Sorry I haven't posted too much in the past couple of days but we've been busy busy busy! This will probably have to be a short post as well which is sad but it makes for light reading and writing.
When we got back from Varanasi we got into the Calcutta swing of things full force again which was really nice, it was like that little trip really rejuvenated all of us for this last little home stretch we have with our toes in the Indian dirt. It's been nice to be able to stop myself from being overly distracted and being able to have some great discussions with my friend Skylar the past couple of days, including one or two with a Missionaries of Charity Father about the Catholic church and Jesus and Spirituality and all those things that are so confusing but really make your heart smile (and sometimes cry) ya know?
I also was given the opportunity to 'star' in a Bollywood movie (obviously I use the term star a little loosely, I think the credits will have me billed [if at all] as man in red hat). A grand ol' group of volunteers took sunday night to go to the set of Iti Mrinalini, the new film by director Aparna Sen, a fairly large name in the Bollywood industry. If you don't know what Bollywood is then A: I suggest you get yourself educated and B: It's the worlds second largest film industry based out of Mumbai, India. It was an awesome experience to see how a film gets made and, unlike most things in India, it was very legit. No bamboo poles holding up lights, no, this was a real movie set. There were about 30 westerners there and we each were in about three or four scenes a peice but were on set from 8:00 pm til 8:00 am. It was exhausting but I got to meet a lot of people, some good, some bad, and got 500 rupees (about ten dollars) and a free dinner for all of my acting skill.
Now on to today, yesterday Sr. Johnava (the head sister at daya dan) approached us and told us that a large group of volunteers and Sisters would be needed tomorrow because we're going to take the boys to Nicco Park. This was exciting news for me (touch of sarcasm) seeing as I had just been there on Thursday to ride the paddleboats and escape the noise of the city with a few friends as well as having been there about a month ago for the same reason. Nicco Park is Kolkata's theme park, which I may or may not have mentioned in this blog before, either way it's worth another general recap. Normally when I think of theme parks I think of DisneyWorld or Universal Studios or even Six Flags, but to Kolkata, Nicco Park is the premiere ride and attraction destination. It has two rollercoasters, one that goes about twenty feet in the air then does a gradual downward slope and ends after the car has gone around the 30 second oval track one time, the other is a slightly more legitimate wooden rollercoaster that looks like it was made in the 1930's with all the Indian ingenuity the designers could muster. While Nicco Park would barely pass as a children's public playground in the U.S. it does have paddleboats to go around a little man-made lake, a 60 ft. replica of the Eiffel tower, a toy train that goes around the park, and a carousel plus a few more rides that you might find at the Central Washington State Fair. So when the kids heard that we were going to go to Nicco Park they flipped everyone was so excited and could, literally in some cases, not control themselves. It was all they talked about yesterday and getting Benoi to practice his drums was in fact an impossibility.
The other thing about Nicco Park is that if you happen to look around in the context of an American horror movie you would realize that this would be the perfect set. It's the kind of place you absolutely would not want to be at night. As you walk in the main gate you're greeted by a fairly realistic looking clown sitting in a glass box and as you pass by he utters the most meniacal and terrifying laugh that you can possibly imagine. Think every nightmare you have ever had about clowns and put them in this glass box and you might have an idea what I'm talking about. Next to the clown is the park's mascot, a 14 ft tall yellow and black cat that is standing on two legs, his eyes and head move left and right and his arm waves greeting children into the park. This in itself is not creepy whatsoever, what is creepy is that there is a speaker emminating his voice that seems like a toy losing its battery. "Heeeeelllooooo. Weeeeeelcome to Niiiiiiiico Paaaaaaark. IIIIII aam your beeeeeeest friend.", the cat says in a monotone voice that chills you to the bone. It seems like every ride with music or speakers, from the carosel to the Eiffel tower replica, was meant to scare american horror movie fans out of their minds. Not to mention the shoddy construction of many of the rides and the way that broken toy train cars and paddleboats are half-hazardly stored, leaning up against the fence or simply sitting in the middle of a walkway. You wouldn't catch me trying to break into Nicco Park after hours that's for sure.
So today (FINALLY) rolls around and we get to Daya Dan to shuffle all the kids on the bus and there was not a single face without a smile on it. It was great because we had enough volunteers with us that we could take a lot of the boys that don't get to go on the normal outtings, literally I think we had 40 children with us (keep in mind they are all mentally and mostly physically handicapped). The first thing we did was ride the toy train around the park, and of course for some it was amazing for others terrifying. There were screams of joy and of pure horror as the train moved (at about 3 mph) around the broken or decrepit looking rides.
After the toy train we all ran to the paddleboats and took all the kids around the little lake on a boat. You could tell by the looks on their faces that it was something they had never experienced before, floating on top of water! Let alone so much water! Isn't it amazing the things like a simple boat ride that we take advantage of, that we can lose the ingenuity and beauty that it took for the human mind to realize that we could if we work hard enough cross land on top of water instead of walking around it? We took all the kids on the boats, even the ones that are wheelchair bound or whose legs and arms are twisted and contorted, and you could tell from the smiles that graced their beautiful faces that they loved it. After a short boat ride we walked and wheeled the kids around the park and got some lunch, but the only thing they could think and talk about was, "THE HORSES!!!"
Of course, everyone's favorite was coming after lunch. The carousel. The only part of the park that resembled an american ride or attraction was an ornate and beautifully painted carousel, the kind with 50 horses that all move up and down very slowly and gracefully as the whole platform spins to piano music and makes you think you're dancing. We get everyone (including the sisters!) onto a horse and as it started to move every child started screaming with joy, no one was scared, no one was tired, nothing hurt. Everything was perfect in the world for a minute and a half for these children who have suffered so much. It was truly amazing. They were all in open fields riding horses made for kings to go save a princess in one story or another that they've . There was screaming and yelling and laughing all around, every boy, every girl, every volunteer, and every sister was truly truly happy.
That's something you don't see everyday.
I love you.
-heath
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Varanasi
On Tuesday night the girls and I, along with 4 of our close friends that we have met in Kolkata decided to get the heck out of Dodge (or Kolkata if you will) and have a short vacation in Varanasi, India. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Varanasi
We took the overnight Himigri express from Howra Station to Varanasi Junction. A train that was supposed to be 14 hours but ended up being closer to 22 due to some amazingly long delays at other stations along the way. We heard rumors that there were people protesting a recent arrest of a political candidate by laying down on the tracks in Patna. That could be one of the many reasons that we were delayed but no one really knows for sure, it could just be the oh-so-reliable Indian Railway system.
The train was a very interesting experience in itself, it set off from Howrah station at midnight and we had 5 out of the 6 beds in our sleeper compartment with no one in the sixth, and two more beds in the same car, in a different compartment. The beds were stacked three high with middle one folding down to make a chair/bench when not sleeping. We were basically alone for the night but as soon as morning hit (about 4 a.m.) I was awoken by a quick grab of the ankle and a man yelling at me asking if I wanted chai. I said no and only then did I notice the three men sitting on my bed and the three others on Emily's. Not talking, not rummaging, just sitting. Slightly surprised, I looked around and realized that they simply didn't have seats, I'm still not sure if they had bought tickets or if they just bought standing tickets but my awakening didn't seem to bother them much, in fact as I sat up from my reclining position it made more room for them to stretch out and invite their friends over. I spent most of Wednesday trying to figure out how long till Varanasi, first answer: 30 minutes, second answer: next stop, third answer: 4 hours. How we ever made it off that train I'm not quite sure. But while we weren't trying to figure out when to get off we were reading or being part of the spectacle that is WESTERNERS IN RURAL INDIA. People climbing over people to look in the barred windows of our cabin from the outside of the train and shouts in Hindi followed by bellowing laughter from everyone around except for us. All in all it was an amazing experience that I wouldn't trade for anything, and if you've seen the Wes Anderson film Darjeeling Express and think that's what an Indian train is like, than you are sorely sorely mistaken.
We arrived in Varanasi at about ten o'clock on Wednesday night, a whole 8 hours after we were supposed to arrive. Needless to say we were all exhausted so we made our way to a hotel and passed out right quick. The next morning after breakfast we went on a walk with a guide from our hotel along the Ganges river to each of the famous ghats (steps down to the water) that line Varanasi's shore. Each one has a different story and serves a different purpose (although all are used for public bathing) the most interesting of these being the burning ghats. Where public cremation ceremonies take place 24 hours a day 365 days a year. In Hindu culture if you die and are burned on the banks of the Ganges river you are able to escape the exhausting cycle of reincarnation and while I don't pretend to completely understand why or how this works, people are passionate about it. So passionate that there is a fire burning in this Ghat that has been burning for the past 3000 years! People from all over Varanasi and the surrounding villages bring the bodies of their loved ones to the shore to be burned in public. It's a beautiful (and yes quite shocking) tradition that proves to me that there is never one 'right' way of doing things. It was amazing how easily people opened up and shared about their culture and while sometimes bits and pieces got lost in translation it was a beautiful time nonetheless.
We made our way down shore a little bit and found ourselves looking at these giant fortress/ palace walls that have deteriorated over the past thousand or so years. Each one has a different story but most were built by wealthy kings of India at the end of their lives so they could die in Varanasi and have their bodies burned at the very same ghat that we just walked through. AMAZING!
We spent the rest of the day getting ourselves lost on the tiny, and I mean tiny (about 5 feet wide at the most!), streets that make up Varanasi's old city. It's amazing that so many people, cows, dogs, and goats can live in such close proximity to each other. If you think New York City is crowded, think again. It was beautiful though, there were monkeys jumping from roof to roof over our heads and hanging from telephone wires, snake charmers that sat on the ground and played a sort of wind instrument to get cobras out of their wicker baskets, and staircases that seemingly went on forever. One of the best parts of the whole trip was that our hotel was the tallest building around and we could see everything from the roof. Truly truly spectacular.
Friday morning we woke up at about 5:30 and hopped on a row boat that took us all the way up and down Varanasi's shore. We got to see the sunrise over the Ganges river, illuminating the faces of devout peoples lining the ghats, stretching out last nights sleep and bathing their sins away in the polluted water. Our boat ride lasted about two hours and was a really really relaxing experience, something that hasn't really happened a whole lot in India. Our boat driver let us all row for a while and every once in a while another boat would pull up next to ours to see if we wanted to buy postcards, bracelets, tiny shiva statues, or other souvenirs as well as the chai boats peddling tiny glasses of chai from their floating shops. It was great.
We left Varanasi on Friday night, again taking the overnight train to Kolkata and we didn't get delayed as much as the last train, only about a four hour delay this time, and for the most part it was uneventful with the exception of Emily and I waking up at 3:30 in the morning and realizing that there were three men sitting in our cabin, one on her bed and two on the empty bed below me, holding very large guns. Now that's not all that uncommon for India, every police officer, security gaurd, or general ruffian hired to stand watch and ward off potential criminals has a fairly large gun strapped to their back, unfortunately for us at 3:30 in the morning it was too dark to tell if any of the men had uniforms or any sort of indication of being military or police officers so we both just laid in bed hoping for the best. After about 20 minutes another "gentleman" carrying a large rifle walked up to them and started barking orders in hindi, they all got up immediately and left and we never saw or heard of them again, thank God!
So Varanasi was amazing and it was great to get some time out of Kolkata, a little vacation of sorts, and even though we were only gone for about three days I think we all realized how hard it's going to be when we do leave to come home for good. I missed my boys at Daya Dan and I missed the regular faces at Kalighat. I missed walking out the gate of Hotel Maria and seeing Abdul, Kurtik, and Keshore. I missed the regular beggars and the man who walks around with the monkeys on a leash. I missed it all and I was only gone for three days. When the girls and I finally piled in the taxi after arriving at Howrah station on Saturday morning we all sighed, looked at each other, and said, "Finally we're home!" Oh boy. This might be rough.
More tomorrow.
Love you all.
Heath.
We took the overnight Himigri express from Howra Station to Varanasi Junction. A train that was supposed to be 14 hours but ended up being closer to 22 due to some amazingly long delays at other stations along the way. We heard rumors that there were people protesting a recent arrest of a political candidate by laying down on the tracks in Patna. That could be one of the many reasons that we were delayed but no one really knows for sure, it could just be the oh-so-reliable Indian Railway system.
The train was a very interesting experience in itself, it set off from Howrah station at midnight and we had 5 out of the 6 beds in our sleeper compartment with no one in the sixth, and two more beds in the same car, in a different compartment. The beds were stacked three high with middle one folding down to make a chair/bench when not sleeping. We were basically alone for the night but as soon as morning hit (about 4 a.m.) I was awoken by a quick grab of the ankle and a man yelling at me asking if I wanted chai. I said no and only then did I notice the three men sitting on my bed and the three others on Emily's. Not talking, not rummaging, just sitting. Slightly surprised, I looked around and realized that they simply didn't have seats, I'm still not sure if they had bought tickets or if they just bought standing tickets but my awakening didn't seem to bother them much, in fact as I sat up from my reclining position it made more room for them to stretch out and invite their friends over. I spent most of Wednesday trying to figure out how long till Varanasi, first answer: 30 minutes, second answer: next stop, third answer: 4 hours. How we ever made it off that train I'm not quite sure. But while we weren't trying to figure out when to get off we were reading or being part of the spectacle that is WESTERNERS IN RURAL INDIA. People climbing over people to look in the barred windows of our cabin from the outside of the train and shouts in Hindi followed by bellowing laughter from everyone around except for us. All in all it was an amazing experience that I wouldn't trade for anything, and if you've seen the Wes Anderson film Darjeeling Express and think that's what an Indian train is like, than you are sorely sorely mistaken.
We arrived in Varanasi at about ten o'clock on Wednesday night, a whole 8 hours after we were supposed to arrive. Needless to say we were all exhausted so we made our way to a hotel and passed out right quick. The next morning after breakfast we went on a walk with a guide from our hotel along the Ganges river to each of the famous ghats (steps down to the water) that line Varanasi's shore. Each one has a different story and serves a different purpose (although all are used for public bathing) the most interesting of these being the burning ghats. Where public cremation ceremonies take place 24 hours a day 365 days a year. In Hindu culture if you die and are burned on the banks of the Ganges river you are able to escape the exhausting cycle of reincarnation and while I don't pretend to completely understand why or how this works, people are passionate about it. So passionate that there is a fire burning in this Ghat that has been burning for the past 3000 years! People from all over Varanasi and the surrounding villages bring the bodies of their loved ones to the shore to be burned in public. It's a beautiful (and yes quite shocking) tradition that proves to me that there is never one 'right' way of doing things. It was amazing how easily people opened up and shared about their culture and while sometimes bits and pieces got lost in translation it was a beautiful time nonetheless.
We made our way down shore a little bit and found ourselves looking at these giant fortress/ palace walls that have deteriorated over the past thousand or so years. Each one has a different story but most were built by wealthy kings of India at the end of their lives so they could die in Varanasi and have their bodies burned at the very same ghat that we just walked through. AMAZING!
We spent the rest of the day getting ourselves lost on the tiny, and I mean tiny (about 5 feet wide at the most!), streets that make up Varanasi's old city. It's amazing that so many people, cows, dogs, and goats can live in such close proximity to each other. If you think New York City is crowded, think again. It was beautiful though, there were monkeys jumping from roof to roof over our heads and hanging from telephone wires, snake charmers that sat on the ground and played a sort of wind instrument to get cobras out of their wicker baskets, and staircases that seemingly went on forever. One of the best parts of the whole trip was that our hotel was the tallest building around and we could see everything from the roof. Truly truly spectacular.
Friday morning we woke up at about 5:30 and hopped on a row boat that took us all the way up and down Varanasi's shore. We got to see the sunrise over the Ganges river, illuminating the faces of devout peoples lining the ghats, stretching out last nights sleep and bathing their sins away in the polluted water. Our boat ride lasted about two hours and was a really really relaxing experience, something that hasn't really happened a whole lot in India. Our boat driver let us all row for a while and every once in a while another boat would pull up next to ours to see if we wanted to buy postcards, bracelets, tiny shiva statues, or other souvenirs as well as the chai boats peddling tiny glasses of chai from their floating shops. It was great.
We left Varanasi on Friday night, again taking the overnight train to Kolkata and we didn't get delayed as much as the last train, only about a four hour delay this time, and for the most part it was uneventful with the exception of Emily and I waking up at 3:30 in the morning and realizing that there were three men sitting in our cabin, one on her bed and two on the empty bed below me, holding very large guns. Now that's not all that uncommon for India, every police officer, security gaurd, or general ruffian hired to stand watch and ward off potential criminals has a fairly large gun strapped to their back, unfortunately for us at 3:30 in the morning it was too dark to tell if any of the men had uniforms or any sort of indication of being military or police officers so we both just laid in bed hoping for the best. After about 20 minutes another "gentleman" carrying a large rifle walked up to them and started barking orders in hindi, they all got up immediately and left and we never saw or heard of them again, thank God!
So Varanasi was amazing and it was great to get some time out of Kolkata, a little vacation of sorts, and even though we were only gone for about three days I think we all realized how hard it's going to be when we do leave to come home for good. I missed my boys at Daya Dan and I missed the regular faces at Kalighat. I missed walking out the gate of Hotel Maria and seeing Abdul, Kurtik, and Keshore. I missed the regular beggars and the man who walks around with the monkeys on a leash. I missed it all and I was only gone for three days. When the girls and I finally piled in the taxi after arriving at Howrah station on Saturday morning we all sighed, looked at each other, and said, "Finally we're home!" Oh boy. This might be rough.
More tomorrow.
Love you all.
Heath.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
But I'm so small I can barely see,
...How can this great love be inside of me?
Well look at your eyes, they're small in size, but they see enormous things...
...But I'm so afraid and I'm set in my ways,
Well He'll make the rabbits and rocks sing His praise...
...But I'm so tired, I won't last long,
Well He'll use the weak to overcome the strong...
...Though all that we eat brings us little relief,
we don't know quite what else to do, we have all our beliefs,
but we don't want our beliefs,
G-d of peace, we want You.
-mewithoutyYou
I've been having a quite a strange string of coincidences all relating directly to St. John of the Cross. Not like reading his name a couple of times coincidences but having multiple extremely difficult/deep/spiritual/whatever-you-want-to-call-it discussions that all end in talking about him then pulling his name out of a hat containing over 200 saints names. There's no doubt in my mind that God is trying to tell me something, the only hard part is figuring out exactly what it is. I can't find any of his books here and all I've really been able to find out about him is what I've found on Wikipedia. If anyone who reads this happens to be an expert on The Dark Night of the Soul, The Ascent of Mt. Carmel or knows anything about St. John of the cross it would be greatly greatly appreciated.
Today was quite an eventful day, to start it off our dear friend from Seattle, Lizzy, left today. She was the one who surprised Michelle, Emily, and I by sitting in our hotel lobby the day we got here without us even knowing that she was in India. We all grew very close to Lizzy while she was here and it was very hard to choke back the tears as we were walking back to our hotel from motherhouse this morning after mass. She is an incredible girl with a heart made of pure gold and with enough laughter to drown a clown. She is simple, easy, lucky, free, and beautiful and I am so so so thankful that I got to spend so much time with her the past two months.
After the tears I went and met with Adrianna to go take photos for a different organization called Calcutta Rescue. This is another amazing opportunity that I think only Kolkata could possibly offer. Calcutta Rescue is a non-profit NGO that was started more than 20 years ago by a doctor, Dr. Jack, traveling through Kolkata. While he was here he started giving free treatments to people living in the slums and on the streets out of the back of an old jeep, he loved it so much that he decided to keep doing it permanently, and now it has grown to have about five medical clinics, a certified fair-trade handicraft workshop, a leprosy clinic, and two schools. A few weeks ago I met Charlotte, the administrator for CR and asked if they needed any photography work done and that I would be here for another month or so and her response was, "Of course! We always need photographers!"
Exciting to say the least.
So Adrianna, the education director of CR, and I headed to School 1 to take photos of their children participating in a drawing/painting contest that is going to be displayed in galleries in England, New York, Switzerland, and even in many European Hard Rock Cafes. We got to the school and for the most part it was all smooth sailing. Very strange for Kolkata. We took photos of about 75 children with their artwork and I took some photos of the classrooms so they can update their website and then we went to the boarding schools where they sponsor tuition for another 40 or so children and did similar.
After we wrapped up at the schools we went to go "take snaps" (as Adrianna likes to say) of the students homes in three different slums. Each of them were just as awful of living conditions as the last. The first row of slums that we went to were alongside the river where extremely steep cement slopes caught me off balance on a number of times and almost sent me and my camera gear tumbling into the Hooghly. There is literally nothing to stop you from falling in the water if you misplace a step walking out of your front door, say you step eight inches instead of the six inches that make up the flat cement walkway you would soon be taking a bath in the muck and myre at the bottom of the thirty foot embankment. The students homes along the embankment can't really be referred to as houses. Homes? Yes. Houses? No. When we arrived it we saw a line of black tarps, clear sheets of plastic, and old vinyl signs seemingly hanging with no support about a mile long. No bricks. No wood. No cement. Thick bamboo poles, ropes, and twine were the only thing holding the plastic tents up and together. People were everywhere and we couldn't make out where one structure ended and the next began. Small holes served as doors and cardboard or rice straw served as carpet over bare ground, although some were lucky enough to have cement poured half-hazardly on the floor of their shack, none of which were larger than 7 feet long or wide. We talked to the parents, siblings, aunts, and uncles of the students who welcomed us into their homes which were shared by the entire family with open arms. I was lucky enough for them to let me take pictures with them and their patience and excitement was almost as overwhelming as the sight of eight people crammed under a four foot tall tarp.
The second slum we visited was near by, where the railway into Kolkata runs alongside the river separated by a road and a row of shops selling everything from snacks to flowers to Hindu prayer beads. We made our way through a small pathway between two shops and found ourselves in a different world. Along both sides of the railway track were the familiar structures found in the last slum. A mix of tarps and vinyl signs suspended by bamboo poles and tied together with small bits of string and rope. Some families had split bamboo roofs or bits of wood planks for walls and even more some had small brick "fences", about two or three high to keep out the water during monsoon season. Another warm welcome and exchange of smiles, bows, and the Hindu tradition of respect of touching ones feet then your own head and I felt like I was at home the people of the slum laughed and joked with us while our translators helped us from feeling like we were invading too much personal space, although to be honest I still can't help but feel more than a little invasive about the whole ordeal even though we were assured we weren't. The homes at the second slum bordered the railroad tracks by about three feet on either side. And I thought out-loud, "Surely trains don't still run on these tracks do they?"
"Of course they do! Why wouldn't they?"
It wasn't really the response I was expecting, in fact my question had been quite hypothetical before the answer. Children as young as two or three were walking, running, playing, shouting, and dancing on the tracks and men were pushing old rusty bicycles right down the center of the track to avoid running over a neighbors rope holding their roof in place.
Then the unimaginable happened. First a low rumble, then the ground shook, everyone, even the children, calmly stepped off the tracks and between huts to let the passing steed of steel and grinding gears pass. As it did it blew the tarps and rope with hurricane strength gusts which I could have sworn would have ripped the roofs right off the old huts. But they held up and as the train went past people went back to doing what they had been as if nothing happened. Girls strung flowers together in garlands and boys threw rocks down the track. Men tended to the stove or mixed cement with straw to patch a part of their fence while women carried water or hemmed the ends of their sari's. We chatted a little longer with the women of the tracks then made our way to the days last destination.
The third and final slum that we went to was near the Howrah Bridge and just down the road from the world famous Kolkata flower market, which Emily and I visited in the beginning of October. We walked past this vast stretch of tarps and twine and I had absolutely no idea it could serve as a home, let alone to so many people. These structures again were similar to the last ones with the exception that they were built along a tall cement wall on a sidewalk and spilled out into the tiny street, which for Kolkata had a surprisingly small amount of traffic. Goods carriages, three-wheeled delivery vans, rickshaws, and bicycle carts packed the side of the road and the spaces where you could see in between vehicles men and women stood or sat and mingled while naked children, wearing nothing but a chord and stone around their tiny waist, clung tightly to the edge of their longhi or sari. Another warm welcome and we walked from home to home and where we were greeted similarly with handshakes, hugs, smiles, and "Namaste"s. Two women invited me into their home to have a look and as I ducked through the door and turned to the right I couldn't see anything but their beaming eyes so proud of their home, not only because I couldn't take my eyes off of them but because the three of us took up the entire room. I couldn't see around them to make out what the back wall looked like but I knew the second woman had her back to it the same way I had mine against the wall facing hers, both of our shoulders touched the two side walls and I had to hunch over in fear of doing irreversible damage to their roof. I looked around and saw two pots, a serving spoon, a calendar, some scrap wood, and a doll with half a head of hair and made the assumption (again just an assumption but I'd say it's pretty accurate) that these were their family's only possessions.
As I walked out a little boy grabbed my hand and led me to an upturned cart with an axle once holding two bicycle wheels that at one point had been attached to the back of a bicycle cart known as a van. He showed me his "room" with pride. He pointed to the bits of scrap paper adorning the walls and my heart couldn't help but break a little more than it's stretching point. He was beautiful with dirty black hair, a light Indian complexion, dark brown eyes, and a smile that wouldn't stop.
Another couple that we met here were the grandparents of one of the students CR sponsors who is living and studying in a boarding school about a forty-minute walk from the slum. Both were very old and very sick but still made it out of their home to greet us and welcome us with pride. The boy was orphaned when he was very young and the grandparents, who are both too old to work (but still manage to make it, God knows how), raise him and love him as their own. They didn't have any pictures of him but I had met him earlier in the day and he was a quiet little ball of joy that was as anxious to have his picture taken as any child would be standing in line at Disneyland.
There's a saying that's been pounding in my head all day, "Let's make this house a home." or something along those lines. In an area where houses are all but non-existent I found the true definition of home, about a thousand of them. It's hard to explain but I feel as though these people have such a richer, truer sense of community and family than I would ever be able to experience anywhere else and I was only with them for a few hours. These people need each other and rely on their neighbors and the other people who no one else will care about to care for each other and that is a beautiful thing. If there is only one, then that is the only beautiful thing.
I would think that seeing these slums would make me miserably depressed, disgusted, sad, angry, or at least give me some sort of negative feeling, but in fact it's done the opposite. I had one of the best days of my entire life because I swear to you I saw Jesus today. I saw God in every one of those people that I met and in the communities that I so briefly visited. I'm not naive enough to think I know or could even imagine how these people live their day to day lives or that I know the true struggles that they go through but I do know from what I saw that it's a completely different level of poverty and suffering than I have ever seen in any magazine or news story but each blow is seemingly met with a smile even as every day must be a struggle to survive (again an assumption, but how could it not be?). I don't know if any of them were "christians" or not, I don't think many of them were being that this is primarily a Hindu city, but I do know that these people know God. The one true God of love and peace, the one that resides in everything in all of creation, from the yellow leaves falling in Autumn on the west coast to the pink clouds that come with the setting sun to the lines in the Indian dirt. I felt him stronger in the handshakes that I received today than I ever have and I know that he lives inside these people.
Again, I'm not trying to tell anyone to think like me, I don't think I have it figured out. Today I was again surprised at how much I changed from the time I woke up to the time I'm writing this. I don't want to offend, convert, upset, or brainwash anyone who reads this. I just want to let you know about the amazing day I had and hopefully get your brain ticking a little bit. About what? I don't even know. Please please please if you read this and want to ask me anything about it or correct me or tell me off do it. I want to learn from whoever is reading this as much as I learned from the people I met today. These are only my thoughts and impressions and I'm not trying to claim any sort of truth. I'm just trying to find it.
I love you.
-Heath
Well look at your eyes, they're small in size, but they see enormous things...
...But I'm so afraid and I'm set in my ways,
Well He'll make the rabbits and rocks sing His praise...
...But I'm so tired, I won't last long,
Well He'll use the weak to overcome the strong...
...Though all that we eat brings us little relief,
we don't know quite what else to do, we have all our beliefs,
but we don't want our beliefs,
G-d of peace, we want You.
-mewithoutyYou
I've been having a quite a strange string of coincidences all relating directly to St. John of the Cross. Not like reading his name a couple of times coincidences but having multiple extremely difficult/deep/spiritual/whatever-you-want-to-call-it discussions that all end in talking about him then pulling his name out of a hat containing over 200 saints names. There's no doubt in my mind that God is trying to tell me something, the only hard part is figuring out exactly what it is. I can't find any of his books here and all I've really been able to find out about him is what I've found on Wikipedia. If anyone who reads this happens to be an expert on The Dark Night of the Soul, The Ascent of Mt. Carmel or knows anything about St. John of the cross it would be greatly greatly appreciated.
Today was quite an eventful day, to start it off our dear friend from Seattle, Lizzy, left today. She was the one who surprised Michelle, Emily, and I by sitting in our hotel lobby the day we got here without us even knowing that she was in India. We all grew very close to Lizzy while she was here and it was very hard to choke back the tears as we were walking back to our hotel from motherhouse this morning after mass. She is an incredible girl with a heart made of pure gold and with enough laughter to drown a clown. She is simple, easy, lucky, free, and beautiful and I am so so so thankful that I got to spend so much time with her the past two months.
After the tears I went and met with Adrianna to go take photos for a different organization called Calcutta Rescue. This is another amazing opportunity that I think only Kolkata could possibly offer. Calcutta Rescue is a non-profit NGO that was started more than 20 years ago by a doctor, Dr. Jack, traveling through Kolkata. While he was here he started giving free treatments to people living in the slums and on the streets out of the back of an old jeep, he loved it so much that he decided to keep doing it permanently, and now it has grown to have about five medical clinics, a certified fair-trade handicraft workshop, a leprosy clinic, and two schools. A few weeks ago I met Charlotte, the administrator for CR and asked if they needed any photography work done and that I would be here for another month or so and her response was, "Of course! We always need photographers!"
Exciting to say the least.
So Adrianna, the education director of CR, and I headed to School 1 to take photos of their children participating in a drawing/painting contest that is going to be displayed in galleries in England, New York, Switzerland, and even in many European Hard Rock Cafes. We got to the school and for the most part it was all smooth sailing. Very strange for Kolkata. We took photos of about 75 children with their artwork and I took some photos of the classrooms so they can update their website and then we went to the boarding schools where they sponsor tuition for another 40 or so children and did similar.
After we wrapped up at the schools we went to go "take snaps" (as Adrianna likes to say) of the students homes in three different slums. Each of them were just as awful of living conditions as the last. The first row of slums that we went to were alongside the river where extremely steep cement slopes caught me off balance on a number of times and almost sent me and my camera gear tumbling into the Hooghly. There is literally nothing to stop you from falling in the water if you misplace a step walking out of your front door, say you step eight inches instead of the six inches that make up the flat cement walkway you would soon be taking a bath in the muck and myre at the bottom of the thirty foot embankment. The students homes along the embankment can't really be referred to as houses. Homes? Yes. Houses? No. When we arrived it we saw a line of black tarps, clear sheets of plastic, and old vinyl signs seemingly hanging with no support about a mile long. No bricks. No wood. No cement. Thick bamboo poles, ropes, and twine were the only thing holding the plastic tents up and together. People were everywhere and we couldn't make out where one structure ended and the next began. Small holes served as doors and cardboard or rice straw served as carpet over bare ground, although some were lucky enough to have cement poured half-hazardly on the floor of their shack, none of which were larger than 7 feet long or wide. We talked to the parents, siblings, aunts, and uncles of the students who welcomed us into their homes which were shared by the entire family with open arms. I was lucky enough for them to let me take pictures with them and their patience and excitement was almost as overwhelming as the sight of eight people crammed under a four foot tall tarp.
The second slum we visited was near by, where the railway into Kolkata runs alongside the river separated by a road and a row of shops selling everything from snacks to flowers to Hindu prayer beads. We made our way through a small pathway between two shops and found ourselves in a different world. Along both sides of the railway track were the familiar structures found in the last slum. A mix of tarps and vinyl signs suspended by bamboo poles and tied together with small bits of string and rope. Some families had split bamboo roofs or bits of wood planks for walls and even more some had small brick "fences", about two or three high to keep out the water during monsoon season. Another warm welcome and exchange of smiles, bows, and the Hindu tradition of respect of touching ones feet then your own head and I felt like I was at home the people of the slum laughed and joked with us while our translators helped us from feeling like we were invading too much personal space, although to be honest I still can't help but feel more than a little invasive about the whole ordeal even though we were assured we weren't. The homes at the second slum bordered the railroad tracks by about three feet on either side. And I thought out-loud, "Surely trains don't still run on these tracks do they?"
"Of course they do! Why wouldn't they?"
It wasn't really the response I was expecting, in fact my question had been quite hypothetical before the answer. Children as young as two or three were walking, running, playing, shouting, and dancing on the tracks and men were pushing old rusty bicycles right down the center of the track to avoid running over a neighbors rope holding their roof in place.
Then the unimaginable happened. First a low rumble, then the ground shook, everyone, even the children, calmly stepped off the tracks and between huts to let the passing steed of steel and grinding gears pass. As it did it blew the tarps and rope with hurricane strength gusts which I could have sworn would have ripped the roofs right off the old huts. But they held up and as the train went past people went back to doing what they had been as if nothing happened. Girls strung flowers together in garlands and boys threw rocks down the track. Men tended to the stove or mixed cement with straw to patch a part of their fence while women carried water or hemmed the ends of their sari's. We chatted a little longer with the women of the tracks then made our way to the days last destination.
The third and final slum that we went to was near the Howrah Bridge and just down the road from the world famous Kolkata flower market, which Emily and I visited in the beginning of October. We walked past this vast stretch of tarps and twine and I had absolutely no idea it could serve as a home, let alone to so many people. These structures again were similar to the last ones with the exception that they were built along a tall cement wall on a sidewalk and spilled out into the tiny street, which for Kolkata had a surprisingly small amount of traffic. Goods carriages, three-wheeled delivery vans, rickshaws, and bicycle carts packed the side of the road and the spaces where you could see in between vehicles men and women stood or sat and mingled while naked children, wearing nothing but a chord and stone around their tiny waist, clung tightly to the edge of their longhi or sari. Another warm welcome and we walked from home to home and where we were greeted similarly with handshakes, hugs, smiles, and "Namaste"s. Two women invited me into their home to have a look and as I ducked through the door and turned to the right I couldn't see anything but their beaming eyes so proud of their home, not only because I couldn't take my eyes off of them but because the three of us took up the entire room. I couldn't see around them to make out what the back wall looked like but I knew the second woman had her back to it the same way I had mine against the wall facing hers, both of our shoulders touched the two side walls and I had to hunch over in fear of doing irreversible damage to their roof. I looked around and saw two pots, a serving spoon, a calendar, some scrap wood, and a doll with half a head of hair and made the assumption (again just an assumption but I'd say it's pretty accurate) that these were their family's only possessions.
As I walked out a little boy grabbed my hand and led me to an upturned cart with an axle once holding two bicycle wheels that at one point had been attached to the back of a bicycle cart known as a van. He showed me his "room" with pride. He pointed to the bits of scrap paper adorning the walls and my heart couldn't help but break a little more than it's stretching point. He was beautiful with dirty black hair, a light Indian complexion, dark brown eyes, and a smile that wouldn't stop.
Another couple that we met here were the grandparents of one of the students CR sponsors who is living and studying in a boarding school about a forty-minute walk from the slum. Both were very old and very sick but still made it out of their home to greet us and welcome us with pride. The boy was orphaned when he was very young and the grandparents, who are both too old to work (but still manage to make it, God knows how), raise him and love him as their own. They didn't have any pictures of him but I had met him earlier in the day and he was a quiet little ball of joy that was as anxious to have his picture taken as any child would be standing in line at Disneyland.
There's a saying that's been pounding in my head all day, "Let's make this house a home." or something along those lines. In an area where houses are all but non-existent I found the true definition of home, about a thousand of them. It's hard to explain but I feel as though these people have such a richer, truer sense of community and family than I would ever be able to experience anywhere else and I was only with them for a few hours. These people need each other and rely on their neighbors and the other people who no one else will care about to care for each other and that is a beautiful thing. If there is only one, then that is the only beautiful thing.
I would think that seeing these slums would make me miserably depressed, disgusted, sad, angry, or at least give me some sort of negative feeling, but in fact it's done the opposite. I had one of the best days of my entire life because I swear to you I saw Jesus today. I saw God in every one of those people that I met and in the communities that I so briefly visited. I'm not naive enough to think I know or could even imagine how these people live their day to day lives or that I know the true struggles that they go through but I do know from what I saw that it's a completely different level of poverty and suffering than I have ever seen in any magazine or news story but each blow is seemingly met with a smile even as every day must be a struggle to survive (again an assumption, but how could it not be?). I don't know if any of them were "christians" or not, I don't think many of them were being that this is primarily a Hindu city, but I do know that these people know God. The one true God of love and peace, the one that resides in everything in all of creation, from the yellow leaves falling in Autumn on the west coast to the pink clouds that come with the setting sun to the lines in the Indian dirt. I felt him stronger in the handshakes that I received today than I ever have and I know that he lives inside these people.
Again, I'm not trying to tell anyone to think like me, I don't think I have it figured out. Today I was again surprised at how much I changed from the time I woke up to the time I'm writing this. I don't want to offend, convert, upset, or brainwash anyone who reads this. I just want to let you know about the amazing day I had and hopefully get your brain ticking a little bit. About what? I don't even know. Please please please if you read this and want to ask me anything about it or correct me or tell me off do it. I want to learn from whoever is reading this as much as I learned from the people I met today. These are only my thoughts and impressions and I'm not trying to claim any sort of truth. I'm just trying to find it.
I love you.
-Heath
Sunday, November 1, 2009
In your hurt, you heal others.
When you're in need you give.
Because of you, I am living.
The most that I can live.
Remember me, don't forget me.
I have something true.
My path is dark, my steps uncertain.
Unless I walk with you.
-Ben Kweller
Happy Halloweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen to everyone in the country that knows how to scare the crap out of little children! I had another one of those, "Oh My GOOOOD! Best Day Ever!!!!!"'s yesterday.
In a country that knows how to throw a celebration, (I.E. Diwali constant puja's and everything else that the 'poorest of the poor' are constantly celebrating) we figured we'd have no problem finding a suitable, atleast mediocre, Halloween Party, the first real American holiday to pass since we've been in India. Who would have known how wrong we were? We stumbled upon/ were invited to the most amazing Halloween Party that Kolkata has ever seen, probably not that hard of a statistic to prove but I'll save that for another time.
One of the people that I have grown very close to since being in India is my fellow volunteer Ashley. Ashley's been here a little bit longer than the girls and I have and works at Kalighat with me in the mornings. Every day me and Ashley are on the roof of Nirmal Hriday laying out soaked pairs of green cotton pants, mismatched dresses, faded red shirts, and an assortment of blankets, towels, and rags (all made from fabric made at Titigahr, Momma T's home for the lepers of Kolkata). Ashley is here as part of a service learning program at school where she does service work in the morning and Bengali language classes in the afternoon. About the second or third day of October I was approached by Ashley and asked if I would come to a Halloween Party if she were to set one up with her host family. I said I would be much obliged and would then proceed to invite every volunteer that I could get my grubby little party hands on. Now keep in mind this was about a week and a half after we arrived in Kolkata and Halloween seemed like ages away, still the prospect of something truly American like Halloween was more than appealing.
The days past and ideas for venues came and went until earlier this week when Ashley announced that she had found the perfect venue for our shindig at a family friend of her host family. She went to check out their house and said that the roof would be perfect and that they had a pretty big house so we could crash over in case the buses and metros were closed by the time the party was dying down, which they were.
Finally like a brush of cool autumn air (Which I miss eternally) All Hollow's eve was upon us and it started better than most days because when I got to breakfast at Mother house there was a nice little box waiting for me with United States Postal Service stickers pasted all over. I've been patiently waiting in anticipation for this box of goodies since my mom told me she sent it way back in September. Filled with candy, chips, CANDY CORN (to the amazement of our French Amis they do not contain any corn besides of course high fructose corn syrup), and the new Dan Brown book that my mom had recently told me had come out (Sorry mom, but I already read it a few weeks ago and probably paid a lot less for it, but it shows that you know me so well!).
We ventured off to the party at about 8 o'clock and when we got there we really couldn't believe what we were seeing. We walked in the front gate, gaurded by an elderly security gaurd who didn't seem to be as surprised at our outfits as everyone on the subway had (I mean, what on earth are a bunch of white kids doing dressed up as a cat, an indian man, a soccer ball, and an array of brightly colored 10 cent masks?). We made our way up the wide marble staircase that greeted us in the entry of the house and were all convinced that no amount of decoration could have made this giant labyrinth of a house any creepier. Sure that we had walked into the wrong house we finally found a trail of orange and black streamers leading us up a second, even more frightening staircase where we finally found our way to the roof.
The roof was three times the size of the roof of our hotel, where we are used to having these sorts of get-togethers and decorated with at least three dozen hand-painted skeletons, pumpkins, and numerous other Halloween themed paraphernalia that had been meticulously painted by an artist hired by our party hosts all day and during the evening to paint on Halloween themed temporary tattoos. The regular party shindigs applied with the exception of the generosity of this family constantly bringing Mishtis (Bengali sweets that are world famous and sweeter than sugar) and refreshments around via the hired help for the night. What a strange way to usher in one of our favorite holidays! Being waited on hand and foot for an evening in Kolkata! I do have to say that the contrast between doing laundry on the roof of Kalighat that morning and being served sweets on the roof of a mansion the very same evening was quite stark to say the least, but we made the most of it because who knows when something like this will happen again? Oh yeah I do know, NEVER! We let the party dwindle into the wee hours of the morning, again strange in a city where a late night for me is 10:30, and were told that if we found an open bed in the house to take it, and let me say there was no shortage of open beds in the house every door that was opened seemed to lead to another hallway stretching in an opposite direction.
I decided to take this morning off of work to do something that I've been wanting to do for the past couple of weeks, walk from where we were (very close to Kalighat) back to where we stay on Sudder St., mostly to get a different perspective than the one of the back of the bus driver's head that I am so used to by now. I don't really know how far the walk was in km (and definitely not in miles!) but it took be about two hours of walking at a brisk pace. I got to see the city of joy in a new light. Removed from the tourist section of town, and the rickshaw wallah's, hash dealers, taxi drivers, and vendors selling every useless thing under the sun, it was a beautiful walk. I heard constant, "Good Mornings", "Hellos", and salutations of all sorts. I stopped briefly and talked to every cheery shopkeeper, chai slinger, and child of the street that would have a short conversation and it opened my eyes even wider than they have been. I was amazed that this city could still throw me some wicked curveballs in the form of some of the friendliest people I had ever met. All pleased with giving this passerby a simple head-nod or whisper of "Namaste" instead of trying to take my soul out via my cotton wallet, which was empty at this point anyways. Leading me to another interesting tid-bit about my morning, forgetting to buy a bottle of mineral water before leaving on a two-hour walk was one of the dumbest brainfarts that I've had recently.
Deciding between Dehydration and an afternoon spent getting rid of traveller's diarrhea is one of the toughest decisions that I've made since being in Kolkata. I made my way to the line for the handpump well and pumped while two women dressed in colorful sari's filled water bottles for their journey. When it came my turn a little boy without shoes or a shirt ran over and started pumping with all his might while I splashed water on my face and cupped my hands for my first sip of water from the Hooghly. Refreshing, but doubtful that it carries the mystic and holy powers that the people of this city believe it has, mostly because I've spent the rest of my afternoon alternating between laying in bed and making trips to the bathroom. Oh well, I have nothing that could possibly cause me to complain at this current moment, because frankly, I'm living the good life. I have friends and a family (consisting of roughly 250 sisters and one father) in this 'wretched' city and am making more and more everyday.
I'm sorry for the novel that I just posted but I hope that if you've made it all the way through it that you have at least let a smile slide across your lips.
I love you all.
Because of you, I am living.
The most that I can live.
Remember me, don't forget me.
I have something true.
My path is dark, my steps uncertain.
Unless I walk with you.
-Ben Kweller
Happy Halloweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen to everyone in the country that knows how to scare the crap out of little children! I had another one of those, "Oh My GOOOOD! Best Day Ever!!!!!"'s yesterday.
In a country that knows how to throw a celebration, (I.E. Diwali constant puja's and everything else that the 'poorest of the poor' are constantly celebrating) we figured we'd have no problem finding a suitable, atleast mediocre, Halloween Party, the first real American holiday to pass since we've been in India. Who would have known how wrong we were? We stumbled upon/ were invited to the most amazing Halloween Party that Kolkata has ever seen, probably not that hard of a statistic to prove but I'll save that for another time.
One of the people that I have grown very close to since being in India is my fellow volunteer Ashley. Ashley's been here a little bit longer than the girls and I have and works at Kalighat with me in the mornings. Every day me and Ashley are on the roof of Nirmal Hriday laying out soaked pairs of green cotton pants, mismatched dresses, faded red shirts, and an assortment of blankets, towels, and rags (all made from fabric made at Titigahr, Momma T's home for the lepers of Kolkata). Ashley is here as part of a service learning program at school where she does service work in the morning and Bengali language classes in the afternoon. About the second or third day of October I was approached by Ashley and asked if I would come to a Halloween Party if she were to set one up with her host family. I said I would be much obliged and would then proceed to invite every volunteer that I could get my grubby little party hands on. Now keep in mind this was about a week and a half after we arrived in Kolkata and Halloween seemed like ages away, still the prospect of something truly American like Halloween was more than appealing.
The days past and ideas for venues came and went until earlier this week when Ashley announced that she had found the perfect venue for our shindig at a family friend of her host family. She went to check out their house and said that the roof would be perfect and that they had a pretty big house so we could crash over in case the buses and metros were closed by the time the party was dying down, which they were.
Finally like a brush of cool autumn air (Which I miss eternally) All Hollow's eve was upon us and it started better than most days because when I got to breakfast at Mother house there was a nice little box waiting for me with United States Postal Service stickers pasted all over. I've been patiently waiting in anticipation for this box of goodies since my mom told me she sent it way back in September. Filled with candy, chips, CANDY CORN (to the amazement of our French Amis they do not contain any corn besides of course high fructose corn syrup), and the new Dan Brown book that my mom had recently told me had come out (Sorry mom, but I already read it a few weeks ago and probably paid a lot less for it, but it shows that you know me so well!).
We ventured off to the party at about 8 o'clock and when we got there we really couldn't believe what we were seeing. We walked in the front gate, gaurded by an elderly security gaurd who didn't seem to be as surprised at our outfits as everyone on the subway had (I mean, what on earth are a bunch of white kids doing dressed up as a cat, an indian man, a soccer ball, and an array of brightly colored 10 cent masks?). We made our way up the wide marble staircase that greeted us in the entry of the house and were all convinced that no amount of decoration could have made this giant labyrinth of a house any creepier. Sure that we had walked into the wrong house we finally found a trail of orange and black streamers leading us up a second, even more frightening staircase where we finally found our way to the roof.
The roof was three times the size of the roof of our hotel, where we are used to having these sorts of get-togethers and decorated with at least three dozen hand-painted skeletons, pumpkins, and numerous other Halloween themed paraphernalia that had been meticulously painted by an artist hired by our party hosts all day and during the evening to paint on Halloween themed temporary tattoos. The regular party shindigs applied with the exception of the generosity of this family constantly bringing Mishtis (Bengali sweets that are world famous and sweeter than sugar) and refreshments around via the hired help for the night. What a strange way to usher in one of our favorite holidays! Being waited on hand and foot for an evening in Kolkata! I do have to say that the contrast between doing laundry on the roof of Kalighat that morning and being served sweets on the roof of a mansion the very same evening was quite stark to say the least, but we made the most of it because who knows when something like this will happen again? Oh yeah I do know, NEVER! We let the party dwindle into the wee hours of the morning, again strange in a city where a late night for me is 10:30, and were told that if we found an open bed in the house to take it, and let me say there was no shortage of open beds in the house every door that was opened seemed to lead to another hallway stretching in an opposite direction.
I decided to take this morning off of work to do something that I've been wanting to do for the past couple of weeks, walk from where we were (very close to Kalighat) back to where we stay on Sudder St., mostly to get a different perspective than the one of the back of the bus driver's head that I am so used to by now. I don't really know how far the walk was in km (and definitely not in miles!) but it took be about two hours of walking at a brisk pace. I got to see the city of joy in a new light. Removed from the tourist section of town, and the rickshaw wallah's, hash dealers, taxi drivers, and vendors selling every useless thing under the sun, it was a beautiful walk. I heard constant, "Good Mornings", "Hellos", and salutations of all sorts. I stopped briefly and talked to every cheery shopkeeper, chai slinger, and child of the street that would have a short conversation and it opened my eyes even wider than they have been. I was amazed that this city could still throw me some wicked curveballs in the form of some of the friendliest people I had ever met. All pleased with giving this passerby a simple head-nod or whisper of "Namaste" instead of trying to take my soul out via my cotton wallet, which was empty at this point anyways. Leading me to another interesting tid-bit about my morning, forgetting to buy a bottle of mineral water before leaving on a two-hour walk was one of the dumbest brainfarts that I've had recently.
Deciding between Dehydration and an afternoon spent getting rid of traveller's diarrhea is one of the toughest decisions that I've made since being in Kolkata. I made my way to the line for the handpump well and pumped while two women dressed in colorful sari's filled water bottles for their journey. When it came my turn a little boy without shoes or a shirt ran over and started pumping with all his might while I splashed water on my face and cupped my hands for my first sip of water from the Hooghly. Refreshing, but doubtful that it carries the mystic and holy powers that the people of this city believe it has, mostly because I've spent the rest of my afternoon alternating between laying in bed and making trips to the bathroom. Oh well, I have nothing that could possibly cause me to complain at this current moment, because frankly, I'm living the good life. I have friends and a family (consisting of roughly 250 sisters and one father) in this 'wretched' city and am making more and more everyday.
I'm sorry for the novel that I just posted but I hope that if you've made it all the way through it that you have at least let a smile slide across your lips.
I love you all.
Monday, October 26, 2009
If they ask me what i need,
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
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 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
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