Journeys

Indian city life has come to an end. I am giving my body some much needed exercise (it's difficult to move around when it is 40+ with 95% humidity), and my mind some much needed rest. Thank goodness for safe journeys, incredible experiences, and amazing new friends.

I was determined to get to Delhi's airport without the help of a taxi. This last adventure involved wandering the city streets for 2 hours looking for the airport shuttle bus, eventually taking two separate city buses to a place 5 km from the airport, to be assisted by two young waiters I met on the bus. They carried my bags for me and flagged down rickshaws, bargaining fiercely on my behalf. I was down to my last 40 rupees, and the best deal we could find was a 60 rupee ride, so they supplemented my meager funds with 20 rupees out of their minimal daily wage. They wouldn't let me refuse. They had made it their mission to get this foreigner back to wherever he came from. Thanks to Rahul and Jack I made my flight.

Now time to process everything that happened over the past 5 months.

24 hours and 1446 km from Kolkata to Delhi.

40 hours exploring Delhi and staying in a box in Camran Lodge.

24 hours in airplanes and airports traveling over 12,000 km to arrive on a sunny afternoon at Lake Joseph.

Transitioning from some of the largest cities in South Asia to cottage country Ontario is bewildering. I awoke at 3 am on my first night, having no idea where I was. I looked out the window and saw stars reflected on a glassy lake surface between pine branches and all I could think of was "....Magic land?" Those were actually the words that came to mind.

Goodbye India.

Song and Dance

A highlight for me at Daya Dan was every moment I got to play Sister Christelata's guitar with the children gathered around. Raju particularly enjoyed shaking around and dancing to "Under African Skies" by Paul Simon. Puja and Pompa really enjoyed grabbing the guitar from me and hitting the strings with their small fingers. But at the end of my time at Daya Dan and the Gandhi Centre, it was me who was being sung to. The "we miss you Uncle" song is still slightly stuck in my head. If I haven't mentioned it before, Uncle and Auntie are the respective names for male and female volunteers.

Time has flown and these days of wrapping everything up have been incredibly hectic. Final goodbye dinners and parties with other volunteers and children, final errands, and packing my life into 40 litres of backpack to lug back to Canada, all within a matter of days.

Anyhow, Just thought I'd let you know how I was doing. This internet cafe is closing, and I'm catching a bus to the train station in 8 hours for the 24 hour ride to Delhi. Talk to ya later.

A Different World

On Eli's last day (last Thursday), we visited the Leper colony with a group of volunteers from the Missionaries of Charity. The warmth and joy we encountered, among what are some of the most rejected people on Earth, was astounding. Simply shaking their withered hands, or offering them a "Namaste" and a smile brought such wonderful reponses. In a traditional Indian greeting, Eli touched a man's wounded feet and brought his hand to his forehead out of respect. Immediately the man exclaimed, "OH BABUUU!!!", and a string of phrases essentially telling us he was unworthy of such respect. He grabbed Eli's arm and blessed us with his massive smile. This was a beautiful moment. If anyone is worthy of such respect, that man is.

I went to a different Kolkata on the weekend. An old friend of my Aunt is an Indian man named Ratul. I will spare you the ridiculous story of how I got connected to him, but I phoned him up on Saturday and he invited me out on Sunday. I had no idea what I was in for. I was welcomed into his home like I was family, invited to stay the night, and experienced a wild night out with my new friend. We went to "Shisha," which is basically the most glamourous night club in the city. As the title may have hinted, it was a different world to the Kolkata that I know. It was a "quiet" night at the club, as it was a Sunday; however, there was a party sponsored by one of Kolkata's biggest newspaper's, and only the coolest people were invited. I was the lone tall, bearded, white guy, dressed in sneakers and jeans (which is pretty dressed up for me these days!), in a crowd of India's top fashion designers, Bollywood writers, journalists, and even the CEO of the championship winning Cricket Team. It was ridiculous. I wouldn't have a clue what to do in that sort of a crowd in Canada, let alone in India. Indian men to begin with are far more stylish than I will ever be. This crowd made me feel like a newborn pidgeon in a peacock's nest.

But Ratul warmly showed me around, introducing me to everyone, and encouraging me to drink and eat whatever I wanted, as it was all on the house! I have to admit, that part of the evening is probably what thrilled me the most. They had hummous! Real hummous. (And a million other fantastic foods). And who is going to turn down free beer? Even if you are Tim Martin, that's just a plain old good deal. I also figured it couldn't make me feel any less awkward, right?

This kind of a party would be a shock to my system in everyday life. But coming from an average day spent with handicapped orphans, street children, and cheap backpackers, I cannot communicate how this felt. I'm sorry. I wish I could.

A man for the job

Kolkata is fascinating. In its multitudes of faces, religions, and ways I am humbled each day. Whether it is my inability to properly make beds, teach simplified English, or spoon feed someone, there are always moments to remind me that I am just a silly little human. It is interesting when your heart becomes filled with the joy that comes from experiencing love. The first couple of children at Daya Dan have actually asked me my name, rather than the usual "uncle" title that I've had so far. Eli and I have also had a few moments of playing guitars for the children there, many of whom can only shake their arms as a form of dancing, or just hold a peaceful smile. Raju is a particularly frustrated boy at times, who has an obvious love for music. Seeing him try to literally stick his face into a guitar, or just hold a prolonged look of happiness is a beautiful thing. But it comes down to moments like my class at the Gandhi School today, when I totally failed at my lesson with the kids. It wasn't interesting, they weren't listening, and no one really seemed to benefit. Another reminder that I am not necessarily THE man for the job. But I'm gonna keep going for these next two weeks because this is where I've found myself. Not the perfect teacher, definitely not the most patient, but a man for the job. I happen to be here, and these kids happen to be without opportunities for education. But in reality, I think my job is the employment of loving kids that need to be loved. Hopefully I get better at my job. Eli is leaving in a couple of days, and without his constant support and our uplifting mini-community, I will try to connect with the multitudes of other great volunteers who are around. We got a new shipment of volunteers in this week. Should be fun. I'm gonna miss Eli, he's just a plain old good guy.
I'm out of time on this internet session. Gotta roll out.

Kolkata.

Here we are. For those of you with short attention spans, I apologize because I really feel the need to explain what life is like right now, and all that has happened. I can try to point-form it, which will go against everything inside of my English major self.

April 17. Wake up at 5:30, grab a 6 hour bus to Delhi. At 4, hop on the Delhi-Kolkata 24 hour train. Meet cool people hanging out in sleeper class.
April 18. Arrive at Howrah station. First blurred view of Kolkata through the windows of a taxi. Meet some Sisters at the Missionaries of Charity, get directed to an area called "Sudder St." (Our new home).
April 19. Volunteer Orientation with the Missionaries of Charity. Head to a Cricket match (Kolkata vs. Mumbai) with Felix and Sean (two Canadians from the train ride). Kolkata wins!
April 20. First day volunteering. Wake up at 5:30 after getting home from Cricket at 1 am. Head to Mass with the nuns, volunteer breakfast, bus down through the city to Daya Dan in the morning. Daya Dan is an orphanage mostly for children with physical and mental disabilities. Have lunch. Head to Kalighat (Home for the Destitute and the Dying in South Kolkata) to work from 3-6 pm. Head home for dinner.

So needless to say, after day 1 we were exhausted. The trick is going to bed early, and skipping mass when you're tired. But any way you cut it, they are long days. Last week I was working at Daya Dan and Kalighat with Eli. I have now started teaching at the Gandhi Welfare Centre in the afternoons, which is a school run for street children. The kids are hilarious but crazy. I switched there because they are really short on volunteers, whereas many people want to work at Kalighat because it was the first home started by Mother Teresa.

Daya Dan is a beautiful place. There are two sisters there who just glow with joy and love for the kids. We make beds, do laundry, and Eli and I teach a class with 4-5 girls. I normally teach Pompa and Sonia, while Eli teaches Puja and Gungun. Gungun is non-verbal and more severely
handicapped and really just loves to smile, play with toys, and make everyone laugh. After class we feed the kids, many of whom cannot feed themselves. But they have such vibrant personalities. Raju is a boy I've hung out with a bit. He has such an attitude, but if you dance around shaking his arms and making funny faces he'll totally crack a smile.

Kalighat has a pretty heavy atmosphere. It is a profound experience to work there as you essentially become a servant for dying men. They still have great dignity and there is a wonderful mutual respect between many of the men, volunteers and sisters there. I was left feeling quite useless there as I have no nursing training, I can't speak Bengali or Hindi, and I was the new guy. But I'm glad I had a week there.

The Gandhi School has 70 students, all of whom leave class (a mat laid out on the floor), and walk into their home, the street. Some of the students have families. None of the students are accustomed to having to sit still in a classroom environment. To get to the school on Monday (yesterday), I was told to go to Central station and walk west. After asking around I eventually noticed a sign on a chicken coop denoting "The Gandhi Welfare Centre - Missionaries of Charity." I walked in behind the caged area, in between a slum area of huts and a small building. I wondered where I was headed. After only about 10-15 steps however, a women sitting outside a door motioned for me to go inside this plain steel door. Hmm. Sure enough, when I went through I saw a couple of mats on the floor, a couple groups of children huddled around with little slates and pieces of chalk, and Alberto - a Spanish volunteer who is now my colleague I suppose.

The first week flew by, and I am so amazed that this is what our life looks like right now. We sleep in Modern Lodge, take city buses/subway to these various homes, hang out with other great volunteers on Sudder St., and we spend time with tons of cool children. Kolkata is a fun city. We are surrounded by interesting places to walk around, cheap restaurants, and about 15 million people. I am being humbled a lot. I find myself accustomed to the harsh realities of life here, and the book "City of Joy" helps put things back in perspective. The heat and humidity are becoming more bearable, or maybe it's because this internet cafe is air conditioned.

Donkey and Ogre

We have reached the end of our time together as 28 studious nomads: wandering India, learning together, sleeping in hot afternoon classes, and pulling all-nighters on our final essays, simply because Rajasthan actually cools down at night. It is actually quite strange. The way that I have experienced India so far has been in this tribe of Canadian students, finding the balance between studies and exploring, immersion in the culture and getting to know my fellow group members, and Indian food and western imitations. Now it will just be donkey and ogre; Kusco and Pacha; Bambi and that little skunk; off on another whirlwind adventure. Out of those dynamic Disney duos, I will leave it to you, dear reader, to decide which is Eli and which character I will be.

Last night was a final dinner party with all of our host families, professors, and of course, Chris and Mithila. We also had a final meeting just as a group together earlier in the day, as well as a final Ultimate game on the Cricket pitch of Rajasthan University. I'm going to miss those games. For the record, my team won the last game. It was a big deal. I think Matt Stock is currently losing sleep over it. The final days as a group have been great. We had an "awards" ceremony where people were awarded "best potential rickshaw driver's" (Olivia and Abra), "best facial hair" (Remy), and "Most likely to be a stray Indian dog" (Peter)...and other such awards. We wrote our final exams, finished our independent study papers, and began to get excited for everyone's different upcoming journeys. Some are going up north, some back south, some to Nepal or east Asia, but we'll all end up back in Canada, and I'll probably bump into most people at the Bull Ring or somewhere in the library in a few months. This shared experience is over, and it won't ever be replicated. Certainly, it could never - and should never - be replicated. It was a once in a lifetime kind of deal.

Dear India Semester Abroad friends: Ya'll a bunch of angels. Peace and joy for your journeys, thanks for an incredible few months. See you at home.

A donkey and an ogre, on a long train to West Bengal...a new chapter begins...

"The Rural Blur"

My favourite part about the long train journeys around India is something I've entitled "The Rural Blur." Standing at the doors of the train cars (which are normally open, with the outside world shifting past)

you can get an interesting look at India "behind the scenes," so to speak. India, as it is experienced by the traveller is often full of noise, crowds, colours, and generally, urban areas. From the doorway of a cross-country train ride, you get to see rural India in the midst of its peaceful stillness. It is a rare glimpse of the side of this country I have yet to really engage with. A group of men sitting on stools, smoking "beedies" together. A mother taking her children to their small shelter for bedtime. A single incandescent bulb, a campfire, or often no light at all during the late evening activities of farming villages alongside the railroad tracks. It proves to me that there are people with peaceful, unhurried lives. The world needs more people like that. I need to be more like that. My hands grip the support bars beside the doors, I feel the wind tearing at my beard, and I watch as these tranquil scenes fly by, often listening to the second half of the Weakerthans album, "Reunion Tour" (starting with the song "Sun in an empty room"). Put that on in your headphones and see if you can picture it.

The album finishes with a song called "utilities," and it has become a kind of prayer of mine:
"Got a face full of all this weather
smirking smile of a high pressure ridge
Got more faults than the state of California
and the heart is a badly built bridge.
Seems the most I have to offer
doesn't offer much.
Make it something somebody can use.
Make this something somebody can use."

As I head to Kolkata at the end of this week, that song may be playing in my ears, and that prayer will be on my lips. In the hope that when I reach that city of 15-20 million (depending on who you ask) I may be able to recognize my faults, humble myself, and be of some use to somebody, somewhere in that hectic urban jungle. May I have ears to hear, words to speak (when necessary), but most importantly, willing hands to serve. I know Eli wants the same. I'm so glad we're doing this together.