with up to twelve statues) where speakers were set up playing as loud as they possibly could. And each pandal that you came to was playing a different song. It was irresistable at times to break into dance as we were walking home. The only thing was, we had to switch the dance every thirty feet or so. So we danced until about 11 o'clock or until I thought I was going to pass out right where I stood from pure exhaustion from the days festivities and made our way back up to our room. I hadn't been laying in bed for more than 5 seconds when a wall shaking, "BOOOOOM!" was heard seemingly directly outside our window. Ah, more fireworks. It actually sounded like we were in the middle of a war zone with nothing to do but wait out the falling bombs. Accompanying the fireworks in a similar fashion that a cow with a bell tied around it's neck accompanies a concert violinist was the drone of atleast 8 different pandal's music. We hit the lights off but for some reason our room remained illuminated like it was the middle of the day. I toggled the switch back and forth trying to make sense of this conundrum when it hit me like a ton of bricks, this is the Celebration of Lights. It seemed as though every light in the city was on except for ours. Imagine a "Home Improvement" christmas special and Tim Allan's lights on every building. There were quite a few people actually wearing sunglasses outside, and for good reason.
The blasts continued for a while and I was able to turn them into some sort of African drumming in my head but every once in a while I'd be interupted by a giant explosion directly outside our window. It got to the point where it was truly comical how ridiculous it seemed. I'd be teetering on the edge of being asleep when "BOOOOM!" I'd be dead awake again. The girls and I could do nothing but laugh about our sleepless situation and ended up staying awake until about 5:30 in the morning when the festivities finally died down.
The next day marked the end of Kali Puja, when devout Hindu people break down the shrines and march their statues to the Ganges river to send them to the bottom of the holy water. It's a beautiful sight to see. Marching drum lines and children's classes, truckloads of people, and vendors selling balloons and high pitched whistles. All to ceremoniously throw thousands of statues, some over ten feet tall, into the river. These statues, much like the pandals that they sit in, take weeks, sometimes months to make and as a sign that their work is not their own the people get rid of them and start all over for the next puja, usually only a few weeks away. People were painted in purple and red dust and joy resounded through the streets. Emily and I made the short walk from Daya Dan to the local Ghat and found ourselves in the middle of a beautiful celebration. It was really an incredible thing to see with truck after truck backing up to the edge of the street, unloading a giant statue into groups of mens arms, shouting praises, then walking it to the water and tossing it in, never to be seen again.
Ah Kolkata, you never cease to amaze.
Namaste,
Heath
George Washington called,
He wants his revolutionary war back.
So are the days of Diwali, the three day Bengali festival of lights which just so happens to coincide with Kali Puja, the Hindu festival celebrating the god Kali.
This blog will have to be short and sweet seeing as the internet shop closes in 15 minutes but I'll definitely write more about these celebrations in the next few days.
To kick off Diwali, Emily and I celebrated with the children at Daya Dan, Mother Theresa's home for mentally and physically handicapped children, where we work in the afternoon. We brought all of the boys that we work with on the first floor up to the roof to join children from the other two floors to watch the fireworks that would inevitably be going off all over the city, or so we thought. Once all the children were on the roof and running around like crazy the sisters brought out three giant bags of fire works and told us rather plainly to, "Help the children light them."
Astonished and quite sure we had misunderstood Sister Johnava's directions we asked, in unison, "Uh, excuse me?"
"Yes, yes help them"
"Okay?"
We gave each other a look that said, "Has this woman gone mad?" and proceeded to pull out all types of janky indian fireworks. Some sparklers, some rockets, some firecrackers, and best of all lots of danger. I myself having almost been Sudder Streets first eyeless tourist of the festival the night before from a faulty firework exploding in my face (Thank the good lord I wear enormous glasses) I was of course hesitant to hand over these little burning objects to children who can't fully control their body parts. I don't mean that in any offensive way at all but from an American perspective I hope you all can understand my hesitations here.
While I was reluctantly handing tiny sparklers to the older kids the sisters and the masi's were busy lighting fireworks that spin on the ground and shoot out sparks in a 6 foot radius and watching the kids run and shout like crazy. Eventually my hesitation gave way to the looks of pure joy on these kids' faces who spend most days in a monotonous routine of wake up, school, nap, eat, bed, all under the same roof and rarely even step outside. We shot off fireworks for about three hours and ended up staying about two hours later than normal. I can still picture the look on little Pooja's face when one of the whirling, ground-spinning, sparks-flying fire crackers made its way under her wheel chair. Her little legs dangling over the edge of the seat screaming in pure ecstatic joy.
well i'm getting kicked off the computer... More to follow. promise.
So are the days of Diwali, the three day Bengali festival of lights which just so happens to coincide with Kali Puja, the Hindu festival celebrating the god Kali.
This blog will have to be short and sweet seeing as the internet shop closes in 15 minutes but I'll definitely write more about these celebrations in the next few days.
To kick off Diwali, Emily and I celebrated with the children at Daya Dan, Mother Theresa's home for mentally and physically handicapped children, where we work in the afternoon. We brought all of the boys that we work with on the first floor up to the roof to join children from the other two floors to watch the fireworks that would inevitably be going off all over the city, or so we thought. Once all the children were on the roof and running around like crazy the sisters brought out three giant bags of fire works and told us rather plainly to, "Help the children light them."
Astonished and quite sure we had misunderstood Sister Johnava's directions we asked, in unison, "Uh, excuse me?"
"Yes, yes help them"
"Okay?"
We gave each other a look that said, "Has this woman gone mad?" and proceeded to pull out all types of janky indian fireworks. Some sparklers, some rockets, some firecrackers, and best of all lots of danger. I myself having almost been Sudder Streets first eyeless tourist of the festival the night before from a faulty firework exploding in my face (Thank the good lord I wear enormous glasses) I was of course hesitant to hand over these little burning objects to children who can't fully control their body parts. I don't mean that in any offensive way at all but from an American perspective I hope you all can understand my hesitations here.
While I was reluctantly handing tiny sparklers to the older kids the sisters and the masi's were busy lighting fireworks that spin on the ground and shoot out sparks in a 6 foot radius and watching the kids run and shout like crazy. Eventually my hesitation gave way to the looks of pure joy on these kids' faces who spend most days in a monotonous routine of wake up, school, nap, eat, bed, all under the same roof and rarely even step outside. We shot off fireworks for about three hours and ended up staying about two hours later than normal. I can still picture the look on little Pooja's face when one of the whirling, ground-spinning, sparks-flying fire crackers made its way under her wheel chair. Her little legs dangling over the edge of the seat screaming in pure ecstatic joy.
well i'm getting kicked off the computer... More to follow. promise.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Johnny Cash and close to a month
spent in Kolkata
It's been too long without updates, my apologies to those who read this. Almost a week has gone by with no writing on this ol' blog of mine.
But not a whole lot has been going on here. Hard to believe, yeah? I know. It's strange to think that I could possibly be in any sort of routine in Calcutta, India but it seems pretty regular right about now. I had a conversation with Ty on the phone the other day, we were talking and he asked me what it was like here. I paused for a second and looked around. I gave him a fairly detailed description of what I was seeing in that exact moment and here's a little bit of that conversation, cleaned up of course:
"I'm sitting outside of the internet shop, probably the nicest, cleanest store that I am in regular attendance at. I'm sitting on a patio of sorts, outside with my back to the iron-barred windows with no glass in them, painted blue and purple. The patio is cracked red cement with two steps leading down to the little lot that is shared with a small spanish cafe, a t-shirt shop, the taj-continental restaurant's back door, and about fifty stray kittens. The lot is full of trash and in fact one spot where a little shop used to sit is literally now just a trash pile that rises from the dirt and brick ground to be about shoulder height. There are six motorcycles and two cars in the lot, one a newer silver car with a brand name that I can't pronounce and one a blue van, probably from the early nineties, with another brand name that I can't pronounce.
"There are about 30 people in this lot, milling around having conversations or just walking through, most are the regular people. Gopaul is wandering around aimlessly touching the feet of foreigners out of respect and mumbling hindi slurs silently to himself. He is a beautiful man of about 45 with grey hair and salt & pepper whiskers sprouting from his dark face. He sleeps in the lot near the entrance to the spanish cafe every night. Gopaul has some sort of mental illness that keeps conversation to a minimum but his smile speaks more than words ever could. I have lunch with Gopaul a few times a week usually when I ask him if he's hungry and he nods and laughs.
"The Varanasi shop guys are sitting outside smoking cigarettes and laughing with a few french girls. They are all very fashionable, charasmatic, charming young guys, about 20-25, that all work/hangout at a small t-shirt shop right off of sudder street. Every volunteer stops in here and Melissa told me that I needed to say hi to them for her as soon as I got to Calcutta. I drank chai with them earlier this afternoon and we sat around and strummed the guitar with them for about half an hour or so.
"Abdul and Kurtik are silently arguing across the street from the gateway to the lot at Tirupati and Keeshore is simply cooking and taking orders as usual. Tirupati is a little street restaurant/cart right outside the gate of Hotel Maria that is frequented by volunteers and tourists. Abdul and Kurtik are two people that are very near and dear to my heart. Both were born deaf and mute and without a form of sign language to learn in their respective villages they made it up as they went, so naturally they "speak" a little differently than each other but with effort they make it very easy to understand them and I'm proud to say that I hardly ever have trouble understanding them. They both like to make fun of my glasses and beard and I simply take it because I'm just happy that I can understand it when they do make fun of me.
"To my right is a very small shop that is indecipherable as to what they sell, I believe that it's a restaurant (or it may be someone's home) because there are a few men cooking but there are no indications that they sell any sort of food. No signs, no menus, no chairs. But who really knows? One of the men cooking just threw three severed chicken feet about a yard in front of me, two crows swooped down and grabbed a foot each while a hungry street dog stumbled up and grabbed the third with it's weak jaw. I look down and see my bare feet against the red-painted cement and I can see a perfect line across the top of my feet, crossing through each of the tattoos is a half-tan, half-dirt line about as perfect as looking at the top of a freshly opened container of neapolitan ice cream where the chocolate and vanilla meet. There are three bugs crawling on my left foot but my right foot is pest free, for now."
With all of this, I have managed to find routine and normalcy. Less than a month ago I couldn't pick up my jaw with all my might as I took in first impressions of this strange land that seemed, and still seems, like a place lost in time. A place that seemingly is stuck in the 1920's, as one odd-minded volunteer put it, god bless her soul.
IN OTHER NEWS:
Today was Emily's birthday so we decided to party like it was 2012. Last night we wandered to New Market, a shopping complex that resembles a giant horse stable, and is about as clean. She decided that instead of receiving gifts she would rather give gifts to the children she works with at Shishu Bavahn, an orphanage run by the missionaries of charity. We went out and bought twenty small chalkboards, one for each student in her class and decided we'd get a cake as well to celebrate with these children. This morning, I stayed home from work and went on a small reconnaissance mission, to find decorations to decorate our tiny room with. I started with streamers and a cake then bought a confetti cannon and a singing birthday cake knife. All for around 6 dollars. I proceeded to decorate the room all morning and when the girls returned we had a wonderful little surprise party and handed out cake to all our new friends and strangers on sudder street. All in all it was a wonderful day and Emily is no longer a teenager, the big 20 is here... woohoo!
Enough of this, I need some sleep. Goodnight friends
It's been too long without updates, my apologies to those who read this. Almost a week has gone by with no writing on this ol' blog of mine.
But not a whole lot has been going on here. Hard to believe, yeah? I know. It's strange to think that I could possibly be in any sort of routine in Calcutta, India but it seems pretty regular right about now. I had a conversation with Ty on the phone the other day, we were talking and he asked me what it was like here. I paused for a second and looked around. I gave him a fairly detailed description of what I was seeing in that exact moment and here's a little bit of that conversation, cleaned up of course:
"I'm sitting outside of the internet shop, probably the nicest, cleanest store that I am in regular attendance at. I'm sitting on a patio of sorts, outside with my back to the iron-barred windows with no glass in them, painted blue and purple. The patio is cracked red cement with two steps leading down to the little lot that is shared with a small spanish cafe, a t-shirt shop, the taj-continental restaurant's back door, and about fifty stray kittens. The lot is full of trash and in fact one spot where a little shop used to sit is literally now just a trash pile that rises from the dirt and brick ground to be about shoulder height. There are six motorcycles and two cars in the lot, one a newer silver car with a brand name that I can't pronounce and one a blue van, probably from the early nineties, with another brand name that I can't pronounce.
"There are about 30 people in this lot, milling around having conversations or just walking through, most are the regular people. Gopaul is wandering around aimlessly touching the feet of foreigners out of respect and mumbling hindi slurs silently to himself. He is a beautiful man of about 45 with grey hair and salt & pepper whiskers sprouting from his dark face. He sleeps in the lot near the entrance to the spanish cafe every night. Gopaul has some sort of mental illness that keeps conversation to a minimum but his smile speaks more than words ever could. I have lunch with Gopaul a few times a week usually when I ask him if he's hungry and he nods and laughs.
"The Varanasi shop guys are sitting outside smoking cigarettes and laughing with a few french girls. They are all very fashionable, charasmatic, charming young guys, about 20-25, that all work/hangout at a small t-shirt shop right off of sudder street. Every volunteer stops in here and Melissa told me that I needed to say hi to them for her as soon as I got to Calcutta. I drank chai with them earlier this afternoon and we sat around and strummed the guitar with them for about half an hour or so.
"Abdul and Kurtik are silently arguing across the street from the gateway to the lot at Tirupati and Keeshore is simply cooking and taking orders as usual. Tirupati is a little street restaurant/cart right outside the gate of Hotel Maria that is frequented by volunteers and tourists. Abdul and Kurtik are two people that are very near and dear to my heart. Both were born deaf and mute and without a form of sign language to learn in their respective villages they made it up as they went, so naturally they "speak" a little differently than each other but with effort they make it very easy to understand them and I'm proud to say that I hardly ever have trouble understanding them. They both like to make fun of my glasses and beard and I simply take it because I'm just happy that I can understand it when they do make fun of me.
"To my right is a very small shop that is indecipherable as to what they sell, I believe that it's a restaurant (or it may be someone's home) because there are a few men cooking but there are no indications that they sell any sort of food. No signs, no menus, no chairs. But who really knows? One of the men cooking just threw three severed chicken feet about a yard in front of me, two crows swooped down and grabbed a foot each while a hungry street dog stumbled up and grabbed the third with it's weak jaw. I look down and see my bare feet against the red-painted cement and I can see a perfect line across the top of my feet, crossing through each of the tattoos is a half-tan, half-dirt line about as perfect as looking at the top of a freshly opened container of neapolitan ice cream where the chocolate and vanilla meet. There are three bugs crawling on my left foot but my right foot is pest free, for now."
With all of this, I have managed to find routine and normalcy. Less than a month ago I couldn't pick up my jaw with all my might as I took in first impressions of this strange land that seemed, and still seems, like a place lost in time. A place that seemingly is stuck in the 1920's, as one odd-minded volunteer put it, god bless her soul.
IN OTHER NEWS:
Today was Emily's birthday so we decided to party like it was 2012. Last night we wandered to New Market, a shopping complex that resembles a giant horse stable, and is about as clean. She decided that instead of receiving gifts she would rather give gifts to the children she works with at Shishu Bavahn, an orphanage run by the missionaries of charity. We went out and bought twenty small chalkboards, one for each student in her class and decided we'd get a cake as well to celebrate with these children. This morning, I stayed home from work and went on a small reconnaissance mission, to find decorations to decorate our tiny room with. I started with streamers and a cake then bought a confetti cannon and a singing birthday cake knife. All for around 6 dollars. I proceeded to decorate the room all morning and when the girls returned we had a wonderful little surprise party and handed out cake to all our new friends and strangers on sudder street. All in all it was a wonderful day and Emily is no longer a teenager, the big 20 is here... woohoo!
Enough of this, I need some sleep. Goodnight friends
Monday, October 5, 2009
Titigraph
Last Thursday a group of about 35 volunteers took our day off to visit a place on the fringes of Kolkata, Titigraph, a leper colony that was started by Mother Teresa over 50 years ago that is now run by the Missionaries of Charity Brothers (I use the term "run" very loosely.) We didn't do any volunteering rather we just took a tour and talked with some of the patients and I can tell you right now that it was one of the most inspiring things I've ever seen.
Before I talk too much about the colony we should get a few things straight; Leprosy is a disease that affects the body in strange ways, it causes sores on the skin and untreated it can slowly eat away at a persons appendages, many times people lose noses, fingers, toes, legs, hands, and arms, it attacks the bodies nervous system and without treatment can eventually kill. It does not make body parts fall off of their own accord, rather it disfigures and amputations occur regularly because of the disease. The way that leprosy spreads is not known for sure but prolonged immediate contact and transmission by nasal droplet have both been proposed but not proven. An estimated 5% of the world's population are susceptible to leprosy, meaning that 95% CANNOT get the disease. Oh and the last thing, leprosy can be cured.
This is the part that makes Titigraph a very sad place. There are over 150 permanent residents, 300 temporary residents, and many more that receive regular treatment but do not reside at the colony. These people can be extremely disfigured and are shunned from regular society as they have been for thousands of years. A person missing a hand from leprosy is almost guaranteed to have a much more difficult time finding a job in India (or anywhere in the world) than someone who doesn't have the disease. Many of these people have lost their friends and families and have nothing else because of the disease.
But here is the beautiful part. A new world is possible for these people, and they have found it. They have been marginalized for years and have formed a new way of life, with a little help from Mama T. of course. Titigraph is a fully self-sustainable miniature society. They grow their own food, make all of their clothes, provide their own day care, make everything from crutches and beds to prosthetic legs, hands, and thumbs, and most of the people giving treatment at Titigraph are former patients! How beautiful of a thing it is when a society can say, "You don't belong here. We don't want you!" and these people can say, "Have it your way." and leave to a new world with a smile and friends. Another thing that the residents of Titigraph do is make all of the clothes for the Missionaries of Charity Sisters all over the world. And when I say they make the clothes, I mean there are about 50 lumes where men and women sit and make the fabrics used in the sisters robes as well as the sheets and pillowcases that are used in Khalighat and other houses operated by the MC's. This gives people who have been so dehumanized by this disease and peoples reaction (strictly out of ignorance) to be able to have a job, live in community, and even serve those around them. If that's not beauty than I don't know what is.
You carved your name into the sky, and now it's the only one that I can say.
aste aste.
Before I talk too much about the colony we should get a few things straight; Leprosy is a disease that affects the body in strange ways, it causes sores on the skin and untreated it can slowly eat away at a persons appendages, many times people lose noses, fingers, toes, legs, hands, and arms, it attacks the bodies nervous system and without treatment can eventually kill. It does not make body parts fall off of their own accord, rather it disfigures and amputations occur regularly because of the disease. The way that leprosy spreads is not known for sure but prolonged immediate contact and transmission by nasal droplet have both been proposed but not proven. An estimated 5% of the world's population are susceptible to leprosy, meaning that 95% CANNOT get the disease. Oh and the last thing, leprosy can be cured.
This is the part that makes Titigraph a very sad place. There are over 150 permanent residents, 300 temporary residents, and many more that receive regular treatment but do not reside at the colony. These people can be extremely disfigured and are shunned from regular society as they have been for thousands of years. A person missing a hand from leprosy is almost guaranteed to have a much more difficult time finding a job in India (or anywhere in the world) than someone who doesn't have the disease. Many of these people have lost their friends and families and have nothing else because of the disease.
But here is the beautiful part. A new world is possible for these people, and they have found it. They have been marginalized for years and have formed a new way of life, with a little help from Mama T. of course. Titigraph is a fully self-sustainable miniature society. They grow their own food, make all of their clothes, provide their own day care, make everything from crutches and beds to prosthetic legs, hands, and thumbs, and most of the people giving treatment at Titigraph are former patients! How beautiful of a thing it is when a society can say, "You don't belong here. We don't want you!" and these people can say, "Have it your way." and leave to a new world with a smile and friends. Another thing that the residents of Titigraph do is make all of the clothes for the Missionaries of Charity Sisters all over the world. And when I say they make the clothes, I mean there are about 50 lumes where men and women sit and make the fabrics used in the sisters robes as well as the sheets and pillowcases that are used in Khalighat and other houses operated by the MC's. This gives people who have been so dehumanized by this disease and peoples reaction (strictly out of ignorance) to be able to have a job, live in community, and even serve those around them. If that's not beauty than I don't know what is.
You carved your name into the sky, and now it's the only one that I can say.
aste aste.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
I say, you were born in the sky.
Only in the sense that you are so beautiful that there was no way you were born of the dirt and ashes. Yes. You. All of you.
"India is great" It's written on the side of every work truck, bus, auto-rickshaw, and most taxi's. A constant reminder for those who may have forgotten. All in all, so far, I'd say that that statement is more than true. In it's own way.
Here are a few of the reasons:
Last night I had dinner with people from 7 different countries.
I heard the words "I've never been more happy that a person died" and almost cried with joy.
I've thought more thoughts here than I have in the past year and a half.
Veg Pakora, Japanese Om Rice & Tirupati
Kurtik and Abdul
Ronnie
Hotel Maria's rooftop.
Today was a good day. This week has been a good week. This trip has been a good trip. And I am happy. I know why they call Kolkata the city of joy. I don't think everyone here knows, but I know and that's enough for me. Of course I miss my friends and family and "normal" way of life but that will always be there to come back to. Run back to with open arms. Fall back on. That leads me to something I haven't been able to get out of my head for the past couple of weeks. I have something to fall back on. I have friends and I have family that will always be there for me, and at the end of these three months I have money and a school and an apartment and a car that I will be able to go back to. But I'm serving people with nothing to fall back on. Ever. And that will probably not ever have anything to fall back on. Why should I have that and they not? How can I justify seeing, helping, and then going back to any sort of "normal" life where that doesn't affect me? Not that I don't think that this experience will affect me for the rest of my life but didn't Jesus say to the rich ruler, "Sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor, then you will have treasure in heaven, then come and follow me." (Matt. 19:21) How has this lost it's meaning for us? In Acts 2:45 it says that the early church "Began selling their property and possessions and were sharing them with all, as anyone might have need." Why is the church not still doing this?!? If we as believers are the church, which we are, then shouldn't we be doing what the believers in Acts were doing? Surely there is still need among us! I am seeing it everyday here! And not just here, not just in the congregation that you call your home. But in our neighborhoods and in our streets. If Jesus really meant, "Don't become a slave to your money, don't let it become your master, and don't let it come between you and G-d." then why wouldn't he just say that? I don't think that everyone that reads this reads/interprets it the same, nor do I think they need to. Obviously everyone has a different calling. But the fact is that I am thinking about it so much and that there is some obvious tick going off in my brain. The tricky part is deciphering what it means, or where this idea is coming from. What if it's God and I choose to ignore it? Any ideas would be appreciated. I've had many beautiful conversations, where I have found God on dirt floors and unpainted walls, with the wonderful, gorgeous people I've met in Kolkata about this and I feel like I'm either extremely close to an answer or further away than ever.
The other thing is:
When was the last time I personally fed a hungry person?
When was the last time I clothed someone?
Visited someone in Jail?
Invited someone in off the streets?
"India is great" It's written on the side of every work truck, bus, auto-rickshaw, and most taxi's. A constant reminder for those who may have forgotten. All in all, so far, I'd say that that statement is more than true. In it's own way.
Here are a few of the reasons:
Last night I had dinner with people from 7 different countries.
I heard the words "I've never been more happy that a person died" and almost cried with joy.
I've thought more thoughts here than I have in the past year and a half.
Veg Pakora, Japanese Om Rice & Tirupati
Kurtik and Abdul
Ronnie
Hotel Maria's rooftop.
Today was a good day. This week has been a good week. This trip has been a good trip. And I am happy. I know why they call Kolkata the city of joy. I don't think everyone here knows, but I know and that's enough for me. Of course I miss my friends and family and "normal" way of life but that will always be there to come back to. Run back to with open arms. Fall back on. That leads me to something I haven't been able to get out of my head for the past couple of weeks. I have something to fall back on. I have friends and I have family that will always be there for me, and at the end of these three months I have money and a school and an apartment and a car that I will be able to go back to. But I'm serving people with nothing to fall back on. Ever. And that will probably not ever have anything to fall back on. Why should I have that and they not? How can I justify seeing, helping, and then going back to any sort of "normal" life where that doesn't affect me? Not that I don't think that this experience will affect me for the rest of my life but didn't Jesus say to the rich ruler, "Sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor, then you will have treasure in heaven, then come and follow me." (Matt. 19:21) How has this lost it's meaning for us? In Acts 2:45 it says that the early church "Began selling their property and possessions and were sharing them with all, as anyone might have need." Why is the church not still doing this?!? If we as believers are the church, which we are, then shouldn't we be doing what the believers in Acts were doing? Surely there is still need among us! I am seeing it everyday here! And not just here, not just in the congregation that you call your home. But in our neighborhoods and in our streets. If Jesus really meant, "Don't become a slave to your money, don't let it become your master, and don't let it come between you and G-d." then why wouldn't he just say that? I don't think that everyone that reads this reads/interprets it the same, nor do I think they need to. Obviously everyone has a different calling. But the fact is that I am thinking about it so much and that there is some obvious tick going off in my brain. The tricky part is deciphering what it means, or where this idea is coming from. What if it's God and I choose to ignore it? Any ideas would be appreciated. I've had many beautiful conversations, where I have found God on dirt floors and unpainted walls, with the wonderful, gorgeous people I've met in Kolkata about this and I feel like I'm either extremely close to an answer or further away than ever.
The other thing is:
When was the last time I personally fed a hungry person?
When was the last time I clothed someone?
Visited someone in Jail?
Invited someone in off the streets?
34“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. 35For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
37“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
40“The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’
Matthew 25:34-40 says that that is my personal responsibility. I don't think it's enough to throw money to organizations that visit people in jail or that feed children. I think it's good, but it makes these people nameless and faceless when they really bear the name and face of Jesus himself. I've always thought, "I don't have time, I can't just take the day off work or school." But am I saying "I don't have time for Jesus"?
These are genuine questions pointed towards people who know more than me, or less (either way ideas are greatly appreciated), or to provoke thought or atleast conversation throughout the day. I'm sorry if I stepped on any toes while writing this, it really was not my intention at all. I'm simply looking for answers.
Aste Aste,
One day at a time,
Heath
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