Jared and Jorgen in India

Conclusion

2010-04-12T23:20:00.000-07:00

(Jorgen) Tomorrow morning Jared and I will get on a plane and go halfway around the world. We are going to land in the west coast city of San Francisco at 7:20 on Wednesday night. Are we finally “going home” after a 3 month trip? Or are we moving our home from here in India back to California? Which question you choose makes all the difference, at least in my opinion, about the kind of experience we had here in India.

It’s a weird thought to think that you can actually get on a plane and travel to not only “another place“, but another culture, country and continent. That’s the exact venture that Jared and I undertook, however, when we left California in mid-January. Now we’ve reached the end of this adventure and we’re preparing to return.

India has proven itself to be an intense place of contrast and contradictions. We’ve been blasted by every smell, sight and sound that you can imagine. Literally every thing that you can imagine. The grotesque and stomach turning -- open sewers filled with garbage and worse. The loud and annoying -- streets crammed with hundreds of cars all honking, at the same time. The sad and heart wrenching -- little kids forced to live and beg on the street. The tasty and delicious -- freshly prepared coconut milk rice. The stunningly beautiful -- the Taj Mahal (beyond words).

In the midst of such contrast reality has shown through.

People asked me, before I left, what I was most nervous about, I always answered that I was nervous about seeing the poverty. To my surprise this did not get to me as much as I thought it would. What affected me the most were the bonds I made with people.

I had to make a choice when I was at the children’s home, whether or not to invest my heart in the people there. In testament to the grace of God he pushed me to love that place in brand new ways. I played with the kids, I made new friends, I invested myself fully in that place. And things happened. Bonds were formed. I gave what I had, as small as it was, and God multiplied it. Jared and I were remarking that this was like the little boy who gave up his small lunch so Jesus could feed the multitude.

As our time in India comes to a close I want to share a few final stories. A few weeks ago I wrote about my good friend, Rajesh. I thought of him often over our final two weeks and missed him a good bit. The day he left I gave him a small gift, because his birthday was April 1st and he would not be back by then. On April 1st Jared and I were treated to a trip into town with Daddy Mekala. He took us out to eat and we had a good time of relaxing in honor of us having completed our teaching job. As we drove back to the children’s home Jared and I talked about Rajesh and how long it had been since we had seen him. It hit me at that time just how much of a friend I felt that Rajesh was. We got back to the home and I made my way up to our room to go to bed. As I was preparing to bed down a short little guy rushed into the room beaming and gave me a monster hug -- Rajesh! He had come back for just one more day and I got to see my friend one last time.

The last story happened as we were leaving the home on Saturday morning (April 3rd). I wasn’t feeling as emotional as I thought I should be, but I let that go. In honor of our departure all of the children (roughly 130) lined up should-to-shoulder to shake our hands and say goodbye. As Jared and I walked through the line I felt the emotional weight hit me hard. I tried hard to hold back tears, I was unsuccessful. My heart was feeling because I had chosen to love.

So, as I go back to California I must honestly say that for me I am moving my home back to California. I moved away. I lived in India. I loved this place. And now God is bringing me to a new home.

I leave with a mind chock full of memories and a heart that has been stretched in new ways.

Close Friend

2010-03-20T00:06:00.000-07:00

(Jorgen) It was late January when we first drove into this then foreign compound. It was well after midnight by this time and we were still in a daze from our Delhi days and train ride. A little person came out to “meet us” which really meant that he grabbed my big duffle bag (that roughly equaled his size) and ran up to our third-floor room with it. I’m not sure we even caught his name that first night, we barely caught a glimpse of his face. In fact, the next morning, there was argument, between us, as to which one of the short guys walking around had carried the bag the night before. We eventually remembered and made a connection with him, his name was Rajesh. At that time I were able to ascertain that he a) was a former student, b) worked at the children’s home, c) was 23 years old. I have since learned that he was actually the very first child ever brought in by the Mekalas. His English was very minimal, but his attitude was awesome.

For a long while all of my interactions with him were rigid and short. For example, one time in early February he came into our room to look around. Motioning towards my camera he asked, “see pictures?” He then looked at no more than three pictures when he said, “thank you”, and darted out of the room. That was Rajesh.

I’m not sure what changed in March but something did. Whether it was me or Rajesh that changed more, I don’t know, but we started spending more time together. For example -- A couple of late-night conversations, eating dinner together, and me riding the bus he works on a few times. Rajesh and I were quickly becoming friends. This was evidenced by the conversation I told of in a recent email when he said to me, “Nawunenu, Telugu meaning close friends.” The language barrier was unable to stop the tidal wave of friendship.

However, in that same conversation he also told me that he had to head back to his village for two weeks --my last two weeks at the Children’s home. He was going to leave in just a few days. Those days passed quickly and it came to Thursday morning, the morning he was going to leave. I chose to ride the bus with him, one last time.

When I came down it looked like the bus was about ready to leave and he motioned me to hop on. However, the bus driver was running late that morning. So while Rajesh and I sat on the bus talking for awhile I gave him a picture of me that I had, which he quickly showed to the other bus attendants, just before they pulled out. Then our driver finally came and we were off. We did the normal bus run, cramming 65+ people onto a 25 passenger bus. And then, as we were passing back through the nearest town, the bus pulled over and Rajesh told me to hop off with him. We both jumped out onto the street and the bus drove on, to pick up the final few passengers down the road. Rajesh walked me over to a street vendor, offering some delicious fried goods. He ordered two dishes, and we sat down and enjoyed “Tiffin” (a word used for a light breakfast). Two friends from two very different worlds enjoying one final meal together before they separate. The bus came back and picked us up and we drove back to the school. I got off the bus and said goodbye to Rajesh, for very likely the last time here on this earth.

Goodbye is always bittersweet. But I will never forget this “close friend” English meaning Nawunenu.

Curry Culture

2010-03-18T09:02:00.000-07:00

(Jared) This is how a meal goes here (generally):
1) rice is served in large piles on plates.
2) curry(s) is served in smaller quantities on/next to the rice.
3) those partaking mix the curry in the rice (a little at a time, as they go)
4) food is transferred to mouth by way of right hand.
5) seconds are offered.
6) hands are washed.

You see, in India, rice is universal. And it isn’t just a common type of food - it IS food. By way of demonstration, the children here at the hostel eat rice three times a day. It seems that many Indians eat something else for breakfast (known as “tiffen”) -- we are served dosa (a sort of pancake), idlii (a small steamed rice-cake of the same batter), chipathi (a delicious sort of tortilla), or toast (we’re not sure if this is purely a gesture towards us, or something they eat as well) most often for breakfast.
Even so, it is rice for lunch, rice for dinner. Around the time of one of these meals a child may check if we’ve eaten, saying “you eat food?” motioning with their hand toward their mouth. I made an extraordinary discovery about their use of the word “food” the other day. Out of the blue, an older boy asked me
“You no eat food in America?”
(uh…yes we do)
“You no eat food? Only bread?”
Oh. Food, as opposed to bread. I understand.
“You mean rice? We eat rice sometimes, and bread sometimes.”

While there might be an array of dishes with the rice, there is inevitably the curry. The follow-up question to “you eat food?” is sometimes “what curry you have?” - rice and curry are assumed, and so it will be a curry with brinjal, or egg, or potato, or chicken, etc.
This understanding that rice for an Indian is food was first crystallized after Mommy Mekala treated us to some “food” while in town one day. We had spent a couple hours at the shopping mall and she asked if we were hungry. It was around lunchtime, and we said “yes.” She took us next door to a line of food stands and started purchasing. We ended up each having a fried chicken leg, a “chicken egg roll,” and a different fried something when back in the car. It was all delicious and as we drove away, I piped up, “Thank you for the lunch.” Daddy replied “You will have lunch at the house.” Oh, right…
Needless to say, we were pretty full after lunch that day.

Which witnesses to another fact of life here - generous hospitality and service. When eating dinner downstairs with children, I have sometimes been offered more curry or rice by 6 different people, turning each down before convincing them I was satisfied. It’s usually easier if a second helping is accepted first.
Just last night, we attended the inauguration of a new prayer meeting down the street - Mommy presiding. After the service, we along with a fair-sized group of the children were served food (it seems to be a given, when hosted for any sort of function like this - you will eat). When I was nearly finished with a generous helping, I was offered more rice, and refused, putting my hand up to say no thank you---I was still served two spoonfuls more. “Thank you” was all I could say.
Jorgen and I have decided that it’s simply not possible to convince them not to give you food if they’ve a mind to it. We realized this on our recent return to the shopping mall in town. This time we had bought our own food at the stands, and were picked up well past lunchtime. In the car, we were asked if we were hungry - we staunchly said no, that we had eaten and were satisfied. 5 minutes later we both received a chicken egg roll.

Just a snack. Not food.

amendment

2010-03-18T04:22:00.000-07:00

For anyone who read my recent post (now deleted)-- I made an inexcusable mistake, and I apologize. From now on I'll think more and do my research.

Couple's Shop (a poem)

2010-03-14T01:44:00.000-08:00

(Jorgen) Recalling events that happened Friday March 12th.

The old couple is resting
Half asleep and half resigned
It seems so strange and curious
As we pass and peer inside

The intense heat demands us, “rest!”
And we dutifully oblige
The next thatched hut is empty
So, we take a seat inside

We soon grow restless in our rest
And commence our journey home
The heat has left us thirsty
So, we search for the unknown

We step back on the road
And are reminded of this place
We make a start towards home
At a slightly slower pace

When we reach the couple’s shop
The lady has been stirred
I ask her for a drink
She doesn’t understand a word

We duck inside the shop
And motion towards the fridge
She slowly gets to work
And hands us beverages

These drinks are something different
Though they certainly aren’t new
But we figure it can’t hurt
And pick our favorite two

The cost and flavor matter not
Both insignificant in every way
But think of this old couple
And how we maybe made their day

We didn’t come with riches
We didn’t come for show
We came because of thirst
And that’s all they seem to know

The shop was far from crowded
Not a living soul around
But in this old, empty shop
Our satisfaction was found

Cutting

2010-03-09T02:43:00.000-08:00

(Jorgen) Anil Kumar (one of the oldest boys here) took one look at me, and exclaimed with shock, “where is your cutting?”

He had expected to see me with a haircut on this particular afternoon (Wed. the 3rd). His shock was not completely unfounded, however; there had been talk of going to the barber that morning but alas, as is all too often the case, those plans had fallen through.

This story really begins a few weeks before this date when Sudheer mentioned that I might want to get my beard trimmed. I at first rejected the idea, figuring it did not matter too much what my appearance was, and holding on to the ideal of not shaving until I returned home. Then on Tuesday night, the 2nd, the older boys made it very clear that I must get a “cutting”, Indian slang for a haircut. Even I can now admit that my beard was looking a little straggly. So we decided that I would go early the next morning to the barber. As aforementioned this fell through. That afternoon I went down to spend time with the kids--this is when Anilkumar saw me and rushed to my side with the above exclamation. This time however, he would except no excuses and personally took on the task of accompanying me to the barber.

First of all to “go to the barber” meant walking in the dirt along the road for 1 km. Then to my surprise the barbershop was a tiny little shack with barely enough room for the barber and the chair. Once inside I could easily stretch my arms out and touch any two opposing walls. The barber was a young man, maybe in his mid twenties. All work was done manually - meaning there was no electronic razors or blow dryers.

It goes without saying that the barber didn’t speak any English, so Anil had to attempt to translate my wishes and ended up communicating with mostly hand signals. I then sat back in the chair and the magician went to work. He placed an old piece of cloth around me to catch the hairs and tied it in a rough knot behind my neck. He then started chopping away methodically at my hair. This was quite a worrisome time for me: my hair was at the mercy of this man who did not even know my language (although this is often the case where I get my hair cut back home as well… hmm). I had to communicate through hand motions that I wanted it to be cut shorter on top… 3 times. He still left it a little long. Then came the beard trimming. The barber leaned the chair back and got our his supplies. It was the most classic beard trimming experience you can imagine (Excepting of course that I’m in a shack in India, and this is for real as opposed to just nostalgic). He lathered my face up with shaving cream, using a brush. He then took out an old fashioned one-blade, fold-out razor and got to work. He was a true artist and cut my scraggly beard down into a nice, short and kempt-looking goatee.

Honestly, I’m not sure what that kind of service and quality would cost me in the US, and it would probably not be done manually in the year 2010. But in India, Incredible India, I walked out of there with a nice trimmed look, an authentic experience, and 30 rupees less (60 cents American).

CMR

2010-02-28T08:46:00.001-08:00

(Jorgen) Shopping is quite the experience here. On Friday Jared and I were reawakened to this reality. Now, shopping on the streets of Delhi was one thing; You’d kind of expect street vendors to heavily endorse their product and try to make the sale. This type of endorsement becomes a whole different animal when you are shopping at “real” stores.

On Friday our first stop was the CMR: shopping mall. It isn’t really a mall, just a single store that carries a wide variety of merchandise on multiple floors. The most striking thing about this store was the customers, or lack thereof. As far as I could tell there was one other person (besides Jared and I) who was patronizing the store. Amazingly though, the store felt extremely crowded. Maybe that’s because CMR deems it necessary to employ an ARMY of employees. There was something like 30 men, all in their pink CMR uniform shirts, working (mind you this is just in the men’s clothing department). For reference, this clothing department is roughly the size of your average Target’s clothing department. 30 employees is definitely overkill. It becomes worse when they try to sell you on a product, not just one but three or even five employees at a time. They will crowd over you, breathing down your neck trying to persuade on any random article of clothing. As you move around looking at different types of products you will inevitably attract many employees who work in the area. There seems to be one or two designated employees for each different product - T-shirts, long sleeve shirts, short sleeve shirts, undershirts, pants, shorts, longer shorts, etc., etc..

For instance: I thought I’d stroll around the t-shirts in case I liked any of the designs. Quickly I found myself surrounded by 5 pink-shirted men pulling t-shirts off the racks and showing them to me. I saw one design I thought I might want to purchase and tried it for size, too small. Since I had so many employees at my service I asked them for a bigger size of the same design. I quickly found my myself bombarded with a myriad of gray shirts in many sizes. None of them had the same design, they were just the same color. Half of them weren’t even a different size--they just happened to be another gray shirt that was not the one that I had in my hand. Finally after much of this nonsense one of them produced the same design in what he said was a medium. Excitedly I tried it for size and realized this shirt could fit me and the 5 employees who had helped me locate it at once, it was a 2XL. Needless to say I didn’t buy any t-shirts.

The CMR hasn’t quite figured out that westerners like to shop on their own, and will purchase an item if they want it. really the only reason I didn’t end up buying much was because I could hardly see the merchandise through the employee desperately trying to show me it. But when in Rome… right? I guess I’ll just have to get used to this kind of vigorous shopping experience.

Challenging Task

2010-02-15T19:23:00.000-08:00

(Jared) Language is a great mystery. Jorgen and I have realized this more and more, both as we've interacted with people whose entire world is interpreted through a different language from ours, and as we've sought to teach them this sometimes confusing mess of English which seems so normal to us as we use it every day.

Teaching is difficult sometimes, and tiring, but it is encouraging when we see progress. We are currently teaching prepositions, and the importance of using the correct one in a sentence to accurately communicate the meaning desired. This is often a problem spot, as we'll hear attempts such as "you give ball me" or "I go at school" or "I am running in the road." Some of the kids are beginning to understand which one goes where, but most are still at a hit-and-miss stage with sentence formation.

Last week, we spent a day teaching that really felt like work. It was also sprinkled with laughter and encouragement. As we taught nouns, we began to put nouns and verbs together in sentences, using each tense, such as "I am eating" "I will eat" "I ate." We brainstormed a list of nouns and of verbs with the students and wrote them on the board, then took volunteers to choose one of each and form a sentence in Past, Present, or Future Tense. We also allowed them to use ideas of their own. One class was struggling quite a bit, and we wondered if we were actually making progress, as we corrected each fragile attempt at a sentence. Oftentimes we got repetition rather than creativity. "I am playing with my friend" "I am playing with my dog" "I am playing with Lakshmi" "I am playing with my friend"

A ray of hope shown through when one boy stood up proudly and said "I- will- speak- English!"

We're off to some more teaching today, praying for diligence, creativity and strength.

Curious Excursion

2010-02-14T19:18:00.000-08:00

(Jorgen) On Valentines day (Sunday the 14th) we took a journey into a tribal area in the mountains. Talk about a reawakening to India. I guess that we’ve grown accustomed to our little slice of India, inside the compound.

To start with, we were going with a group of twenty or so of the older kids, so we took one of the school buses. Keep this in mind as you hear about this drive. About five minutes after we left the school we were driving through a small town. To get a little idea of what this looks like imagine a narrow, one-lane road, then take a few feet off the edges, place buildings and shops right next to the pavement, and you have something perhaps similar. Of course you probably forgot that with shops come people, and with people come cows (in India) and other sort of animals, all of this takes a bit more out of the actual driving space. Oh, one more thing you must add into this increasingly hectic scenario is the little boy (younger than 5) doing his business right in the middle of the street. As a testament to our driver we made it through this challenge safely (and the little boy didn’t budge an inch, WE had to move out of his way :P).

The next few towns we drove through seemed like a breeze-- though they were equally busy, had carts that were hugely overstuffed with sugarcane, and ladies with large containers held on their heads (many were not even using one hand to help stabilize), yet the streets were wider and thus not as scary.

After about one hour of travel we found ourselves heading into the mountains. How in the world the bus made it up this mountain, I’ll never know. The road was not only quite narrow, it was also in extreme disrepair. Add to this the somewhat consistent flow of large dump trucks (equally insane that they were driving up this mountain) that we had to dodge, stop for, and even drive onto the dirt to pass. Then there was the hairpin turns, so sharp that I felt we would literally fall off the edge of the mountain. Thankfully, after almost two hours of this, we made it to the top of the mountain.

Our drive was not over yet, however, in the remaining half hour or so we braved a few more towns, and took the bus, essentially, off-roading to reach our final destination.

The final destination that we could reach by driving, that is. We then hiked to the end of the dirt “road”, began scrambling through rice fields on narrow walkways, and clambered up a hill trying to avoid an avalanche caused by shuffling leaves. After all this, we reached the location where we would hold church in this tribal village.

Tribal Indians have a shorter attention span than the other Indians we’ve been around thus far, so church was a bit shorter than usual. We worshiped and Jared and I preached. Afterwards we had the opportunity to pray for and talk to (using a translator) some of the locals. One of the more exciting(?) moments was when one of the men, who had come to the service, and was completely drunk on tree-sap alcohol, smacked a large kiss on my right cheek.

This description of the encounter is much too short to fully describe the experience. After all was said and done we hiked back to the bus and began our long journey home. This journey was as insane and eventful as the journey there, but perhaps we’ll save that for an other time.

About 3 ½ hours later we landed safely back at the school, our home. The compound of sanity in the midst of this crazy India.

Circadian

2010-02-11T18:14:00.000-08:00

4:30AM - We wake up, meaning Jared does, to dogs barking and a bell being rung.
5:00AMish - We wake up, meaning Jorgen does. Meanwhile Jared has gone back to sleep and remains thus.
5:00AM - Morning devotions. During this time we are greeted with freshly made coffee delivered to our door.
7:00AM - We get ready for the day i.e. showering (well bucketing actually) and getting dressed.
7:30AM - Breakfast. Always a bit more savory than its American counterpart.
8:00AM - We retire to our room and finish prepping our classes for the day, check our email, and read.
10:00AM - We teach our Indian friend, Jaya Kumar (The school administrator), English.
10:40AM - Our first class of the day with the kids (we teach 3rd and 7th “grade” during this period on alternate days).
11:20AM - Second class of the day (4th and 8th “grade” alternating).
12:00PM - Lunch and a break after our busy morninghttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif.
1:25PM - Third class of the day (5th and 2nd “grade” alternating).
2:10PM - Final class of the day (6th and 9th “grade” alternating).
2:50PM - Teaching is done for the day and we take a much needed break.
3:30PM - Play time! This is when we interact with the kids the most. We play with them, learn their names (everyday), and have started building friendships with them.
4:30PM - Play time ends for the kids. We stick around with whomever is there and talk and relax for awhile.
6:00PM - Clean ourselves up for dinner and recuperate from play time.
7:00PM - Dinner. We quickly realized that they place an abundance in front of us, and it’s up to us to show restraint. This is easier said than done however, we find ourselves enjoying the food immensely.
7:30PM - Prep for the next days classes and generally wind down from the day.
9:30PM - Bed time. Yes, we go to bed early. This will happen when you regularly get up at 5:00AM.

హాస్పిటాలిటి

2010-02-08T06:36:00.000-08:00

(Jared) Jorgen found a tool that transliterates into Telugu (the language of Andhra Pradesh) -- which you see above. So far we haven't figured out how to apply it to words in the body of the post, and we aren't able to turn it OFF for the Title...
If someone is able to transliterate this title back into English, I will owe you 5 Rupees.

They are very generous to us here at the Children's Home. We have nice accommodations in the newest building, and freedom as to how to use our time. We have special seats at prayer and church (when we attempt to sit on the floor with the kids we are strongly encouraged back to the chairs). A couple kids knock on our door most mornings and sweep and mop our room. Generally, we are treated like kings. We enjoy this most of the time, but sometimes it is hard to handle!

Teaching is keeping us pretty busy during a good part of the day, so we do have our task, and play our part in what goes on here. We have also had opportunities to share in church and at morning prayer.

A large part of their generous hospitality to us is evidenced in the food preparation. We have of course had lots of rice, as well as Dosa (a sort of large thin pancake) fairly often for breakfast. Along with these we're served various delicious and different curries and chutneys and sauces. A lot of what we ate in Delhi was vegetarian (due to common Hindu practice) - but they cook some meat here as well - chicken and mutton. They make many of the dishes specially for us, with less spicyness than they usually have.
I must share one meal we received in detail. Two nights ago dinner was looking a little different from usual. Usha (the one who usually cooks for us - daughter-in-law of Mommy and Daddy Mekala) had some fresh chopped vegetables out. She called in her daughter, who pulled out some round pieces of dough, put ketchup on them, and topped it with the chopped vegetables and some cheese. These were microwaved (it was at this point I realized that they don't really have traditional ovens here).
As we ate this "pizza," we talked to Usha about it. She asked if we liked it, and told us that it probably wasn't as good as the pizza we have at home. We were enjoying it and told her so, but said "it is different for sure." She said she doesn't really know how to make it but her daughter loves to.
I said "well the main difference is that we usually have tomato sauce on our pizza, not ---"
She quickly said, "oh, we used tomato sauce" -- and showed us the bottle of...ketchup.
We let it go at that point.
When we asked if they ever eat it here, she said "Not really. Our food is different here, and we didn't want you to miss home so much, so, like, we make some different things sometimes -- we made this pizza for you so you wouldn't be missing your place as much."

Aww

Very touching, and slightly amusing.

Cashews

2010-02-06T04:43:00.000-08:00

(Jorgen) Fridays are different around here--different from the other 5 school days, that is. On Friday, the kids all wear white uniforms to school, as opposed to the usual plaid. On Friday, the last period of school is exercise time, as opposed to just another class. On Friday, evening chapel is taught by “Mommy” or “Daddy” Mekala (as the kids call them), as opposed to having just singing and no lesson. In this world of different Fridays, this Friday was even more different. Not only for Jared and I, most things are different for us, but even for the kids.

The hour directly after school ends (3:30-4:30) is play time. This Friday play time seemed to start just fine, but near the end I started to notice that the play area was quieter than normal. Soon after the bell rang we found the culprit for the quiet: gardening. Daddy had bought a bunch of new flowers and had taken charge in directing the kids to clean up one of the flower beds in preparation for planting. This clean up consisted of a few of the boys hacking out the old plants with Indian hoes, placing the ripped out plants on straw mats, and having the rest of the kids carry those mats somewhere behind the building. This was entertaining for a time, but the novelty soon wore off and I forgot all about the plants.

About an hour later, as Jared and I were in the middle of receiving some Telugu instruction, I became intrigued by the activity happening out back, by the goats. After walking most of the way towards the goats I noticed that multiple fires had been lit in the field out back. I soon realized that they were burning all of the old plants that had been ripped out. Around one such fire about 4-5 boys were huddled. Naturally my curiosity prompted me to pursue further what was so exciting about his particular fire. When I arrived at the fire nothing looked too exciting. So, I asked one of the boys what was going on, “Cashews” he replied. I inspected further, and sure enough, they were roasting cashews in the fire. The tools they used to move them around and eventually remove them from the flames were just old, crumpled papers. After determining that the cashews were done roasting, the oldest boy carefully removed them and carried them over to nearby concrete slab. Once there, he cracked them open with a half broken red brick to reveal the freshly roasted nut inside. He then handed a few to me. They were still hot when I popped them into my mouth. Probably the freshest roasted, and best cashews I’ll ever enjoy.

Chalk this up as another one-of-a-kind taste of India.

Confusing Dichotomy

2010-02-02T04:16:00.000-08:00

(Jorgen) I waited my turn as my brother, Thane, walked through security at the Delhi Metro station. As the man did a routine pat-down on my brother two Indian gentlemen brushed passed me and walked through the metal detector. I was taken aback by this brash show. Where was their respect for the line?

On a different note. We went pants-shopping in Delhi at the mall near my brothers apartment. The men who worked in the shop were extremely helpful, they asked me my size, pulled the pants off the rack, and after I made a selection they hemmed my new pants to perfection for no extra charge.

This is one of the strangest dilemmas I’ve experienced in India. This perplexing mix between rude and impatient, and overwhelmingly helpful and assistive. People often speak of impatient big-city Americans. I’ve been to most of the big-cities in America and I can honestly say that I’ve never met a more impatient people than these Indians (city folk or not). But the funny thing is, that’s only one side of them. I mean how many places in America have you heard of that offer free custom tailoring? Before now, I had never heard of such a thing.

So maybe… just maybe, we could all learn some valuable lessons here.

Respect the line, and hem my pants.

have you ever had coffee with buffalo's milk?

2010-01-31T19:08:00.000-08:00

(Jared) Have you ever been in a place where 100+ children call you "brother" ?
Have you ever had to shower every day with cold water from a bucket?
Have you ever been disallowed from moving your own chair?
Have you ever had coffee with buffalo's milk?
Have you ever heard the word "Hallelujah" said, sung or shouted all day long?

We have.

Currency Exchange

2010-01-30T04:28:00.000-08:00

(Jorgen) Jared and I boarded a train in Delhi, 42 hours later we detrained in Visakhapatnam. During those 42 hours we had absolutely no connection with anyone we knew. No cell phone in our pockets. No wireless internet to check. We were all alone in a very foreign world. For reference, from the time we left Delhi to me writing this now, we have seen one other Caucasian person and that was only a passing glimpse from the train. We therefore had to make do with what we had. Some rupees, some books, and the broken English of those around us.

At first we sort of kept to ourselves but soon we started branching out. We started by talking to the passengers nearest us and then the train staff and others in our car. We ran into: an AC repair man, a contractor, 2 tennis players, an Indian Navy officer who has served for 14 of the minimum 15 years required by statute, and a Pastor who runs a school in Andhra Pradesh (I guess there are a few of those…) among others.

Beyond all this--and the amazing sights that words cannot describe--and the regular chai and coffee provided for roughly 10 US cents--and the monkeys that ran all around the trains during one of our stops--and the funky Indian food we were able to try--and the ability to throw trash right out the window--and the fact that the toilets emptied straight out onto the tracks--beyond all this, my favorite moment was my conversation with the boys from the pantry car.

In an attempt to get some pictures to capture the moment I walked up to the pantry car (think kitchen car). One man who worked there invited me into his “room”, a very dirty train compartment shared by 4 men. As I sat there and we tried to understand each other, It hit me just how lucky I was to be having this experience. I was able to show him US money for the first time, I gave him a dime to keep, he gave me a 1 rupee coin that I am keeping in my wallet. We shared our worlds. We shared our smiles. And as our conversation was coming to an end, and the train was nearing the final destination he looked at me and said “We’re proud to have you with us” I smiled and thanked him. He replied with the now familiar Indian head-bobble.

Chai

2010-01-29T22:36:00.000-08:00

(Jared) Our first stop in India was the capital. We stayed in Delhi for three nights, and had about 2 ½ days to experience some of the city -- what a place. One of the first major differences you notice here is the manner of road-usage. We hopped in small car, stuffing our luggage in the back and on our lap, and after weaving out of a crowded parking lot, we were on the highway. Now I must point out, that I had heard all about the craziness of driving here, but something we’ve learned on this trip is that the experience NEVER matches our expectations - ever. Anyhow, we were joined on the highway by other cars, bicycles, buses, rickshaws, carts, auto-rickshaws (small three-wheeled vehicles run on natural gas) and even a few pedestrians. The lane-markers are treated pretty lightly, considered more as suggestions than actual lanes. Pretty much, the mass of traffic goes where it will, and you better use your horn a lot to tell others where you are, and have fast reactions to everything around you!

This was the only car ride we had for the next few days, forthwith braving the streets by foot, or “auto.” Besides learning what could potentially become bad jay-walking habits back home (perfectly acceptable here) - we had some delicious and different food, and saw many sights. Our first night we had some Indian “fast-food,” which was finer cuisine than you’d expect would be called such. We are now fairly comfortable with eating rice and curry and … everything else with our hands. During our time in the city we saw some historical sites, as well as the Republic Day Parade. January 26 is a National Holiday, and this year India celebrated 60 years since the acceptance of their constitution.

I journaled some of my thoughts about this place overall, and one of my main impressions is that of contrast. This is exemplified in their foods - the extremes of hot and spicy to cool and sweet (Indians like their deserts especially sugary and sweet - a discovery I only made once here). It is shown in the sights - the beauty of magnificent buildings, colorful cloths and elaborate Saris which many women wear daily against the backdrop of garbage strewn on the streets and immense poverty before your very eyes. We went to a shop called “Grillz and Coolz” for some milkshakes…and I realized that this is the experience of India - it grillz, it coolz.

And all this contrast is summed up best in a cup of hot chai - spicy tea with cardamom and ginger, smoothed over with milk and sugar. Mmm

Where do you start?

2010-01-25T05:32:00.000-08:00

This country is a surprise at every turn, a unique experience for all 5 senses (the beautiful and the ugly) -- and we've only seen part of one major city.