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.