ROTARY DREAM TEAM - INDIA 2009

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2009-07-30T10:09:00.001-07:00

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THREE TIME’S A CHARM…

2009-03-18T07:59:00.000-07:00

In February 2007, when I led the first group of Rotarians to India to participate as common laborers in a work project in a remote and desolate Muslim village about seventy-five kilometers south of New Delhi, I could not have dreamed what impact our presence would have on the villagers, as well as on us. Several people from our district joined me that year, including Jayne Britton from Fryeburg, Joan Nickel from Portsmouth-Sunrise. When we arrived in the village of Chahalka to begin work, some of the villagers were waiting in the schoolyard where our bus was to drop us. Little did I know that I was the first white westerner these people had ever seen – and what a scary sight, since I am a pretty good sized guy, especially in comparison with the stature of the people in this village. It took a while before the villagers began to warm up to us, although all of the women and the girls kept their heads and faces covered, particularly when in the presence of the men in our group. They were naturally shy and very careful never to show their faces to us.

The project that year was funding and constructing two washing platforms at one end of a common area, shared by the grade school at one end and the town’s water supply that was covered with a well tile, about sixty feet in diameter. Up until our arrival, the women and girls would come to the well each day, maybe several times a day, dip their buckets down on a rope through one of the three openings in the well tile cover, pull out buckets of water, transfer the water to earthenware jugs, other buckets or gleaming brass jardinières which they then placed on top of their heads and carried the water back to their huts. This was the case, with the exception of those who had brought their laundry, their pots and pans and their water buffaloes, which they proceeded to wash there, on top of the well cover, with all of the filthy water spilling back down through the same openings from where they had dipped their water. Dozens of the children were getting terribly sick from dysentery, and some were dying. The people of the village did not equate the polluted water with their ailments.

Our group passed about twenty-five thousand bricks in brick lines from the neatly stacked caches of bricks to where they were needed. We watched as boys wearing flip-flops or nothing on their feet, mixed the cement or the concrete (called masala – Hindi for mixture), we carried basins of large rocks, smaller rocks, crushed stone and sand. We carried basins of masala on our heads and dumped it where directed by Ramish, the brick mason from the next village. On day three of our work, Ramish finally invited me to actually lay bricks and mortar them into place in the walls we were building – having dug the ditches, dumped larger to smaller rocks, then masala and created the footings for the walls. At the end of a week of work, we had completed the construction of two washing platforms, which would have spigots for water installed, and which the ladies and girls (hopefully) would use for washing their household laundry and cooking utensils (water buffaloes were not to be allowed in this area ever again). To ensure the non-use of the well cover for washing purposes, we dumped a fairly coarse masala concoction on top of the well cover, to make it impossible for the women to use for anything other than dipping to get their water. While we worked for that week, many of the men, both young and old, sat and watched as we worked, and probably had no clue as to who we were nor why we were there. We were working cooperatively with members of the Rotary Club of Delhi-West, and the wife of one of the members came to the work site one day and asked me if the men sat there all the time. I told her they did, so in a minute or two, she turned to them and blasted them for sitting idly by, while, “these people from seven seas away, have left their families and their businesses to come to your village and to improve your lives through this construction project.” They immediately dropped over the back of the wall and stayed in the mosque for the remainder of that day.

At the end of our week of work, we were invited to a blessing ceremony, conducted by the local mullah, who offered prayers of thanksgiving to Allah for our work, and thanked each of us by sharing a puffed rice sweet with each of us – a very traditional practice during special occasions. We left on the travel portion of our trip and some looked forward to the potential for other projects in the same village.

Fast forward to early 2008 – a group of fifty-four Rotarians and Friends of Rotary from seven countries gathered at Chahalka to renovate an unused, vacant and derelict government building, adjacent to the site of the washing platforms to transform it into two facilities for the benefit of the village. First, we raised funds from individuals and clubs to not only pay for the renovations, but also to purchase some thirty computers, desks, chairs that would be placed in one end of the building. The concept of THE ROTARY CENTRE FOR COMPUTER TRAINING OF CHAHALKA was not only born, but it became a reality for us and for the town. The other third of the building was transformed into THE ROTARY DAY-CARE CENTRE OF CHAHALKA. Out team came from several states in the USA, three provinces from Canada, Ireland, England, Sweden, Australia and France. What an amalgamation of talent and enthusiasm! Three members of the Rotary Club of Sanford-Springvale joined me and truly came to understand the strength and the breadth of Rotary on an international basis.

When in 2007 the villagers had been somewhat shy and hesitant to greet us, 2008 was entirely different. Our six buses arrived at the work site on the first morning, and Ramish, the brick mason, who had taken nearly three days to allow me to lay bricks at the construction of the washing platforms, was actually waiting at the drop-off point and smiled when he saw my face, came and took my hand, and we walked immediately to the project site and I knelt beside him and we worked together to lay bricks for the construction of the wall that would surround the day-care play yard. A few barriers had been broken down, to say the least. Within a few minutes of our arrival, we would hear Mark Little from England holler out, “Okay, everyone line up for a brick line!” The number of bricks we would be passing over the week of work would be exponentially greater than the twenty-five thousand from the previous year.

The Rotary Dream Team – India 2008 would successfully dig trenches for the footings, carry basins of various gradations of rocks and then sand and then coarse masala and then fine masala, and then begin to lay rows and rows and rows of bricks until the height of the walls surrounding the two “green” areas reached a height of five feet. Meanwhile, the Brits and our friend from France were working on the patching and the painting of the walls and ceilings inside both sections of the building, as well as the exterior walls of the building. Inside the end where the day-care center was to be located, one of the chaps from England sketched a mural covering the entire end wall, depicting animals and birds and fishes and butterflies on a flowery landscape. Many of us took a turn at brushing on some paint and even a local girl, Arasthun befriended one of the younger children we had in our group from Minnesota, and sketched some flowers to create a welcoming border to the mural.

Because of government regulations in India, when such a project is undertaken like the computer training center, the requirement is also to fund the salary of the instructor for a minimum of three years, along with the salary of the care-giver for the children and the watchman. All in all, members of our group had not only spent their own money to travel to India to participate in the National Immunization Day against polio and the work project, but they also had raised sufficient funds to underwrite this project for a three-year period. During the course of the week, small groups of team members wandered through the narrow streets of the village, speaking with and befriending several of the villagers. Although the women and the girls of the village continued to keep their heads covered, the veils covering their faces began to drop away, and smiles covered their faces. Some of the little children, both boys and girls, even joined the brick lines and helped by retrieving the empty masala basins, carrying them back to the pile of wet mix to be re-filled and passed back along the line for depositing wherever Ramish directed. It seemed there were fewer of the men sitting on the wall overlooking the project. Had a message rung through to them? Time would tell. In addition to personal clothing and work gear, our team managed to bring well over twenty thousand gifts – trinkets, toys, stuffed animals, school supplies, etc., for the children of the village. Some of the folks took on the responsibility of sorting through all of these items to be distributed to the children of the village on our last day.

We planned to provide prize bags to the top three students in the first five grades in the elementary school, to reward them for their continued hard work, and to inspire and encourage them to remain in school in the future. With the hope of being able to get training in computer technology by passing the tenth level of education, and possibly land employment at higher than base wages of the equivalent of five or ten dollars a month, little by little this village and its people could enjoy what the Indians refer to upliftment. We were providing some of the tools to help them pull themselves up by their bootstraps and move forward into productive lives for years to come.

Each day, when members of the team walked through the streets and alleys of the village, more and more children followed them – they had become the attraction, with their light skin and their baseball caps or tee shirts and jeans. One day, I remember walking up the main street (a dirt road with its own speed control system comprised of huge potholes filled with urine and muddy water), I saw a man at the top of the hill, standing behind a cart. On the cart, he had stacks and stacks of eggs (are brown eggs, the local eggs always best?) as well as a burner fueled by a propane tank. As our group drew closer, we noticed he was cooking omelets. However, these were not your ordinary omelets – these were omelet sandwiches. He made the egg mixture, added chopped red onions, capsicum (green bell peppers) tomatoes and coriander leaves (cilantro). He dumped the mixture into the large frying pan, partially cooked it and then as he turned over the omelet-in-the-making, he put a slice of white bread in the center, flopped the egg on top of it and nearly magically, after folding everything together, he had created an omelet sandwich! I ate one, much to the concern of the other team members, and it was delicious. We then moved on around the corner to see the laundry presser – using an enormous flat iron the bottom of which was filled with burning charcoal. We stopped at the tailor’s shop and bought a hand-loomed head covering, about the size of a card-table cloth, and the men tried to teach me how to create a turban with it.

The impact we may have made on the village and its people was to be shown on our final day. Where the previous year we had been asked to join in a blessing ceremony by the mullah or priest from the mosque, this year would be entirely different. All of the school children had been gathered in the yard outside the drably painted school building. In front of the children, several benches and chairs had been set for our team members had been invited to sit. Rotary International Director Kjell-Ake Akesson from Sweden and I were asked to sit front and center. The sar panch – or head of the Gram Panchayat or elder council, began to speak to the gathered crowd of several hundred people. With a translation from one of our team members, the villagers were being told that our team had made a tremendous impact through our hard work, but also our smiles and our friendly manner as we had come to know a number of the villagers. As a token of their appreciation and as a tremendous honor to each of us, all of the men and boys in our group were turbaned by a member of the Gram Panchayat, and all of the women and girls in our group were given head scarves by some of the ladies of the village. Basically, we had been handed the key to the city, on a very personal and deeply meaningful way. In turn, when we recognized the top three students in all of the classes, we passed book bags to each one, filled with goodies and gifts. We boarded our buses to depart on the travel portion of our trip, and I am sure it was quite difficult for many of us, as well as a number of the villagers to say, “Good-bye”. Some of us promised to return.

And return we did… in late January 2009, the first group of our Rotary Dream Team – India 2009 arrived to begin work on a third project – the construction of sanitation enhancement facilities (toilet blocks) for which we had raised funds and obtained a Matching Grant from The Rotary Foundation. The building will contain thirty-five toilets and thirty-five showers, to be used by the women and girl children of the village. At present, the women due to modesty are forced sometimes to walk two kilometers away from the village not only to complete their toilet but also to bathe in privacy. This year, the members of the Gram Panchayat met us at the work site, placed garlands around each of our necks, and greeted us warmly, with hints of recognition for some of us. The children became a permanent fixture, once more, but since there was no wall, there were very few men who squatted and served as Monday morning quarterbacks. There were other differences too, but the most obvious difference was the fact that many women and girls no longer covered their faces or their heads in our presence. Some of the local ladies invited the women on our team into their homes. Children and of course the camel driver learned our names and called us by our names, sometimes with their own unique pronunciation. We saw smiles on almost every face. More and more children and some adults joined the brick lines and the masala passing lines. This third year of a sustainable relationship was so different from the first two. One barrier after another had been torn down. Throughout the week of work for the first group of the team, and then again throughout the week of work for the second group, one step after another was taken, not only by our team but more importantly by the villagers. During the first week, a tiny child of eighteen months had died and her family invited our entire team to come and sit with them in their home and drink a cup of tea with them as they pondered their tragic loss. During that same week, when the team members had walked into town, some children presented Dianne and Boone Powell from Texas with a nearly newborn baby goat, still damp from birth.

During the second week, the team was invited to join a wedding feast – a Muslim wedding feast, nearby the project site, where they were invited into the home of the soon-to-be-married couple. This was an arranged marriage of a young man from Chahalka, seventeen years of age, and a girl from another village, fifteen years of age. The team enjoyed a lunch prepared and served by the groom’s family. We were invited to return that evening, when the groom and his bride would return from the actual marriage ceremony that had taken place in her village. We waited as darkness descended and finally, the SUV arrived carrying the bride and her attendants, along with the groom. Fireworks exploded into the night sky, cheers went up from the gathered crowd of villagers, and the bride, her face totally covered as demanded by tradition, was escorted into her new home. Not only was she escorted into her new home, but also the women in our group were invited to enter her living quarters and to greet her, as she uncovered her face to them. When we were about to leave, the grandmother of the groom came out of the house, and although only about four feet two inches in height, she stood on a step and placed her hand on my head and kept it there, blessing me. I bent down, touched her feet and she said, “Nay, nay,” and took my two hands in hers, invited me to stand and together, she and I walked hand-in-hand to where our buses were waiting to take us to the farm. Anyone who has traveled with our groups knows full well that men and women do NOT walk holding hands with one another, and certainly not a white westerner with a Muslim woman from the village, who incidentally did not have her face covered. She smiled and displayed a toothless grin on her wizened and craggy face.

What had just happened? What had been happening during the two weeks of work? What had been happening over the course of three years? Slowly, as with one brick at a time, walls of forbidden practices and traditions had been knocked down. One handshake at a time a greater level of understanding, respect, honor and yes, even love served to help to someday create a lasting peace among the peoples of the world. Whether it is two drops of polio vaccine on the tongue of a tiny child, three cups of tea, the turbaning ceremony, the tacit embracing by our team of a grieving mother and father, or the toothless grin of a proud grandmother, the members of the ROTARY DREAM TEAMS – INDIA 2007, 2008 & 2009 have truly impacted this village and Shared Rotary and helped to Make Dreams Real, all the while proving that The Future of Rotary (and yes, Peace) Is In Our Hands.

GO TO YOUR ROOM! (Feb. 15 - part 2)

2009-03-07T01:21:00.000-08:00

From the airport, we drove into the city. What a welcome sight to see lots of cars and trucks and auto-rickshaws and even some bicycle rickshaws. The city was bustling and simply had a more pleasant aura about it than Biratnagar. We drove down the main streets, without having to duck down back alleys as a matter of survival. Once into the city proper, we did turn onto side streets and finally reached the gate at the Golyan residence, as announced on the very prominent, highly-polished (actually glistening) plaque at the left of the front gate. Naturally, the driver honked and honked and honked the car horn (or should I say beep-beeped it?) until a uniformed guard from within, opened a tiny door, stepped outside and checked that the car on the outside of the gate belonged not only to the Golyan family, but had passengers inside who were supposed to be there. After speaking with the driver and peeking his head in the driver’s side window, and gazing upon the “Big fat white guy”, he went back inside, and opened the main gate. Two dogs were barking and racing through the yard, and I was told to remain in the car until they could be kenneled. Evidently the beautiful golden Labrador Retriever did not like strangers and bared his teeth to prove it.

We got out of the car, beneath the port-cachere and two men from inside the house took my bag and my briefcase into the foyer. And here I thought the Golyan home in Biratnagar was huge and lovely – it paled by comparison to this one and I could only see the foyer and the sunken living room and a dining area. There was some discussion between Mahesh and the man who seemed to be more in charge than the second, and it was decided I could take some tea, but it would be upstairs. I tried to carry my own briefcase but was tacitly admonished by the man in charge as he and the other man each carried one bag upstairs for me. I was ushered into a type of sitting room with a huge plasma flat screen television at one end of the room, bookshelves filled with lots of Barbie Doll trappings, as well as tons of Winnie-the-Pooh paraphernalia. There were photographs on the wall, and since I knew that Basu only had two grown sons, I determined that this home was the principal residence of his brother (who looked like Basu’s clone in one or two photographs) and I was perhaps ensconced in the TV room for the daughter, who must either be away at school or perhaps even married. I was more or less told to sit on the bed-couch at one end of the TV room and to wait. Mahesh had already taken his girlfriend, as I had learned, and left for the night. I was going to be staying in this enormous and lavishly appointed home, alone with the servants. I decided to get up and open the door we had entered from downstairs, and perhaps take my tea downstairs. When I descended the stairs, I was met my Mr. In-Charge at the bottom and motioned to return back to my room. Tea was definitely being served to me in the TV room. Of this, there was absolutely no question!.

Within a few minutes of my returning to the TV room, Mr. In-Charge arrived with a tray on which was a tea cup, saucer, and a plate of biscuits, as well as a china teapot. He poured my tea for me and then promptly left the room. I guess I was to enjoy my tea in my cell. About a half-hour later, Mr. In-Charge entered the room and told me, as best he could, that he would bring my dinner in one hour. He found the remote for the television and turned on the TV and showed me how to change the channels. He wanted to insert a DVD, but I happened to recognize one of the programs – CSI, on the screen and told him I preferred to watch this program.

SUNDAY - FLY TO KATHMANDU (Feb. 15)

2009-03-07T01:18:00.000-08:00

After quieting my nerves a bit following the bandh incident last evening, we were going to do a bit more exploration for potential projects. Biratnagar showed so many needs where Rotary could be of assistance to the people there, but the concern for the safety and well-being of the members of future teams is also crucial when making a decision as to where to go and what we might accomplish. I forgot to mention that after reaching Basu's home, we freshened up a bit and then drove back into the city, to a hotel (this one was REALLY nice) where we met some folks from New Zealand and from England, who were traveling to monitor the situation with ShelterBox - several Rotary Clubs from around the world are involved with this program, that originated in the UK, but has spread throughout the world as a means for responding to disasters and providing immediate, if not temporary shelter for victims of disaster. We dined with them and learned of some of the concerns they have regarding the recent projects initiated for the victims of the floods in the area. Thousands of families were displaced and forced to go to makeshift shelters in public school buildings and the like, until ShelterBox could respond with sending literally hundreds and hundreds of tents and other necessary basic implements for survival.

On the 15th, after finishing breakfast, Basu and I went on a quick tour of his factory, which is immediately adjacent to his home. The products include pashmina sweaters, shawls, etc. and are for export throughout the world. Benetton is one of the company's customers. When we had finished the tour, Basu had chosen a sweater for me, and to say the hand is like cashmere would not pay justice to it - it was like slipping one's hand into sifted baking flour, it was that soft. We left the factory and drove (again on back alleys) to the hotel, to pick up the folks from New Zealand and England and off we drove to meet with the local and the district commissioners who oversee all of the ShelterBox projects in the area. We were forced to be there at a very particular time, since the local collector or commissioner seemed to be booked for the entire day, with only one window of opportunity available to us. I listened with great interest as the local collector (the district collector was there for moral support and to spend most of the time on his mobile phone) described how successful the ShelterBox emergency village had been. He indicated that of all of the tents or shelters provided, the ones in these two projects were most highly sought after. He indicated further that clearly one-third of the victims of the floods would be able to return to their own homes, having to do little if any rehabilitation of their homes. Next, one-third would have to do extensive re-building or total new construction. Finally, there was the remaining one-third, who might be forced to remain in the temporary tent villages indefinitely. We would travel and visit one of the sites, and possibly the second. After hearing of some discrimination being exercised against victims from India (not allowing them to take advantage of the village provided by ShelterBox simply due to their ethnic background) I walked away with a good deal of concern. After all, were not these people also victims? Had they not suffered equally? Or because they were from across the river in India, they need not receive care. To me, this is unconscionable.

We left our meeting and drove to the village along the riverbank. When we arrived, again we became the attraction. The victims, who had basically set up a village, gathering some of the tents in neighborhoods, and setting up two large tarp-covered structures to serve as schools, seemed to be doing fairly well. Seeing and meeting them took me back to meeting the victims of the tsunamis when I brought a team with me to south India in April 2005 - almost a blank stare and looking for any source of solace from us, dispensing with barriers and welcoming an embrace from us as they trembled in our arms and sobbed for their losses. The propane cook stoves had almost all been sold by the people in the village and replaced with hand-made cook stoves so much the custom throughout India and now Nepal. In these stoves, the people could burn wood as well as dung patties and they were used to this means of cooking and heating. Some of the tenters had also painted designs on the outside of their tents, using typical local designs, particularly to serve as a welcome sign at the entrances to the tents.

A couple of disturbing things I noted: First, a few tube wells had been dug and were operational. The problem being that people would come and get water and then remain at the well and bathe themselves as well as to wash their clothing and their cooking utensils. Guess where the filthy water went? Right back into the ground to pollute the water from the well; Second, at the location of several of the tube wells, another enclosure (made from bamboo sticks and fabric for walls) was within ten feet of the well - you guessed it, these were toilets! Guess where THAT waste was going? Could it be seeping into the ground and polluting the water supply? Finally, I noted there were a number of these toilet enclosures placed within less than fifty feet from the river - still one more incident of non-education regarding basic hygiene. I was informed these toilets belonged to the Muslims in the temporary village. You see, most of the toilets had been placed side-by-side-by-side at the rear of the village, away from the river. However, these privies were set on an East-West tangent and this was against the practice of the Muslims. Their toilets had to be on a North-South axis, so they took it upon themselves to set their toilets where they pleased, with total disregard for the health of the villagers with whom they lived. On another note, I saw an entirely new design for gathering dung into burnable fuel - these folks did not make dung patties but rather took some wet reeds or grasses and then formed a long stick of dung and then placed them in a criss-cross pattern of a stack, about four feet high, to dry in the sun. Envision a giant Popsicle, made of dung and straw or reeds and you have the idea.

My friend, Basu, seemed to always find a way to become embroiled in a discussion, and usually a heated one at that. We were trying to leave to move onto the next area (since the Kiwis and the Brits were remaining back to make further observations at this village) but there was good ol' Basu finding himself in a bit of a shouting match with some of the victims, who were complaining that some of the tents from ShelterBox were beginning to show signs of mold and further they were too hot. I had noticed that very few of the tents had their vents opened during the time we arrived, about 10:30 in the morning, so how could they possibly avoid being hot throughout the day and the nights? I told the driver to just get the car and to turn it around, and he and the incoming Rotary Club president from Basu's club and I got into the car and honked the horn until Basu arrived and we drove away. We visited another two or three sites, but this one had probably been the best of the lot.

It was nearly lunchtime (2:00 p.m.) and I knew I had to be at the airport in Biratnagar within a short period of time. However, Basu knew differently - he said I only had to be there fifteen minutes ahead of the departure time. I told him I would feel much more comfortable in not pushing the envelope and that I would like to be there an hour ahead of scheduled departure. First, however, we returned to downtown Biratnagar, went to the local Obstetric-Gynecological Hospital. A doctor who is a member of the Biratnagar Noontime Rotary Club - comprised almost totally of women, administers this hospital. I was to meet with as many of them as could gather, to discuss possible projects they might implement, with or without the help of international partners. The women told me of the support they provide to one school. I shared with them information about some of the places I had visited in the last forty-eight hours and suggested they work cooperatively with the other two Rotary Clubs in Biratnagar, and make a serious impact upon those less fortunate. They agreed to look into possibly sponsoring a project, and asking for the assistance of the other two clubs. This would be a switch, since the ladies' club was in its relative infancy, and for them to initiate a project I felt would be very empowering for them. One of the members asked where we were to have our lunch and Basu told them (in between fourteen phone calls in about five minutes, using both mobile phones) we had not yet planned lunch. She indicated we would be her guests at the restaurant owned by her husband, right in the downtown area. We accepted her kind invitation and left the hospital. I know these women will make a considerable difference in this community. They will become the leaders in Rotary here.

We enjoyed some excellent food at lunch - I opted for south Indian food. The husband had decided several years ago to leave his employment and to open a bakery and a restaurant and in two different locations - one in Biratnagar and one in Darjeeling, India, from where he had migrated many years before. The food was delicious and once we were finished, I really implored Basu to have his driver take me to the airport. He agreed and I was off to fly to Kathmandu.

The flight was uneventful, other than the magnificent view of the sunset bouncing off the snowcapped peaks of the Himalayas. So picture this - looking out the left side of the plane, we could see the crimson and mango colors radiating from the setting sun; out the right side of the plane, we could see the mountain peaks awash with a diluted and somewhat muted collection of the same tones. Man oh man, what a blessing it is for me to witness the highest peaks in the world, and in vivid, electric colors.

When I arrived at the airport, I was prepared to meet a member of the Rotaract Club in Kathmandu. I did not have a name or a description, but I was confident with the fact that my bag has a GOOD-BYE POLIO – THANKS ROTARY bumper sticker on it, so anyone familiar with Rotary would spot the bag with me on the other end of the handle. True to my suspicions, a young couple moved forward to me, and welcomed me to Kathmandu. The young man was named Mahesh and the girl with him was named Sabina. Another man, presumably a driver, took my bag and we walked toward a small car in the parking lot and loaded the bag and all of us into the car. On the way to the city, I asked Mahesh how he recognized me, especially since there were other white westerners on the flight. He said, “Mr. Basu told me to look for a big fat white guy and that would be Mr. Elias!” I may be overweight, but I took exception to the description and made a mental note to discuss the description with Basu when I saw him the following day (since he had business in Kathmandu and would fly there on the 16th).

AND THE BANDH PLAYED ON… (Feb. 14 part 2)

2009-03-04T09:21:00.000-08:00

On the afternoon of 14 February, following a tour of a number of potential projects for the future, my host, Basu dev Golyan and another member of his Rotary Club and I, as I stated earlier, attended a part of a Rotaract Club function - the junior Prince and Princess competition. The hall where the event was held was an elegant building, which in its day must have been rather spectacular. When we drove to the function, part of the road had been blocked off by piles of rocks strewn across the major portion of road surface. We left the function, got back into Basu's car and backed out of the parking area out onto the road (a dusty gravel road). We proceeded down the road and when we reached a right-hand turn intersection, but wanted to proceed forward, we noticed the roadway had been completely blocked off with more piles of rocks. There was no way, other than if we had a Range Rover or a Hummer that we would be driving over these piles of sharp rocks in the road. Basu stopped the car, and as he did, I saw a rather sizeable group of young men approaching our car.
You must understand that although it was only about six o'clock in the evening, it was totally dark, other than for an occasional flickering oil lamp in a window or a smudge fire in front of a shop. The group of young men began shouting as they neared the car, and the shouting got louder and louder the closer they got. When they reached the car - with Basu in the driver's seat, the other man in the back seat, with me in the front passenger seat, they yelled something at Basu, opened his door and roughly pulled him from the car. They did the same to the man in the back seat, all the time yelling at both of them. The hoodlums, for lack of a better description, continued screaming at Basu, shoving him, slapping him and pushing him back against the car. You can imagine how safe and content I was feeling about this time! They told him the road was closed, that there was a bandh ( from Wiki-Pedia: Bandh (Hindi: बंद), originally a Hindi word meaning 'closed', is a form of protest used by political activists in some countries in South Asia like India and Nepal. During a Bandh, a major political party or a large chunk of a community declares a general strike, usually lasting one day.) throughout all of Biratnagar, and that he had no right to be driving anywhere in the city, but especially on this dirt road. Now I was beginning to realize the reason I had not seen any, or very many cars since I had arrived in Biratnagar. Moreover, I determined just why we had traveled from one part of the city to another, going by back alleys and the like. The bandh had been happening for at least five days, and these young men were very angry that Basu had the temerity to even dream that he had the right to travel over a closed road, to say nothing of actually driving on it. The reasons they voiced for the bandh were the fact they had pleaded with the local government to pave several of the roads in Biratnagar and the government, thus far, had refused. The dust filled their homes, their shops and their lungs. Even though many of the residents and shopkeepers sprinkled buckets of water on the road in front of their homes or shops to keep the dust to a minimum, such practice yielded little relief.

Meanwhile, back at the car, the thugs were really roughing up Basu and the other Rotarian. One of them grabbed the keys out of the ignition. Basu protested and somehow was able to retrieve the keys. He put them back into the ignition, but when nobody was looking, I removed the keys and put them into my pocket (to what possible end, I have no idea). Basu tried to get back into the car, but was pulled out again into the street and smacked on his chest for doing such a thing. The yelling persisted with a lot of rough talk. Basu told them he was a Rotarian and they were having none of that, either. They could care less about Rotary (only not put so calmly, and with a lot of expletives and not deleted!) I was still sitting in the front passenger seat, when I saw two rather strong-appearing young men approaching the front of the car. They reached under the front bumper and began to pick up the car and tried rocking it. I was totally convinced they intended to roll the car over either sideways or by flipping it, and with me inside! This was NOT good.
I am unsure as to whether or not Basu actually saw these guys doing this, but somehow he managed to quiet them down a bit and pointed to me in the front seat. He explained to this very angry crowd that had grown to about fifty or sixty men, he had a friend who is a foreigner in the front seat of the car and what kind of an impression do they think I am feeling from their behavior. He went on to tell them that if they continued with this behavior, I would have no other recourse than to tell people at home how poorly behaved they were (now THAT was an understatement if I ever had heard one). The two men set the car down, allowed Basu to get back in, as well as the other man, and he panicked a bit when he did not find the keys in the ignition. I tapped him on the shoulder and passed him the keys. He started the engine and even while trying to go a few feet ahead to be able to have room to turn the car around, the men pounded on the hood of the car and on the windows, yelling at Basu again that he could not go down that road any further. He was able to turn the car around and we proceeded down a side street, and into some very dark alleys, eventually making it to the main road, to drop off our friend in the back seat and then to proceed back to Basu's home. However, before seeing his friend to his home, Basu insisted on proceeding down the main street even further to where a wedding was taking place, right next to an open area which he owns where there was a Valentine's Day dance being held. We arrived at the wedding venue, a hotel in which Basu had a financial interest. He had taken me there in order to show me what accommodations a future group of Rotarians coming for a work project would be housed. The hotel (?) may once have been splendid, but I believe all of the stars had been painted out on the front of it. The stench of fresh urine was nearly overpowering and the noise from the generator was deafening. Other than that, I am sure the facility would meet our needs - NOT.
While driving home, I asked Basu if it is not a worry to him the kind of action we witnessed earlier and he seemed to brush it all off with nonchalance. I guess he was actually trying not to worry me, but that attitude did nothing but make me more apprehensive.
We arrived at his home and I excused myself to go to bed. I had experienced far more than I wished to that day and needed sleep. I went to my room. I closed one window (the one with the torn screen) opened another window, quickly got ready for bed and fell onto the king-sized mattress and fell blissfully asleep. Not even ONE mosquito bothered me during the night.

CUPID SHOT HIS ARROW (Feb. 14)

2009-02-27T23:19:00.000-08:00

Shortly after breakfast, the driver (aka Mario Andretti) brought the car around to the front of the house and Basu and I were driven to Rotary House – the building where the various clubs meet in Biratnagar and which is owned by them. There is only one Rotary Clubhouse in our district and that is in Boothbay Harbor, so I was interested in learning the Rotarians in Biratnagar use this common meeting place for their weekly gatherings, as well as eye camps and health clinics throughout the year. It was a pleasure to meet so many new friends, and to have them explain how they waited and waited for me to arrive the night before. Basu explained my difficulty in entering their country at all, so they were a little easier on me. There were some other Rotarians from California attending the meeting, as one of them has helped to raise funds for a women’s hospital that should be completed in two more years. Both Carol and I were invited to speak to the members of the two clubs gathered. There were also some Rotarians, who were surgeons by profession, who are working with Carol to offer cleft palate and cleft lip reconstruction free of charge to the neediest of people throughout the country. I spoke with them following the meeting and told them about our district’s participation over the past ten years in Rotaplast.

Following the meeting, Basu and the incoming presidents for the two clubs met with me to discuss why I was here. I had already explained during my remarks to the general membership about the NID – Work Project Groups I have had the honor of leading for the past five years and the one I am leading this year. I told them I was interested in learning about potential projects in Nepal where I might bring a team in the coming years. I further detailed the projects over the period from 2007 to the present in Chahalka. I indicated it made good sense to begin with a small scale project and build upon that to establish a sustainable relationship with the village over a period of three or four years. We agreed to meet after lunch and to visit a few areas where Rotary might be able to make a difference.

As we were driving along, it seemed everyone was on his mobile phone – with Basu sometimes speaking on two mobile phones simultaneously. I am beginning to catch a few words and phrases in Hindi, so when one of the incoming club presidents was speaking over his mobile, and told us he had been speaking with his wife, I figured out that we were all going to his house for lunch and that he expected his wife to prepare a luncheon for five hungry men, and “oh, by the way, we will be there in five minutes!” We in fact arrived in about three minutes, because there was virtually no automobile traffic, and we met his wife who had prepared lunch in the minutes before she had to leave for her own Rotary Club meeting. I told him it is lucky his wife is also a Rotarian, so at least she understood. However, when lunch was served, I was astounded at what was placed before us – plate after plate and serving dish of one VEG dish or another.

Following lunch, we all piled into Basu’s SUV and off we went to a remote village where the children are suffering from dysentery. There are about 150 people in this village, and once I took a walk about, I saw one of the chief reasons the kids were getting sick -some of them had died in the past few months. The location of the hand-pump tube well was literally five feet from the toilet. Even though I was also told not many people use the toilets because they do not have sides and a roof to provide privacy and shelter from rainstorms, you could not prove it by me. There always seems to be the telltale stench of stale urine which assaults the nasal passages of those not accustomed to such odors. Such was the case here. The toilets were comprised of a porcelain plate – about two feet square, with places for one to place one’s feet and an oblong hole in the center. Beneath the hole was a scooped out hole with a possible capacity of two or three gallons. Trust me, these were bring used, and recently too!

As it turns out, one of the Rotarians with us told us his father had given this land to the villagers and had actually deeded each tiny parcel to the person who was then allowed to build his house and enjoy it with his family. There was also common land for gardens and area for pens for goats and chickens. We asked about education and were told nobody goes to school because they must stay in the home and work at farming. Some of the teenaged boys did work in local factories. In speaking with the Rotarian, I discovered that if asked by us (meaning by me and those in future groups) he would be willing to deed additional land to the villagers who would build and maintain a proper bath facility – perhaps a tiny scale of what we are presently doing in Chahalka.

Since I was leaving the following afternoon to fly to Kathmandu, I wanted to view as many potential projects as we could in that afternoon. We visited a larger town and across the road from where the townspeople were celebrating a religious holiday (I think there are more Hindu holidays or holy days than in any other religion) we visited a government school for boys. At present, about half of the rooms are being used, while the others remain empty, unproductive and stinking. After some discussion with the teacher (who was also incidentally a judge for a contest or competition across at the holy day celebration) we determined we should be able to have the government deed over to us one double room and one single room, in exchange for our creating a computer training center, much the same as we had done with the derelict building in Chahalka this past year. The small room would be converted into an efficiency studio apartment for an instructor, whom we would have to hire and pay wages for them. Basu and I walked from the small room over around the veranda to what would be the best location for a computer lab, so to speak. As we turned the corner, he pointed out, “That is the toilet room” and as quickly as possible, I informed him he did NOT have to tell me where the toilets were located – I could and had already smelled them several yards prior. As we spoke with the instructor, about two- dozen of the boys who are students at this school, began to gather round us to hear what we might be able to plan for the future. They all seemed very eager and promised if we were successful in mapping out such a project, then they were going to study harder so they could get into the school and excel in computer training classes. It was heartening to find out how enthusiastic they all were to improve their lives. We departed from the school and headed back to Biratnagar. Basu wanted to drop off the other Rotarians, meet another one, and show me the hotel accommodations our team might enjoy if we were able to put a project or two together. Basu seemed to have his finger in a lot of pies – being a sponsor of one of the local banks, being a sweater manufacturer, being involved in the plastics industry, being a part owner of the hotel, etc.

That evening, we were to meet some folks from New Zealand and the UK, who were visiting SHELTER BOX projects nearby. First, however, Basu and I were to attend an event hosted by the local ROTARACT Clubs. This was a JUNIOR PRINCE AND PRINCESS BEAUTY AND TALENT CONTEST, being held at one of the vacated government buildings. I think I mentioned previously, perhaps in an earlier posting the visible lack of automobiles on the roads in and around Biratnagar. When I questioned Basu about this and why we seemed to always be driving down back alleys and side roads, he explained some of the locals were upset with the government for not paving the roads which are located directly in front of their homes or businesses, creating clouds of dust with every passing car or truck. He assured me this was not an unusual occurrence but that I should not be concerned. Famous last words…

We did, in fact attend the event. Basu was driving us. We had stopped at the home of another Rotarian to have him join us for the Rotaract event. There are laws both in India and Nepal that state if one is caught driving while using a mobile phone, the person can be arrested and forced to pay a sizable fine to the government. I guess Basu was not too worried, though, because evidently a law had yet to be written where it states the punishment for someone talking on TWO mobile phones at the same time, all the while driving using both of his elbows for steering! We arrived at the function and the auditorium was packed – both with Rotaractors, as well as families and friends of the contestants. The decibel level of the PA system was anything but healthy. I mean to say, the eardrums were assaulted and in some cases may have even burst. If a normal decibel level for loud music is 500, then this had to be at least 10,000. That is no exaggeration. I could not even hear what was being sung, let alone what the man next to me was trying to say.

MORE ABOUT THIS LATER... am off to catch a plane, but will return to BLOG soon.

FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH - PART TWO

2009-02-27T23:17:00.000-08:00

After dodging bicycle rickshaws with no lighting or reflectors, and occasional cow wandering along the side of the road that decided it was a good time to cross it just when our car was approaching, or trying to miss the potholes in the road (but being more like a giant magnet attracted to them) we made it to Biratnagar and to the home of my host, Rotarian Basu Dev Golyan. The driver honked the horn of the car was we approached a gate and I certainly did not expect to see the size home that loomed on the landscape as we rounded the corner and parked under the port cachere. The driver got out of the car and hollered for the houseman. He continued hollering until a man in his late twenties or early thirties emerged from the back of the house, rubbing the night's sleep from his eyes. He turned on one or two lights and we entered the foyer of what was to be my home for the next three days. Basu joined us and instructed the houseman to carry my bags to the upstairs where I was to sleep.

"We must now have dinner, my friend," he said. I checked my mobile phone (that incidentally stopped working as we crossed into Nepal - being an Indian phone, only) and the dial told me it was well after eleven-thirty - just a bit late to address a Rotary Club meeting. I told Basu I would much prefer to sleep, that I was not hungry, that I ate on the plane. Basically, I offered every excuse to him for not wanting to eat at that late hour. He insisted, and I finally said, "No, Basu, I am going to bed, and I must go now!" The message penetrated and he asked me to follow him upstairs and that he would show me to my room. As I mentioned before, this was quite a house, for all I could see from the outside in the near-total darkness. We climbed the marble staircase - first twenty-four stairs to a landing and then another twenty-three stairs. High-posted, ya think? We walked down one hallway, turned into another and then opened a door into another passageway, and finally opened the door into a huge bedroom (about 25' x 30', if I were to guess). A king-sized bed awaited my tired body, but Basu insisted upon showing me the rest of the suite - the dressing area and the enormous bathroom with a marble tub that was easily six feet in length and about two feet in depth. He told me he was going to open the windows, but that they had screens and that I really needed some fresh air to sleep well. I assured him I would probably not remember anything within two minutes of my head hitting the pillows. Basu bid me a good night’s rest and I settled down onto the bed.

Although it seemed like I had slept for hours, in checking the clock on my mobile phone, I had actually slept for perhaps forty-five minutes. I awakened to the sound of a commando raid attacking me! Mosquitoes were out on the town for dinner and I was the entrée. Both in India, as well as in Nepal, at least in private homes, beds come with a bottom sheet and a comforter. There was no escaping these winged bandits. I pulled the comforter up over my head, totally wrapping myself into a cotton cocoon, and I waited and I listened. Another raid began in a matter of a few seconds. It is difficult to swat at mosquitoes, or anything else for that matter, when one is wrapped like a mummy. I did try to reposition myself within my envelope, but the tricky little helicopter pilots were able to located the only opening and glide in to attack me again and again. These little beasts were relentless in their sorties, coming in for a landing and the kill for hours.

Every half-hour, the bell tower peeled out the time – 2:00 a.m., 2:30 a.m. and on until dawn broke. Every fifteen minutes or so, I had to come out from beneath the comforter in order to keep from suffocating. It would have been so much easier if there were only a top sheet – at least I might have not feared suffocating, to say nothing of baking in my own body heat. Frustration set in after the first twenty-minutes. Where the devil were these carnivores originating? How were they entering the room? For a while, I decided to go into the bathroom, close the door and hopefully escape the barrage of attacks. This worked but not for long. Within about fifteen minutes, the commandos found there way through the exhaust fan, which did not have a screen on either the outside or the inside. Finally, when it got light enough to see outside, and the bell clock tolled 6:30 a.m., I went back into the room, only to discover the source of my grief and frustration – a tear in the screen about the size of a soccer ball. The little buggers had free entry throughout the night. If only I had been able to see that during the night, I could have remedied the situation by closing the window. One fact I learned however, in Nepal, or at least in Biratnagar, the electricity is shut down completely for between eight and sixteen hours each day or night, depending upon the schedule for your city or village and at Basu’s home, the time for no power was from about midnight until eight in the morning. Since he had not left me with a flashlight (or torch, as they say) I was helpless to see much of anything, since it was just not the power to the house, but the streetlamps and factory buildings, as well.

With only a few winks of sleep, I got up, took a shower (once I figured out the faucet idiosyncrasies) and got dressed. I descended the marble staircase, noticing there was a similar one leading up to another story. As I surmised when I arrived the night before, this was one huge house. I heard Basu in one of the rooms on the main floor so made myself known and he asked how I slept. I did not want to insult him by telling him that due to his concern for my health by providing an unlimited supply of fresh air I had been unable to sleep more than a total of less than one hour. We enjoyed breakfast in the formal dining room. I asked whether this was his permanent home or whether he lived in Kathmandu. He told me this was his home, that his mother still lived there with Basu and his wife. Both his mother and wife were away on an extended trip to India, so I would not be meeting them. I asked him about his business and he told me he owned a factory (immediately next to the side yard) where he produces pashmina sweaters for companies like Benneton. He said we would tour the factory probably the following day. I walked outside for a few minutes, waiting for Basu to finish puja and then we would be off to meet the members of two of the Rotary Clubs in Biratnagar.

Hopefully, the night was an anomaly and Valentine’s Day would be better.

San Antonio Team on its way !

2009-02-26T18:43:00.000-08:00

Here is a story about the SA team which appeared in our daily newspaper, the San Antonio Express-News, the morning before our departure on Feb 27, 2009:

By Elizabeth Allen - Express-News

When administering vaccine to a struggling child while crowded by curious onlookers in a remote Indian village, it's important not to touch the medicine vial to the child's lips.

That's one of the tips that Boone and Dianne Powell brought back to fellow Rotarians this month as the others prepare to join an international effort to eradicate polio.
A member of the Rotary Club of San Antonio, Dianne Powell and her husband joined the teams of Rotary Club International, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the World Health Organization and UNICEF in the fight. Their trip and a two-week journey launching Friday from San Antonio were organized by local Rotarian and past district president Jim Berg.

Rotarians have long fought polio, but until this year, nobody from South Texas District 5840 has gone to India, Berg said.

“We've sent money that way, but we've never sent people that way,” he said. “I decided that I had heard about it long enough, and I wanted to go ... and show everybody with my camera and with my blog.”

Berg, John and Judy Hutcherson of the Fredericksburg Morning Rotary Club and Nora Turner of the Wimberley Rotary Club expect to arrive in India, jetlagged and exhausted, just in time for the next National Immunization Day, on March 1. Aided by the Greehey Family Foundation and NuStar Energy, they'll join a massive effort led by Indian health workers.

“There are far more Indians involved than Rotarians from Western countries,” Berg said. “We happen to go there only to be boots on the ground.”

But the presence of Westerners, combined with thousands of bright yellow advertising banners, draw attention to the event, according to the blog of Maine Rotarian Elias Thomas, whom Berg and the others will join.

Each push will vaccinate millions of children in a few days. Over 20 years, such efforts have helped reduce the annual world polio infection rate from more than 300,000 to about 2,000.

Dianne Powell grew up in Fort Worth, a world away from Chahalka, the Muslim village near Delhi where the Powells spent much of their visit hauling bricks to build bathrooms.

But she shares a physical link with them.

“I had polio when I was about 8 years old, and I had friends that I got to know in the hospital that didn't make it,” Powell said.

For many Americans younger than 40, polio is a storybook illness afflicting children of the past. But it's an ongoing reality in India, Nigeria, Pakistan and Afghanistan.
Poliomyelitis attacks the nervous system and can lead to permanent paralysis, usually in the legs. Sometimes it kills its sufferers by immobilizing their breathing muscles. It usually affects children and spreads most aggressively in communities with poor sanitation systems.

Not that many years ago, it was a terrifying reality in the U.S., affecting thousands of people a year. President Franklin D. Roosevelt contracted it in 1921 at age 39.
Dr. Jonas Salk developed the first polio vaccine, in 1954, and a 1962 aerial photo shows a long line of people snaking around San Antonio's Municipal Auditorium waiting for immunization.

Powell's memory of getting polio was as a sudden strike.

“I woke up one morning and I couldn't move,” she said. “They took me to the hospital and they did a spinal tap, which was excruciating.“Polio meant nothing to me. All I knew was there was this very painful procedure, and the next thing I knew, I was in a ward with all these kids, and my mother and father went away.”

It was the early 1950s, and Powell was treated with hot towels, baths and physical therapy. She watched as other children whose respiratory systems were attacked were placed in iron lungs, the large metal cylinders that acted like a bellows to regulate breathing.

“They were horrible-looking things, these big tubes, and you'd see a child's head sticking out of them,” Powell said.

When the Powells returned from India this month, they sat down with Berg, Turner and John Hutcherson.

“I just didn't realize how rough it was going to be, and how primitive our quarters were going to be, and how hard the work was going to be,” Dianne Powell said. On the other hand, she said, the group was generously fed and hosted.

She and her husband offered practical travel tips — hats, hand sanitizer, patience — as well as a description of immunization day, when crowds surrounded health workers.
Boone Powell spoke of the shock of seeing very young children in charge of infants.
“So you see the crowd kind of stirring in an area, and then, plop! This baby comes through the crowd carrying another baby,” he said.

For Hutcherson, the difficulties of third-world travel aren't new. Both Hutchersons have been on service trips, he said, with Judy Hutcherson recently back from Afghanistan.

“It's an opportunity to serve, and it's an opportunity to ... establish relationships with people around the world, and I believe that's how you do peace in the world,” he said. “It changes my view, and it also has an influence on their view.”

2009-02-25T19:02:00.000-08:00

FRIDAY, THE THIRTEENTH - PART ONE

2009-02-23T19:46:00.000-08:00

Since meeting Basu Dev Golyan, the Rotarian from Nepal, at our farewell dinner on the 8th, I had arranged to travel to Nepal, primarily to determine if there might be some projects to consider for our teams of Rotarians in future years. Through the help of Sanjiv and his office, I was able to purchase a ticket on a flight leaving from Delhi at 9:30 a.m. on Friday, the 13th. Not that I am suspicious or anything, but as the day unfolded, perhaps a few of the doubts I may have had became reality.

First, Sanjiv's driver was not too keen about meeting me at such an early hour to take me to the airport within the required two-hour pre-boarding time constraint. Well, Badal did arrive at the house to meet me. I had packed all of my clothing into my carry-on, but also had my laptop along, just in case I might have an opportunity to access the Internet at a WI-FI location. When we arrived at the airport, at about 8:00 (not quite the two hours required) I went to the entrance for KINGFISHER AIRLINES and checked in at the ticket counter. The attendant checked my bag through to Bagdogra (an airport in Bengal, not too far a drive from the border with Nepal). I asked if the flight would be on-time and was told it would be. This is great. Things are rolling along just fine. I then passed through security, trying to explain why every time the wand passed by my left knee, the lights flashed and the buzzer went off. I finally rolled up my pant leg, showed my scar and rapped on my knee a few times and said, "Titanium". The attendant smiled and let me pass through. I collected my laptop bag and jacket and proceeded to the waiting area.

Waiting area? What an understatement! Almost as soon as I reached that area, the departure screen indicated our flight had been postponed until 11:00. Not so bad. I could continue to read the book that Sean Dolter had loaned to me. The next announcement over the PA system indicated 12:30 p.m. Well, I guess I can live with this, I thought. Within minutes there was another announcement: "The flight on Kingfisher Airlines has been postponed until 2:30." There was never any explanation, and due to that fact, when an unsuspecting gate attendant from Kingfisher strolled down to the gate area, he was accosted by about two dozen very angry and VERY vocal passengers - all of them from India. I have never seen quite such an unruly crowd in an airport. I mean, they screamed and yelled and pushed and shoved and hollered epithets and expletives UN-deleted! Evidently, when I spoke to a man who had come to sit beside me because he noticed the Rotary emblem on my shirt, the crowd was getting more and more upset, due to the fact that supposedly since Bagdogra is also a military air base, no commercial flights are allowed into or out of that airport after 5:00 in the afternoons.

I decided to get something to eat and again experienced a rather unruly crowd of hungry passengers. Finally, I was able to get something VEG and returned to my seat in the waiting lounge. I ate my breakfast-lunch-whatever meal and settled in with my book. Then more yelling and screaming. I mean you cannot even make up fiction that plays out like this scene was doing. I was then informed that Kingfisher Airlines would allow passengers to go to the food counter and get some lunch at no further cost to the passenger, so I sallied forth to join the queue at the lunch counter. I was able to get a wrap of some kind because the veggie burgers were not available. The back of my ticket was endorsed by the attendant and I returned to my seat. Would you believe… at 4:00 that afternoon, we were allowed to leave the terminal and proceed to awaiting buses that would take us to the plane? Well, not so fast! We boarded the buses (with mostly windows) and the doors closed. Unfortunately, we stood for a good fifteen minutes without being able to leave, to open windows or, heaven forbid, to have the driver turn on the air conditioning. Remember the smell of wet winter clothes steaming on the radiators at school, when you were a little kid? Well multiply that smell exponentially and you MIGHT get an idea as to how the bus stunk by the time we began to roll. To say the passengers were not pleased would be to put it mildly. Again more pushing and shoving, and for what? Did these folks really believe the plane would leave without them? Did they really believe that someone else would sit in their assigned seats? Once all were boarded and settled into seats, we began to taxi and lift-off came at about 4:45 p.m. Not bad… only seven plus hours late, and not a cloud in the sky! I was so looking forward to a free Kingfisher beer or two, but that was not about to happen.

The flight was not too bumpy and I guess when all is said and done, perhaps the company wanted us all to be able to appreciate the magnificence of the views of the sunset reflecting its crimson rays on the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas. Doubtful, but it gave me hope. Upon landing, I picked up my checked bag and proceeded out to the parking lot and was met by a driver holding a piece of paper with some semblance of my name on it. He was a pleasant, older man, who took my bag and we proceeded to the car. I got in and was disappointed that darkness had encroached to the point it would be very difficult to see much of the countryside on the way to Biratnagar - the home of my host, Basu. The driver tried to communicate to me that the trip would take about two hours. Since I had been scheduled to address a joint meeting of two Rotary Clubs in Biratnagar, I thought anything is possible and if they met like so many other clubs meet, later in the evening, I could still make it there. Again, not so fast!!!

Although the driver really tried to make up for lost time - I mean for all seven hours of lost time - there was more in store for us along the way. We drove through totally blacked out areas - I mean not so much as a flickering candle or oil lamp, and then through some very noisy villages where open-air markets were still crowded despite the darkness of the hour. There always seems to be an inherent bustle about the villages in India, almost as though going to market is as much a social event as it might be for buying a few eggs or some fresh produce. I also noticed lots of bicycle rickshaws - I mean literally hundreds and hundreds of them, not only in the towns and villages, but also being pedaled along the main roads leading out of the villages, and with no safety features such as lights or reflectors. In the USA, OSHA would have a field day…

We finally reached an area where I began to notice signs that we were approaching the border with Nepal. We might still reach the meeting. Nay, nay, not so fast!!! First, we had to stop at the checkpoint on the Indian side of the border so I could legally exit the country and get my passport stamped. Unfortunately, the driver had forgotten this little tidbit of a requirement, so we had first driven to the border, only to be turned back so I could get the passport stamped. In what was close to total darkness, with an occasional single low-watt light bulb dangling from a frayed and spliced wire to interrupt what seemed like we were inside a large pocket, I was directed by a rather spirited military officer to go back to a hut in the rear of the compound and someone would come to meet me. I am sure I was the attraction, being rather large and white. I entered what I thought would be the right hut and was told to wait. Why not? After having left the safe haven of Sanjiv's home some twelve hours before, what is another few minutes? The officer finally came and asked me what I wanted. Although somewhat unsure as to what I really wanted, I told him I would be grateful if he would stamp my passport so I could proceed into Nepal. After fishing through the pages of my passport to find a clean page and to locate my current visa, he finally stamped it with such pronouncement that I am surprised it was simply stamped, rather than embossed.

Now, back to the car and my driver who was eagerly awaiting, ready to transport me to his master's house. We approached the international border between India and Nepal and were stopped again. I expected this, since one must check in at an immigration office to enter a country. He driver left me in the car to locate the right office. This location was even darker than the checkpoint on the Indian side, if that is possible. Not so much as two street lamps that seemed to flicker, almost in a pulsing rhythm. The few cars passing did not have headlights lit. Night vision in Nepal must be fantastic! About ten minutes later, the driver returned and got into the car. He looked upset. I asked him if there was a problem and he tried to explain we could not cross the border. "This is just ducky," I thought to myself. Here I am in the middle of nowhere, unable to speak Hindi or Nepalese, in near total darkness, wondering if I was to have the pleasure of camping out in the back seat of my sub-compact limousine. Ah, for the sake of adventure…

The driver tried several times to call on his mobile, presumably to Basu. He was finally able to get through, although the connection seemed a bit sketchy. He told me to wait in the car again, but this time he left the interior light on, and I really became the attraction - with passersby peering in the windows as though I were a giant white fish in a tiny fishbowl. Fifteen minutes later the driver returned to the car, seeming even more frustrated than before. He tried calling about a dozen times but to no avail. He got out of the car again and told me to stay there. Like I was about to go for an evening stroll or something??? Another fifteen minutes passed, and he returned to the car, rapped on the body of the car and motioned me out. He explained the Immigration Office was CLOSED!!! Oh joy. So where was he directing that I should proceed? A military officer was walking along the other side of the street, in the same general direction I was headed and I thought we should just about meet one another from perpendicular starting points. I guessed he was military, although his uniform was a bit suspect - typical army green jacket with a name tag and a medal, not buttoned; a relic of a rifle slung over his right shoulder; and a pair of dirty white cargo-type shorts and bare feet. "Oh well, go with the flow," I thought. The principal gate - a ten foot wall of steel, was closed and bolted shut. However, a tiny door opened into the yard of this outpost. I was invited to step in. I suddenly remembered a childhood story where the last part of the line flashed into my head, "said the spider to the fly". Was this going to be where I was encamped for the night? Would this be my ticket into the country? What was going to happen next?

Inside the building, and I swear this is true, there was an office with a processing counter. Perched atop the counter was a single lighted candle, about the thickness of a Bic pen, providing absolutely the ONLY light in the room. There were three men, including my barefooted, cargo shorted military officer, behind the counter. I was asked to produce my passport and in order to expedite this process; I opened it to the page where the Indian officer had pounded my exit information indelibly onto the page. He did not seem to be impressed with this and handed me a 3" x 5" piece of paper, an entry form, that I was required to fill out. I did so, and then a horrible thought crept into my mind. The previous day, I was supposed to have had two passport-sized photos taken, so I could provide them to the Nepalese Immigration officer, in order to obtain a visa and enter the country. That never happened. What to do now? Wait until I was asked for the photos. I handed the completed visa application form to a plain-clothes guy, who in turn handed it to the other man who then handed it to the barefooted, white cargo shorts guy. Each had to take a look at it, but how could they see any of the writing, since the candle was on my side of the room? One man produced a penlight and held it in his mouth, while he read over my visa application. He then asked the sixty-four thousand dollar question, "Photos?" Such a simple question. I thought to myself, "Elias, you are in SOOOOOOOOOOO much trouble!" Just as I was about to tell them I had no photos, I remembered my Rotary business card that has a photo of Jane and me on it. I reached into my pocket, produced two of these cards (the photo is only about an inch by and inch, but it is a photo) and handed them to the first guy, who guided his mouth-held penlight onto this new prize, then passed them onto guy number two who held them in front of the first guy's mouth with light, and finally passed them onto white shorts barefoot guy. (Do you see a Bollywood movie script in my future?) "Where is Madam?" he asked assertively. "Madam is at home shoveling snow," I informed him. "We must have Madam here with you to process," he said. I then told him to cut the picture in half so Madam did NOT have to be with me in order for me to enter Nepal, and Ripley, are you ready for this??? He took out a pair of manicure scissors, cut Madam out of the photo, stapled the two cards to my visa application, stamped my passport, peeled off a peel-and-stick-visa form from his book and slapped it into my passport. The flickering candle was extinguished and I was then escorted out of the building, through the tiny opening in the steel wall, and proceeded to my car, where no driver was to be seen. He appeared soon and we were off for Biratnagar, where presumably the Rotarians had long-since departed from their meeting. We got to the pike, which was only partially lowered, so we just drove underneath it and, huzzah, we were in Nepal. On to PART TWO.

PLAYING CATCH-UP… (Feb. 9-12)

2009-02-22T19:34:00.000-08:00

...or is it ketchup???
Beginning on Monday, February 8, I worked with Sanjiv to update the information regarding our second group of team members scheduled to arrive on February 28. There were rooming arrangements to be made for the time we would be working on the project, as well as final information to share with the team members as to what they might expect for weather conditions, possible gifts to bring to the children in the village among other things. However, since our group had basically monopolized Sanjiv’s time and that of the rest of his family, there were more important items on his agenda which needed to be addressed – the MARRIAGE OF HIS SON, GAURAV, taking place on March 28 and 29!

Since I consider myself as a part of their family and they feel likewise, it was a pleasure and an honor for me when Sanjiv and Jyotsna invited me to go with them as they shopped for the chairs and tenting to be used for both days of the ceremonies – different for each day! On Monday, we visited a company that offers an amazing selection of tenting materials, colors, chair covers, table dressing and lighting. It seemed that Sanjiv, Jyotsna, Olie, Pallavi and I spent about three hours at this one vendor, but in the end were able to agree upon colors to be used, whether or not the chair covers should also have bows tied around the backs, and if so, what fabric and color would be used for this. We decided upon the setting for the bar as well as the food table, and a few suggestions I made that were accepted and will be implemented. Once we concluded this exercise, we went to a South Indian restaurant for lunch – after all, it was only 4:15 in the afternoon. One of the difficult situations to be addressed is the fact that the wedding ceremonies and festivities will take place at the “farm”, rather that in Delhi, so everything needs to be hauled there – and this will take a minimum of two hours to bring from Delhi.

Following lunch, Pallavi and I decided it would be great fun to visit the local Baskin-Robbins and pick up a number of varieties of ice cream to have for dessert at dinner later that evening.

The next day, we went shopping for jewelry and lehengas – the traditional dress for the bride to wear on the marriage day. The embroidery work and the beadwork on some of these garments were truly amazing – all done by hand, rather than machine. Some of the skirts were so heavily beaded that I would guess the weight exceeded thirty pounds. Pallavi, as the sister of the groom, also wanted to find a lehenga for herself. After all, she had the right to wear one since she is the groom’s sister. This day, it was just Pallavi, Sanjiv and I who were looking for the jewelry and the lehengas. I think we must have visited about fifteen different shops – many of them designer shops, and really did not find anything to purchase for Tatiana – the bride. You see, Gaurav lives in San Francisco, as does Tatiana. Additionally, neither she nor her family has ever traveled to India. Since time is compressed and Gaurav and Tatiana will only be arriving one week prior to the wedding, everything needs to be found, bought and delivered between now and the time they arrive. Final fittings will occur in that one week. Talk about stress!!!

Somehow, Sanjiv seemed to have been stricken with food poisoning, and landed flat on his back, with chills and nausea, etc. This coupled with his already bad back left him somewhat helpless and confined to the house. In addition, following Indian tradition, Jyotsna was packing to travel to Assam, from where she originated, to personally deliver all of the wedding invitations to five of her sisters, as well as their families, and to do some shopping for the wedding. To describe the household as one of hustle and bustle would clearly be a gross understatement.

Not only were we involved with shopping and making arrangements for the marriage, but I was also trying to rekindle some former relationships with friends in India, as well as make necessary arrangements for me to travel to Nepal toward the end of the week. I was able to speak with Raj Bardeja, who had been one of my hosts when I was in India as the Group Study Exchange team leader in 2003. I also visited with Yogesh Sikand. She and her husband and their son had also hosted me that same year. It was wonderful to catch up on these past several years. Rishi, her son, was studying for his final examinations. It is hard to believe that much time had passed since I had stayed at their home.

Ravi Dayal, who was one of my first Rotarian friends in India called and invited me to have lunch with him at Habitat – a wonderful complex in Delhi, that included fine accommodations and a wonderful roof-top restaurant. Following lunch, Ravi and I went to the section of the city where he had been raised. He needed to purchase tires for his wife’s van. It was kind of neat to see that all of the tire places were located on the same street, more or less next door to each other. Comparison-shopping was certainly easy. Once Ravi decided upon the vendor and the type tire (spelled tyre, here) then he said we needed to walk several blocks to a section of the city where crockery and glassware are sold. Ravi, who is an architect, had been contracted to not only draw the plans for the rehabilitation project for a building that will house the offices of the Congress Party, but to oversee the implementation of those plans, including the purchase of furniture and other accessories, including china, glassware, flatware, etc. He and I visited a number of shops in the basement of what I would probably term a wholesale house for that type of product, and we decided upon a china pattern, a flatware pattern, an everyday china pattern and glassware. After purchasing all of the crockery and other goods, we then had everything packed to be taken back to where he was having the tyres changed. Once all of this stuff was packed, only a few minutes expired before the packed boxes were all upstairs at the curb awaiting two bicycle rickshaws to take us and our purchases to the place where the van was getting some “new shoes”. What a sight – Ravi and I riding in one rickshaw, with a half-dozen carton boxes strapped to the undercarriage of the rickshaw, and one of the shopkeepers on another one, along with about a dozen more carton boxes. And this was not all of the stuff, either. The shopkeeper had to return to the building for twelve boxes of glassware that had not made it in the first shipment! Once the tyres were changed on the van, we went to the Congress Party Headquarters to see the project and to deliver the goods. It was fun for me to see the extent of the project and to see what work had been completed, and what furniture purchased, as well as hauling our purchases to their final destination. Once done there, Ravi and I went to meet his daughter, Mahima, whom I had not seen for about five years. She is already in University and also studying for her final examinations. We met her near the exit for the underground railway system and then drove to Sanjiv’s house. It was time to enjoy some R&R, as well as to be brought up to date with Ravi and his family. He even worked with Sanjiv to choose the ultimate food selections for the marriage – choosing veg and non-veg, continental, Chinese and traditional dishes. Ravi actually was quite good at this exercise.

When we returned to Sanjiv’s house, Pallavi and one of here cousins were working on the plans for the marriage, including a skit that would parody Gaurav and his bride-to-be. Mahima has some practice in this, so she and Pallavi, as well as Olie and another cousin worked on the skit. When they left, Ravi and Mahima were totally involved in the wedding and all of its parts. After a few hours, Ravi and his daughter left for home and we set about eating dinner – this late night dinner stuff really has to go. I have tried to convince Sanjiv that having a full dinner at eleven at night is not healthy, but have not gotten very far. This is especially true since I was to be getting up very early the next morning to go to the airport to catch a flight to Bagdogra – located in Bengal, near the border with Nepal.

DILLY HUT? DELHI HAT? DELHI HAAT? - (Feb. 8)

2009-02-22T19:32:00.000-08:00

Following checkout from our hotel in Agra, we boarded the bus with Suresh at the wheel and now three riding shotgun – Ragu was joined by Crissie and Cassandra. This new seating arrangement provided the two women with an “up close and personal” view of everything which was aiming toward our bus, and at the same time gave the rest of us a bit more legroom. We were hoping to be able to beat some of the morning traffic into Delhi, but it is very difficult to determine whether or not we succeeded. Who knows when it comes to traffic in Delhi?

We stopped at a rest stop along the way, purchased some snacks and cold drinks and sat outside in the garden. We were the first ones out there, but when subsequent bus groups arrived, they too wanted to sit out in the garden in the warm sun. I guess we set the standard. Some of us purchased various trinkets to take home to friends and family. We were back on the road, and eventually stopped for our lunch at India’s example of a fast food restaurant chain – Halduram’s. When looking at the huge menu (one could purchase North Indian, South Indian, Chinese and several other ethnic foods) several of us decided upon a less traditional fare – namely veggie burgers! Actually, the veggie burgers were a good deal better than the ones we are able to purchase at home, either at Burger Kind or at the supermarkets. These were served with French fries and ketchup, so other than the setting, who would have known where we were eating?

After finishing up our lunch with a sinful sweet, gooey, sticky pastry treat, we headed into Delhi. I had contacted a fellow Rotarian, Brian Fulp from the Homesdale, Pennsylvania Rotary Club, who was traveling in India at the same time. He is affiliated with the Himalayan Institute and that group was bringing a few hundred devotees to India for two weeks, working with them in Assam, where the institute has a facility. It happened that Brian and I had been playing telephone tag, but finally caught up with one another an arranged to meet somewhere later that afternoon. Some of the group wanted “free” time; others wanted to visit Fab-India, a store that sells clothing for men, women and children; and still others were still light on gifts to take home. The bus dropped off most of us at Fab India, and the others hired tuk-tuks (auto-rickshaws) to take them into the Connaught Circus area of the city. Sean, in particular, wanted to purchase a gift for all of us to give to Sanjiv and his family for the amazing bit of hosting they provided to us. It was not simply feeding us, but providing toilets, providing Internet access, providing R&R, and providing rooms to serve as Sick Bay, when one or another of us fell victim to Delhi Belly.

I checked out a few things at Fab India and was actually able to find a vest and shirt for my grandson. Boone, Dianne, Kim, Nancy and Pallavi stayed back for a while, and I left in a tuk-tuk to be driven over to Delhi Haat (or Dilly Hut). This is a wonderful open-air market, where artisans from all parts of India have booths for two or three weeks and sell their products, only to be replaced by others from different regions when the first folks return to their homes. Prices at Delhi Haat are also considered pretty reasonable and the variety one sees is considerable. (Haat in Hindi means open market.) I had already made arrangements to meet Brian Fulp and the easiest place to find was Delhi Haat. Brian had never been there prior to today, but he was certainly agreeable to meet there and share experiences and concerns. When we met, Brian and I picked up from where we had left off several months back when I spoke at a District Conference in Pennsylvania this past October. It was enjoyable meeting someone I knew who was also halfway around the world and comparing notes with him about his experiences.

After being at Delhi Haat for a while, the remainder of the group arrived and split up to take in the wide variety of the shops and handicrafts from every state in India. Dianne retained her title of being the very BEST shopper of our team – having found some goodies at Fab India, as well as Delhi Haat. When the appointed time arrived, we gathered at the gate and waited for the bus to meet us. This was to be the last trip we would be taking in the bus, under the very able direction and control of Suresh and Ragu. We worked our way through the throngs of cars, auto-rickshaws, tuk-tuks, trucks, buses and whatever else managed to crowd the streets and clog virtually every intersection in the city. Finally, we made it to Safdarjung Enclave, Sector B, block 1 and number 22 – the home of Sanjiv, Jyotsna, Pallavi, Olie and of course, granddad (Sanjiv’s father, who is a very spry eighty-seven years young). We off loaded all of our bags from the bus, because following dinner, we would be splitting the group and sending them off in different directions: Chris Parkinson and Cassandra Bradley, along with Dianne and Boone Powell would be departing for the airport for the fifteen plus hour flight back to Newark, and then on either to New Hampshire, Boston or San Antonio. Sean and Kim would be going to a hotel for the night, then flying on up to Kathmandu, Nepal for a week. Nancy Day and Crissie Day would be staying at a different hotel from Sean and Kim, and the following day would be flying back to Seattle. Linda Nicol was not with us, as she had remained on in Mewat to offer her services as a massage therapist to polio victims for a couple of weeks. I was the only remaining member of the team and moved into my old bedroom at Sanjiv’s house.

During dinner, each member of the team spoke of impressions of the trip, experiences to and from, as well as within the village. Chris Parkinson talked about composing and singing his own compositions at his three daughters’ weddings. Sanjiv asked if he would sing for us, and he said he really needed a guitar. Did I ever mention the MAGIC OF ROTARY??? It is alive and well in Delhi, in the personage of Sanjiv Saran. He told Chris he would just take a minute and when he returned, he produced a dusty guitar case, but a nice guitar inside! Chris entertained us with one of the wedding songs. Dinner was drawing to a close – schedules needed to be met – and we needed to pause for a few moments to thank Sanjiv, Jyotsna and Olie, as well as Pallavi, for all they had done to make our stay a wonderful experience. We had all agreed to purchase a gift for them and left that task to Sean Dolter. He presented a packed and heavy sack to Sanjiv and Jyotsna, and asked them to open it. The content was uncovered and revealed a magnificent hand-carved statue of Lord Ganesh. This is going to be taken to the farm and placed in the niche in the entry hall of the house, where it will serve as the overseeing god of the household. Lord Ganesh or Ganesha or Genesha (take your pick of the spellings) is the elephant god and if you are interested in learning of the story about what seems to be the most popular manifestation of the Hindu gods, I suggest you try researching in Wikipedia, Google or Yahoo or some other search engine. Sanjiv and Jyotsna seemed to be overwhelmed with the gift and thanked each of us. Not only did they have tears in their eyes, but most of us did, as well. It was time to depart and say our farewells, at least for now. The SUV was waiting out in front of the house to take the four fly-home members to the airport. Other vehicles took Sean and Kim, and Nancy and Crissie. We were about to shut off the lights, when the doorbell rang. The gentleman who was at the door was Basu Dev Golyan, a Rotarian from Nepal, with whom Sanjiv and I had been speaking regarding meeting to discuss the potential of projects in Nepal in future years.

More on this later, but it is time for me to close this off and shut down my laptop, and kiss another night goodbye.

SHAH JAHAN'S MONUMENT TO HIS BELOVED… (Feb. 7)

2009-02-12T18:13:00.000-08:00

After another relatively early breakfast, we met Suresh and Ragu out in front of our hotel, for the ride to Agra. One fact people from outside of India sometimes fail to realize is distance and time to cover that distance. As I may have mentioned earlier on in this BLOG, the distance of one hundred miles in the US or Canada can generally be driven in well under two hours. However, in India, a distance of one hundred miles might well take some six hours to drive. So when traveling in a bus, sitting in seats that may not be anywhere near as comfortable as the front seat of your car or mine, distance and time may increase exponentially, at least to those experiencing the ride. Such was the case during many of our drives from one location to another. Today was no exception.

Although we left the hotel early by India standards, and were beyond the city limits of Jaipur, the ride seemed long. We stopped along the way at restaurants that offered washrooms and toilets. This gave us the chance to stretch our legs and possibly even get some of the kinks out of our backs or necks. During most of the week at the project, we generally gravitated to the same seats on the bus, but now, we ventured out of our comfort zones and dared to cross the aisle or move to the back of the bus. The perennial question asked by most kids of their parents, "Are we there, yet?" was most assuredly on the tip of the tongue of most of us at one time or another. Pallavi had suggested that we should just push right on through to the hotel, have some lunch, settle in and then go for our tour of one of the wonders of the world - the Taj Mahal.

The Howard Park Hotel was where we would be staying for the next twenty-four hours (actually about eighteen or nineteen hours) and when we arrived, we were greeted with a blue fruit drink as we waited to be assigned to our rooms. Our bags were brought into the lobby and once identified, were brought by the bellmen to our rooms. We were all assigned to rooms on the third floor. My room was very pleasant, although the smell of stale smoke permeated everything - sheets, upholstered couch and chairs, even the towels in the bathroom. I realize there is nothing worse than a reformed anything, but the smell was pretty intense. I asked if there were non-smoking rooms and was told that hotel did not provide for non-smokers. I turned on the air conditioner and the exhaust fan and figured out a way to have them remain on even when I was not in the room - since the key tag had to be inserted into the switch by the door in order for the power to be on in the room. I removed the key and left the tag in the switch.

During the trip from Jaipur to Agra, Pallavi and I were contacting Past District Governor (PDG) Naresh Sood from one of the Agra Rotary Clubs. Five years ago, I led about twenty-five Rotarians to India for a National Immunization Day against polio (NID) and while visiting Agra, we were shown a medical facility that had been donated by O.P Aggarwal and his family. The facility was where corrective surgeries were conducted - free of charge - for polio victims. Several members of that group committed to raise funds for a Matching Grant from The Rotary Foundation, to eliminate the list of one thousand patients who awaited surgery. With the cost of approximately $40.00 per surgery, we raised about $45,000 for the project. I wanted to visit the facility to see how the project was progressing. Therefore, I was disappointed when I learned that PDG Sood was out of station, attending the District Conference. In addition, the officers of the Club were also attending the same conference. After several calls, Naresh was able to contact two senior members of his club - Rotarian Jain and Rotarian Gupta, both past presidents. We arranged for them to meet me at the hotel after lunch and they would take me to visit the facility, and then on to the Taj Mahal gate so I could meet the rest of the team. We met in the lobby following lunch and left for the hospital.

As we proceeded to the hospital, I felt I recognized these two men. Finally, one of them spoke and said, "I believe we have met previously". I told him I felt the same and after a bit of conversation, we determined we had met several years before. We arrived at the hospital, now operated by a different surgeon. The chief medical officer of this tiny hospital (attached to his home) had retired from his private practice of orthopaedic surgery, and devoted his life to our project. His son and daughter-in-law are also surgeons. I learned every Thursday seven or eight (sometimes ten or twelve) patients who have paralyzed limbs come to the hospital or clinic for their corrective surgeries. Additionally, once they are healed, they may return to the clinic to be fitted for braces (or calipers) to help support them while they are undergoing a regimen of physical therapy. The restorative nature of these surgeries is tremendous. Imagine having been relegated to a chair or a hand-bicycle or crutches, and then learning that such a facility exists and you can have your surgery at no cost. Imagine being crippled one day and being able to live a far more "normal" life, able to find employment and to become a productive member of society. This is the opportunity our Matching Grant provides to each of these patients. Thus far, more than 700 surgeries have been performed. Although brief, my tour of the clinic was most satisfying. The two Rotarians accompanied me back to the car-park area near the east gate of the Taj Mahal, and we said our goodbyes. I met Pallavi and we were at the gate and entering within five minutes of the time the team had arrived. I was even able to jump into the group photo before we proceeded with the tour.

If you have never read or heard the story about the Taj Mahal and the undying love Shah Jahan had for his beautiful wife, take the time to read about it. It would not serve any purpose for me to attempt to relate the story here in this BLOG. Once one enters the gate, goes through security, and walks a few hundred yards to enter the main gate of red sandstone that somewhat obscures ones view of the Taj, and then enters through that gate, one's breath is literally taken away. I believe each and every time I have visited the Taj Mahal, something very special occurs and today was no exception. Whether taken by the incredible ornate simplicity of this mausoleum, or moved by a personal moment, one can not help but be affected by this wonder of the world.

We were provided with small bottles of mineral water, as well as booties to cover our feet or our shoes, if we chose not to go barefooted. We walked along through beautiful gardens and every few seconds we paused to appreciate the beauty of the monument that lay before us. Some of us went to the mosque adjacent to the Taj, while others walked back through the gardens. We looked across the river where Shah Jahan had intended to build the negative image of the Taj - the black Taj. This never happened and I fear would have detracted from the beauty of this monument, had it ever been built.

Restoration is taking place all the time, and artisans work as they would have hundreds of years ago, using hand wheels to sand down and polish precious and semi-precious stones they use to replace those that have been chiseled out and stolen from the walls.

That evening, we met in the lobby and walked to a nearby restaurant - The Silk Road, where we were served typical food of Rajasthan. Back to the hotel and sleep to prepare for another very full day.

Dianne and Boone are home!

2009-02-12T07:21:00.000-08:00

Elias and I spoke for about one hour on Monday, February 9th. Boone and Dianne were on their way home and were, perhaps, already settled into their pillows - adjusting.

On Tuesday, the Powells agreed to brief San Antonio team members, Nora Turner, John Hutcherson and me, about their experiences the following day after Rotary.

On Wednesday, before their private and in depth 1-hour talk, the Powells and I spoke to the Rotary Club of San Antonio - about 300 members at lunch - showing them my 8 min edit of Bill Gates' 40 min speech announcing his additional $255 million gift to the Rotary Foundation's efforts to eradicate polio. Then the Powells related in about 5 min their thoughts on their time in India. More from them later with pictures. They were wonderful!

We have our list of things to not forget and are looking forward to seeing Elias.

PROCEED TO THE PINK CITY… (Feb. 6)

2009-02-11T22:46:00.000-08:00

After a full breakfast at Samode Bagh, we boarded the bus for a relatively short drive to Jaipur – the Pink City. We would be on the road for just under two hours, and the plan was to meet our guide at Amer Fort (also known as Amber or Ambar Fort). The last time I was in Jaipur was 2008, and our group was planning to visit and tour Amer Fort, as well. On the morning we arrived at the base of the road leading up to the fort, I recall it was about 10:30 in the morning. The waiting line to board our taxis wound around the entire courtyard, and if I remember correctly, it took well over two hours to get to the front of that line. This morning we arrived at about 9:30 and that made a huge difference. The line was not very long and within about twenty minutes we climbed the stairs to the loading platform. Our taxis were not your genuine Yellow Cab or in the case of most of India, the old Ambassador Cabs from more than a half-century ago. This morning, our taxis were elephants!

Brightly decorated elephants, covered with very ornate saddle blankets waited in their own lines, until called to the front for loading. The wooden basket saddles were constructed to hold up to four adults, but in recent years the drivers have been more considerate of the elephants and generally only allow two adults per ride. The rides are only to ascend the mountain because if one were to load up the basket with people coming down, the elephants could slip and lose their footing and cause accidents. In addition the drivers have also adopted a new policy, that the elephants can only work three hours a day in this routine of ferrying passengers to the top of the mountain at Amer Fort and are then taken back home to rest. This is far more humane than forcing six or eight hours of climbing and fully loaded.

PDG Chris Parkinson and I rode up together and as we ascended, the views became more spectacular. Looking out across the valley to the Aravali Hills (probably the oldest mountain chain in the world) and seeing distant fortress walls, one can not help pondering what life must have been like during the height of the time of the maharajahs. Jaipur seems to be a central location for when these men came to meet together from throughout all of Rajasthan. It is certainly the most glorious (or must have been) city in the area. Even today, the maharaja and his family live in the city palace and have for generations.

Riding up the winding mountain road atop our elephant, we also encountered several photographers who took many pictures of us. I had wanted to make sure that my grandson’s FREDDIE THE FROG was included in at least one picture so we were treated to two different sessions of photo-ops. The second photographer told us to make sure we met him at the bottom, near our bus, and told us his name was Laki, and not to forget it. Once we had all made it to the top, we climbed off our pachyderms and met off to one side with our guide, who provided a brief history of the fort. We then began our tour by climbing the ramp (they have added lots of handicap-accessible ramps this past year) to the top of the stairs. There, we were invited to enter a temple to view one of the gods and to offer prayers or simply remain in silence for a short while. A few of us accepted this invitation. It was the first time I had ever entered the temple, although I had visited Amer Fort a half-dozen times over the past years. The statue was actually that of a goddess, and was fully decorated and clothed, so all we could see was the face, which was black. There were priests behind what I would refer to as the altar rail, willing to sprinkle puffed rice or rose and marigold petals that people had brought to offer to the goddess. They also placed a garland around Pallavi’s neck and another around Dianne’s neck. They marked us all with tikkas on our foreheads, we remained for a few minutes and then exited to meet the rest of our group. Upon entering the temple, we were asked to remove our shoes, socks and any leather items we might be wearing.

Once outside and re-shod, we climbed further and entered through the old-fashioned turn-style and climbed a few more stairs. As we did so, we heard sounds that imitated beating drums. Once we entered that courtyard, we saw about one hundred women, of all ages, squatting on the ground, beating the surface with wooden clubs. These clubs looked somewhat like a flatiron with a handle extending from the back. The guide explained the commission responsible for the maintenance of the Amer Fort had determined the floor of this particular area had begun to seriously deteriorate, so first the surface was jack-hammered down about six or eight inches and then new sandstone mud (for lack of a better term) had been dumped into the void and spread evenly throughout the area. Rather than using a steamroller, the surface was tamped down or compressed using a method literally thousands of years old – having women beat on it with the wooden clubs. The racket drowned out some of what our guide was telling us, but it was fascinating to see how many people were employed in restoring this surface the old-fashioned way – first wetting it by sprinkling water and then beating it flat with the clubs.

We were shown ancient toilet facilities, and truly in India, the design has not ostensibly changed in hundreds of years. The formal gardens are being restored and re-planted. The hall of mirrors has been vandalized over the years, with tourists prying loose some of the pieces of mirror and stealing them. My recollection is that the mirrors were originally coming from Belgium, and it is to Belgium that the restoration commission has looked for replacing the missing pieces. At one time, guides could take their groups into the hall of mirrors, close the door and with one single lighted match could totally illuminate the room – just with the myriad reflections from one flame. This practice has also been stopped due to the sulfur and carbon deposits left on the ceiling mirrors, eventually destroying them. We wandered into the area where there was a rooftop swimming pool; we saw how the original cooling system was constructed and how it functioned; we were able to walk around in the area where the maharaja’s numerous wives had their own living quarters – each with it own private courtyard and sleeping rooms; we walked up to one tower at the corner of one section of the fort, where we were able to observe how the water-lifting system functioned; and when we were finished with the tour, we encountered all of the hawkers, selling trinkets and musical instruments, photos and drinks, silk paintings and postcards and books. Only after we were able to penetrate the crowd of tourists and hawkers, did we locate the Jeep taxis that would take us to the bottom of the mountain and to our awaiting bus. One the way toward the parking area for the Jeeps, a crowd had gathered on the steps and the sidewall. We heard the strains of a high-pitched flute and looked over the wall to see a snake charmer and his assistant, poking at two giant cobras that were facing each other. One tourist even sat down next to the snake charmer and had one of the two cobras lifted out of its basket and lowered around his neck. I determined it was time for me to leave and head for the Jeeps. Once at the bottom, the Jeeps took us to our bus, where guess who was waiting for me? You are right – Laki, the photographer. Chris Parkinson and I had already declined to purchase any of the photos taken by the first two photographers, but gave in and purchased all of them from Laki, especially since some of them showed FREDDIE THE FROG, that I can later post to the BLOG, once I located a scanner.

We boarded the bus and headed for the central city area, where we would be shown the process for block printing on fabric, as well as the various steps for the creation of oriental carpets. After those demonstrations, we were escorted up to a viewing room, where we were shown carpets of various shapes, sizes, colors and designs. Some were made of wool on a cotton base, while others were made from Kashmiri wool, and still others made of silk on silk – the finest available in the world. After this demonstration, we were invited to walk throughout the entire emporium, to see clothing, bedspreads, tablecloths, carpets, jewelry, paintings on silk, carvings from sandalwood, antique reproductions and more. Some of the group wanted to walk a block up the street to visit the Silver and Jewelry Manufacturing Company, where a vast selection of gemstones of different size and quality may be purchased loose or in specific settings. After this, we went to a garden restaurant that was close-by and had a wonderful lunch. A few of the group members chose to go out on their own for shopping the remainder of the afternoon, while others of us toured the City Palace and the Observatory. The Observatory in Jaipur boasts the largest compass and tracking devices, and “clocks” in the world, including the world’s largest sundial. It was fascinating to learn that the maharaja at the time of the creation of the Observatory, sent scientists all over the world to learn of the most current theories and practices regarding tracking of stars and planets. He then had models of various astronomical instruments made from iron, bronze and other metals. Finally, he had his builders construct the full-size instruments, which we saw. One such clock was accurate to within two seconds – and the instrument itself had a curved surface about forty-feet across. Through calculations as to the time where the instrument originated, and then adjusting for the different latitude and longitude of Jaipur, one could actually read the sundial and determine the correct time.

After viewing about a dozen of these massive instruments, we walked to the City Palace, which I indicated previously is occupied by the royal family – Maharaja Man Singh II, and his family. While we were in the courtyard of the four seasons, we actually saw one of his granddaughters and his grandson riding their bicycles in the courtyard and inside the portico. It reminded me of my grandson, “J.T.” and how he worked hard this past summer to learn to ride his bicycle without training wheels. We visited the general audience room where the maharajah sometimes uses for meeting dignitaries. We saw the portraits of the succession of rajahs, one who was nearly seven feet tall and weighed over six hundred pounds! You can imagine the size of his pajama bottoms, worn under a kurta. We visited the weapons museum and saw some rather unsavory looking daggers that were equipped with reverse scissor handles, so that when one plunged the dagger into the belly of an enemy, he could them open the manipulate the handles to open the dagger like an open pair of scissors and pull the opened weapon out of his victim, thereby tearing out a good portion of the enemy’s insides. We saw the giant silver jars – the largest single creation of silver in the world, that were created to hold holy water from the Mother Ganga (Ganges River), when the maharaja visited the Queen of England, but needed to bring his own drinking water supply with him. We were told that the queen was offended by this gesture, but the maharaja had quelled her disgust by telling her that he would do the same if he were visiting his sister, and since he considered the queen as a sister, he was only honoring her by bringing her water from Mother Ganga. We could perhaps use some of this skill among our own politicians of the day.

Just before we left (since the palace closes to the public at six in the evening) we watched a rather fascinating procedure – that of sealing of the various buildings and rooms. A gentleman brought a brazier with burning charcoal to the main door of the building in the center of the courtyard that is used for displaying clothing and other textiles. He held a rather large wooden paddle, at the end of which was a glob of heavy sealing wax. He also had two signets – one on a ring and the other like a stamp, both made of gold. I showed him my signet ring that holds my family crest and he showed me the ring and the stamp, each having its own design from the family of the maharajah. He even allowed me to push my ring into the sealing wax. When the building was confirmed to be empty, the doors were closed and locked and then a red string was wound in and around the padlocks. It was then tied and a glob of the hot sealing wax was applied and then the two different seals were pressed into the material. “This way,” we were told, “will ensure that if anyone breaks the seal, we will know that someone has broken into the building”. I offered to allow my ring to be added to the other two, but the offer was respectfully declined.

After leaving the City Palace, Dianne and I took a “tuk-tuk” (auto-rickshaw) back to the shop where we had watched the block-printing demonstration. She wanted to possibly purchase an outfit of clothing. Since work can be completed in such a short length of time, she was assured that her garments would be at the hotel no later than five in the morning, in plenty of time before we were departing the following day. We concluded our business there, walked up the street to another shop where Dianne had seen a carving of an elephant earlier in the day. She was purchasing the elephant for her son. The carving was of a decorated elephant, with a maharajah and his maharani riding in a basket on top.

We were driven back to our hotel, so we could meet the others and check in at the registration desk before dinner. Some of the team had achieved the ultimate goal of accessing the Internet, while others were pleased with their shopping. Several had purchased spices from local vendors while others had bought clothing or shawls. Dinner was once again delicious. Our rooms were inside a havelli (summer palace) at the former residence of a maharajah. The décor in the rooms was typical of Rajasthan, having a good deal of color and plenty of mirrors.
So much for today… it was on to Agra in the morning. Remember, do not pass “GO” and do not collect two hundred rupees.

DOES INDIA REALLY EVER SLEEP? (Feb. 5)

2009-02-11T22:35:00.000-08:00

It really does not matter when you might choose to go to sleep; someone or something is always awake. After the campfire dinner at Tiger Moon in Ranthambore, we retired to the sounds of the jungle – warning calls from monkeys or spotted deer, letting us know their might be a hyena on the loose; distant calls from temples or mosques, calling the faithful to prayer at all hours of the day and night; horns blaring, whether or not there are people or cars or camels or cows or water buffaloes in the way, and without necessarily paying heed to distance; cows mooing; goats braying; or the almost-but-not-quite silent undercurrent of muffled voices of work staff; there is nearly always sound.

We awoke on Thursday morning, knowing we had to have our bags on the porch for the porters to bring to the bus and that if we were going to have breakfast, it would be early. Sleepy-eyed and not too bushy-tailed, we strolled to the dining building where the staff looked as though they had been working for hours to prepare breakfast for us. Whether we preferred omelets to order, with juices and fresh fruits or porridge or iddlies with dhal, we did not want for much. Then it was one last pit stop in our rooms or tents, before boarding the bus for our next chapter.

Suresh and Ragu welcomed us with their usual smiling faces, and we trundled through the village of Ranthambore, and on out to the highway toward Jaipur. This would be another longer ride of about five or six hours before we would reach our destination. We were going to be staying at Samode Bagh – a lovely resort complex, located not too far from Jaipur, but out in the countryside. The property itself is a havelli or summer palace for one of the maharajas, and bagh translates to garden. So roughly translated, the hotel is located in and around the summer palace, and boasts magnificent gardens. We were set to arrive sometime after one o’clock in the afternoon. When we did turn off the highway and wend our way down country lanes, we saw signage announcing Samode Palace and Samode Bagh. However, each drive Suresh turned down seemed to be the wrong one. We kept stopping before we hit a total dead end on three different roads. Finally, we realized Suresh was turning INTO a school playground area, driving straight on through! Believe it or not, he proceeded onward, turning onto a short drive and then stopped the bus. We got off the bus and were welcomed at the main entrance of Samode Bagh (not your typical grand entrance). Almost like stepping through Alice’s looking glass, we entered through a gate, only to be greeted by blaring trumpets and showered with thousands of rose and marigold petals, being tossed from above by two young men on the roof of the gate. What a welcome!

We walked along the raised pathway that lead us through beautiful gardens of varieties of flourishing plants. Reaching the reception area, which is housed in a tent-style building on a raised platform in the middle of the central garden area, we were handed cool damp face towels to wipe the dusty grime from our faces and hands, as well as glasses of cool fruit juices. Pallavi assigned us to our tents and the porters carried our bags, trailing behind us through the gardens to our home away from home. And such a home it was… tents with covered porches in the front, with two comfortable chairs and a side table; colorful yet calming painted designs on the interior walls, dressing rooms with more than adequate space for luggage, closet, coffee bar and a large window offering a closed garden area; and finally the Italian green marble floor of the bathroom with white marble tiled walls and shower area. Now THIS was living! Within moments of our check-in, two members of the team were already sitting at the desk where two computers were offered for wireless access to guests. This was not your typical business center, either, appearing more like a grand reception hall than a four-walls-of-glass cubicle. Just off to the left of that room was a beautiful swimming pool with white, cobalt blue and bright yellow tiles, filled to the brim with shimmering water, inviting us to enjoy respite or a brief dip. As it turns out, lunch was served shortly after our arrival, under tents in yet another garden. A wide range of veg and non-veg dishes to meet anyone’s palate were spread on a long buffet table, including black currant mousse for dessert. A few days before reaching Samode, I had asked Pallavi to check on the cost and the availability of camel rides through the village. During lunch, she told us the cost and the approximate duration of such a trip, and although some members initially said they would rather lounge around at the pool or in chairs in and around the gardens, in the end, we all indicated we would be ready in a half-hour for our attempt at Lawrence of Arabia…

We gathered at a side gate to meet our camel drivers and the drooling, slobbering, snorting, belching beasts of the desert. Colorful saddle blankets and shaved flanks and rumps presented quite an image. It was decided by the drivers who would ride which camels. They urged the beasts to lower themselves to the ground; we mounted our rides and then hung on for dear life as they once again returned to standing position. It was sort of like riding one of the bucking bronco machines we have seen in western movies, but in slow motion. Kim’s camel was wearing a muzzle but still managed to slobber and spit huge amounts of foam on the ground and to shake its head to spray some foamy saliva on anyone within ten feet. We sauntered along the road and then dusty paths, eventually reaching tiny pockets of buildings in the village. We passed by other untethered female camels with their babies, lunching on low-hanging branches of neem trees and almond trees. All of the riding camels are males, we were told, but with no further explanation. Children in distant houses called and waved to us, and local young men seemed to walk alongside of each of us, speaking very good English, and telling us about themselves. There was a method in their madness, as we would later learn. As we continued through narrow streets in the village, more children came near to us and called and waved, while older men and some women also smiled and waved. By the time we reached the Bagh, I think we were all ready for a few hours of relaxation and a nice hot (did I say HOT?) shower before leaving for dinner. We were not able to get down from our four-legged taxis and immediately enter the resort. Nay, nay… we had to be subjected to the high-pressure sales pitches of eight or ten young men who miraculously produced their paintings, both on silk and on pages of antiqued paper. It was amazing to me to hear that each one had a grandfather who had been a painter, followed by a father and then themselves and their brothers. It was also rather curious that each had almost identical paintings to the others, but they were all “originals”. Most of us were able to walk away unscathed, and returned to our abodes for R & B (and that is not Rhythm and Blues, but rather RELAXATION AND BATH!

At a pre-decided time, we met near the registration area to then walk to our bus to have Suresh and Ragu drive us up to Samode Palace, where we would be dining that evening. Pallavi and I had visited the palace in years past, but it was still the spectacular yellow building complex, perched on a promontory, standing majestically to welcome new friends. We took photos from the bottom of the grand staircase, thanking the bellman for turning on the strings of tiny lights that outlined the entire face of the main palace building.

Ascending the red-carpeted staircase, we entered one courtyard, and met a gentleman who was there to take us on an abbreviated tour of the palace. Following the tour, we returned to a second courtyard, where Rajasthani puppeteers were waiting to share their talents with us. We sat for a short performance and then walked back to the terrace for a starlit dinner. As we gazed heavenward, the moon was perfectly positioned overhead, with the MIR space capsule having drifted off to the side from previous sightings at the farm.

The buffet of starters would have been more than adequate for me, but like the rest of the team, I also enjoyed several entrée selections. After enjoying a most relaxing and delicious dinner, we returned to the bus and the ride back to our fairy tale existence, quietly hoping this did NOT have to end in the morning. I tried to read for a while, but was unsuccessful after about a half-page, so turned off the lights and drifted into a deep sleep.

TIGER, TIGER IN THE NIGHT… (Feb. 4)

2009-02-09T20:13:00.000-08:00

The train ride from Delhi was relatively uneventful. We were distributed throughout one train car of First Class sleepers, which only made it a bit difficult to shift from one section to another, to visit with other team members, that is, unless we wanted to carry our bag with us, each time we wanted to talk with a teammate. Pallavi, Cassandra and I were in the first berth – bunks 1, 3 and 5. There were all bottom bunks, and we were unsure as to who might occupy the upper bunks. Pallavi and I bought some snacks to share with the rest of the team from a vendor located out on the loading platform. Even the Lay’s Potato Chips had a bit of a zing to the taste. When Divan met us outside the train station, he had brought along some packed lunches, which contained sandwiches and boxed apple juice for each of us. The train was to depart the station at 7:00 p.m. and actually took off much closer to that than expected – at 7:15. A couple traveling with their little boy joined us in the compartment and another gentleman more or less drifted in and out of our section. Since Cassandra evidently decided to move to another section, and had left her bags on her bunk, the gentleman located onto her bunk and set up his office – complete with laptop computer, mobile phone and several file folders.

In conversation with the couple, I learned they lived in Udaipur and were traveling there on the overnight train. Since I had taken that same train a few years ago, I knew what they faced – jostling back and forth for the ensuing twelve hours. Their little boy was ten-and-a-half months old, and a very curious and active little boy. The dad is the food and beverage manager for the Oberoi Hotel in Udaipur, while the mom was working in human resources for the same hotel. This is located in the lake at Udaipur, and is rated to be the second most beautiful hotel in the world. The lake where the hotel is located is the same lake used in the filming of a James Bond thriller – OCTOPUSY. The mom’s job at the hotel is to train the staff. I offered to be a “training tourist” for her, willing to come to the hotel and to work with the staff in what western travelers want and how they wish to be treated. For some reason, she did not take me up on my offer. I did leave her with my card, so one never knows what might happen in the future.

Since our portion of the travel was to take about five hours, some decided to sit up and talk until we arrived. Pallavi had left to sit with other members of the team, but since she had placed her valuables on my bunk, I did not feel I should leave until or unless she returned. I decided to lie down and to catch a few minutes of sleep, but since I felt a responsibility to guard Pallavi’s belongings, I wedged those items between my body and the wall. This proved to be a challenge to maybe sleep for a while, and at the same time remain against the wall. I did drift off for a few minutes, but no serious sleeping time. The dad and the other gentleman climbed up into their bunks, and the mom and baby boy settled down onto Pallavi’s bunk. After what seemed to be ten hours, but was really five, Pallavi returned to tell me we would arrive in the train station in Ranthambore in about fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, the information she had from the conductor was a bit off, and in truth, about another hour passed before we came to a stop at the station.

We all filed out one end of the train car, bringing our bags with us and looked up and down the platform until, in the distance, we saw Ragu walking toward us. Even at 12:30 in the morning, it was nice to see a familiar face. We walked up the ramp and over the tracks to the other side, and along the platform until reaching the station house. When we exited, we saw Suresh bringing the bus around into the parking lot. We all greeted the two men and sat in what had almost become assigned seats over the past week, and they drove us to TIGER MOON, where we would sleep in for a few hours before going out on a chilly early morning safari to hunt for tigers.

The assistant manager at Tiger Moon welcomed me back and when we entered the reception area, I recognized the guide I had last year and five years before. I had taken a picture of the two of us last year, and when he came to ask for copies of our passports, I handed him a print of the photo, and he looked at it, looked up and me and then welcomed me with a big embrace. Rakesh was now working full-time at Tiger Moon. We were all assigned to our cabins or tents, and the porters brought our bags to us. I had opted for a tent, and actually was brought to the same tent I had shared the year before with Lawrence Furbish from my Rotary Club in Maine. It took me about five minutes to climb under the covers and fall sound asleep. This did not come before the winds began to strengthen, and I drifted off to the sounds of tent canvas flapping. The tent canvass used in this instance, however, was not your ordinary “army issue” drab olive green – these tents were khaki canvas on the outside, but the interiors were sort of a blue denim canvas with beautiful embroidery on the walls and the curtain flaps. The doors are zippable from the inside or the outside and for security; one has a padlock and key to catch both zipper pulls. The bathroom was to the left of the dressing room, and had marble floors and tile shower stalls. Was this to be my very first SHOWER? I would find out later that day. Up until now, I had taken bucket baths – sometimes warm and other times bone-chilling cold.

In only a few hours, I awoke to the quite “good morning, such” outside my tent. We were all going to go out on the early morning safari hunting for tigers. Last year I had seen four tigers on one such hunt, and was hoping my teammates and I would have a similar experience today. All bundled up, we wiped the sleepy seeds from our eyes and wandered the meandering paths to the registration office we had seen four or five hours previous, and waited for the open Jeep truck to meet us. Rakesh was already out at the gate, waiting for the truck to arrive, and suggested I might wish to sit in the front with the driver. I told him I would be fine in the back of the truck and that I wanted others to be able to enjoy that position. Memory was not kicking in as yet, and once we started careening down the village roads to the tiger preserve, I realized why my friend, Rakesh had suggested the front seat – the cold morning air, coupled with a velocity created by our speed, served as a reminder of the temperatures folks at home might be experiencing. Fortunately, I had a large scarf I had been given on one previous trip to India, and that kept me pretty warm, beneath my jacket.

The rest of the team boarded the truck, and we were off. It might just have been the INDY 500, the way we sped through the village. It is important to note, however, that the earlier one’s truck arrives at the gate and registration building at the tiger preserve, the more apt the guide is to be able to secure entry into the better sections of the preserve, maximizing the chance of seeing tigers. Even though the guides are in a lottery, there is no good reason why a bribe here or there might not also help the effort. We were assigned to enter Zone 4, and so began the incredible bumpy ride along dirt roads (?). It was still pretty dark, and a good time to be there, since movement of the tigers generally begins around sunrise. Just before turning into Zone 4, we were parked for a few minutes and the magpies or Indian Pies flocked to the trees above our heads. I held out my hand and one landed on my finger and stayed there for at least two minutes. I think it was waiting for me to produce some bread, or some seeds. I had none, so the bird finally flew away to another victim. These birds look somewhat like an Evening Grosbeak, but are about twice the size – almost like a small crow.

Once along the road, we saw lots of wildlife: spotted deer, Sambar deer, peacocks and their mates, partridge, pheasant, woodpeckers (a very rare sight, we were told by the guide) spotted deer and more spotted deer, crocodiles both large and small, kingfisher birds. At one point, we stopped to watch as two huge buck Sambar deer engaged in battle on the hill across the river. The clash of the antlers and the moans from each upon impact with his rival stirred our senses and most of us seemed a bit keener on observing the wildlife about us. We drove toward the fort in the distance – this fort having been built in the fifteenth century. We drove up steep hills and down into valleys near the river or the ponds. Most of the trees were void of foliage, and I cannot even imagine what it must be like to go out on safari when the trees are fully covered in leaves. We saw families of monkeys who stared at us almost as much as we stared at them. We listened for birds in the distance, monkeys in the distance and deer in the distance, ever hopeful we might catch a warning call being passed on through the jungle or across the plain. You have probably guessed by now that since I have listed all of the wildlife we DID see, we did not see any tigers that morning. We saw paw prints on the dusty roads, but no tigers. When we returned to Tiger Moon, we were greeted once more by the manager, and brought to the dining building for a hearty breakfast. Although the sun was fully risen, a hot cup of chai or coffee served to warm the bones. Following breakfast, we returned to our cabins or tents for hot showers and a bit of relaxation. A few of us wandered down to the shop just outside the main gate to the facility, and looked at the array of bedspreads, table cloths, clothing, jewelry and paintings on silk.

Pallavi had spoken with us and asked if any would be interested in a walk-about through the village, and most of us went. Rakesh served as our guide. Once out on the main road, we crossed and entered the schoolyard. The children were well dressed and sitting on the floor of their classrooms, learning math and other subjects. Outside in the courtyard or playground, a woman was cooking up what smelled like a wonderful and flavorful soup to feed to the children for their lunch. We poked our heads into various classrooms and were greeted first with questioning stares that broadened into typical Indian smiles. After leaving from the school, we wandered along the alleys and came to a Hindu temple. We were invited to enter, which some of us did, and smelled the incense burning, and heard the soft mantras being chanted by a priest or an elder from behind a masonry wall. A few of us were given tikkas by Pallavi, after she had offered prayers inside the temple. A tikka is the red spot or smear, placed just above the nose, in the center of one’s forehead. We resumed our walk, and came to an old woman at a well hand pump in front of her house. She and Pallavi began talking. She invited us into her house, but we did not wish to disturb her family, so declined her offer. The conversation was quite lively, as she told us that she was mixing some herbal medicines to smear on her arms. This medicine was to take away the aches and pains of arthritis and she was certainly convincing in her belief that the salve worked to relieve her discomfort. We then came around a corner and were taken by the lovely wall paintings indicating “Wel Come” outside the doors to the homes. There were other more native looking paintings of white on the terra cotta walls, depicting animals and people, flowers and peacocks. Another turn to our left and we were in the commercial district of the tiny village. We saw tailors working at their treadle sewing machines, while others ironed shirts or pants with coal-burning flatirons. We saw shops that offered food and others that offered jewelry. Dianne purchased a bracelet of silver beads, and
Sean took a picture of one tailor’s sewing machine that he promised he would print and send to the tailor, when he gets back to Newfoundland. The jewelry was mostly silver and very typical of Rajasthan. We made it back to Tiger Moon in time for lunch, and perhaps a Kingfisher beer or two. We met a couple from Scotland – she being a member of Rotary in Glasgow. They had been out on our early morning safari and had been the ones who got the seats in the front with the driver. We told them about what we were doing – a bit of travel following the NID and the work project. She gave me her card and indicated that perhaps they might be interested in next year’s trip, and to let her know the details.

Following lunch, we returned to the parking area to catch the next open truck into the preserve. This would be at least a three-hour journey. Guess what? We saw spotted deer, Sambar deer, Indian pies, partridge, pheasant, peacocks and peahens, jungle crows, crocodiles, more spotted deer and Sambar deer. When we came to a halt near one of the new pools being created by the government, to attract the tigers, we noticed the spotted deer almost frozen in their tracks. We listened intently and heard the warning cries of birds, monkeys and the spotted deer. We stayed there easily for ten minutes. Another Jeep arrived on the scene as the guide in that group had also heard those warning calls. We pushed on, deeper into the preserve, hoping to hear more calls and to be able to follow them to the source of agitation – the presence of a tiger or two. Our efforts were in vain, however, as no tigers were seen by any of the groups in the various zones. We did stop at a tent outpost, where guides are posted for a couple of weeks at a time. They had not seen any deer, either. Our friend, Rakesh, did procure some plaster castings of tiger prints along the roads and gave each of us one of them as a souvenir. I am not sure if this is the “next best thing”, but it was a kind gesture on his part. Finally, it was time to return back to Tiger Moon for relaxation, attitude adjustment and a campfire dinner. Just as we approached the last checkpoint, where all guides stop before entering the zones, we were startled to see everyone looking up to the top of the mountain. Way off in the distance, we could see the head of a leopard, which was lying down close to the precipice. He was in no hurry to depart, almost sensing the excitement generated by his appearance. We stayed there for almost a half-hour, since Jeep after jeep jammed into the area, thereby blocking any hope of extricating our Jeep from the tangle of twenty or thirty vehicles. That was to be it for the day. None of the guides had seen any tigers so views of the leopard through binoculars or sophisticated cameras would have to do it for all of us.

Back at Tiger Moon, we had some free time to shop or take a nap, before returning to the outside picnic area for a barbecue, Rajasthani style. As we gathered at the site, a few musicians from the area serenaded us. One of the young men, as well as a young woman, also served as dancers, sharing some typical dances from the area. We were served drinks and full plates of food, which again peaked our taste buds. The food was delicious. I finished my plate of food – a great selection of vegetables, and decided on an early night, since we would be getting up early the next day for breakfast and departure to our next destination. As I was about to leave the campfire, the dancing and the music, we were all informed that dinner would be served inside the dining room! We were all startled to learn the food up until now was starters and the entrée offerings were along the buffet table. Yet another surprise of our journey.

To bed in my tent for a really great sleep…

IF IT’S TUESDAY, IT MUST BE DELHI? (Feb. 3)

2009-02-07T09:51:00.000-08:00

A quick breakfast at the motel, settling of bills, and we were off on a different bus to Delhi for the day. We got a bit confused because we had to take only one bag with us that we might use during the day; we had to send a full bag for the remainder of the week in our old bus with Suresh and Ragu, who were going to drive the bus on to Ranthambore and meet us tomorrow morning at the train station; and if we had another bag or bags that we wanted to leave locked up at Sanjiv’s office, we were to put them in the back luggage compartment of the new bus, so the new driver could swap off to Divan after dropping us off at the train station later that evening. Are YOU confused yet?

We got everything straightened out, and off we were on another adventure. It took us about two-and-a-half hours to drive into the city, where we met Pallavi (Sanjiv’s daughter and my niece) who was to stay with us for the remainder of our journey over the next several days. We would meet in the parking area at Cote Minar – the largest minaret in all of India and the second largest in the world. We would also meet our guide for the day. Lots of school buses arrived at about the same time we did, bringing students of all ages to view this marvelous blending of Hindu and Muslim or mogul architecture. After our tour there, we re-boarded the bus to be driven to the Lotus Temple – one of the modern architectural wonders of India. This is the temple of the b’hai faith, and again a few dozen school buses were at that location. When one enters the grounds of the Lotus Temple, there is a quiet and a calm that pervades the entire campus. It is so peaceful there, it is no wonder that people of all faiths come there to pray or to meditate. After removing our shoes we walked up the steps to the entrance. Just before entering, one of the many volunteers asked that we not speak once we entered the building, out of respect for others and to allow others to pray and to meditate in silence. Scripture passages from several religions were exhibited in the nine alcoves, again a testament to the practice of the b’hai faith that it encompasses all religions.

Following these two tours, we were driven down into Connaught Circus, where the Britishers, as they are called here, had established the center of New Delhi. We enjoyed lunch at a South Indian restaurant – Saravana Bhawa. Since most of us had no clue as to what to order, we let Pallavi order the same meal for the entire team. If you have never eaten South Indian food, it is so distinct from what most people feel is the representative taste of India – that of curries. We were treated to idlies, and sambar, and various sauces, and dosas and dessert. It was a most enjoyable lunch. Some of us went to the ATM located around the side of the building from where we had eaten. We gathered at a predetermined street, and waited for our new driver to arrive to take us to the oldest section of Delhi.

We were driven right to the end of the street, where the largest mosque is located, and we climbed the forty or fifty steps to enter. Once again, we removed our shoes and the ladies were asked to cover their heads, as well. We were told this mosque, when used for organized worship can accommodate some 30,000 people! Many men were sitting at the edge of the fountain pool in the center of the courtyard area, where they were washing their faces, hands and feet, before entering the mosque for prayer. Some also drank the water from the same pool. Some merely took a small bucket of the water and poured it over their heads. This exercise served to cleanse the men before prayers.

Earlier in the day, I had asked Pallavi to arrange for us to be taken on bicycle rickshaws through the streets and alleys of this oldest section of Delhi – where literally thousands of shops are crammed into tiny spaces. We descended the steps from the mosque and our bicycle rickshaws and drivers were waiting for us. We climbed aboard and off we went. The tinkling of tiny bicycle bells amidst the cacophony of beeps from auto-rickshaws (tuk-tuks) and horns from cars and trucks, assaulted our hearing sense, but we were about to enter the realm of sensory overload.

Buffeted up against other rickshaws, motorized or not, and bumping into people carrying parcels or ten-foot lengths of iron pipe; bales of cardboard or bolts of fabric; it made no difference – THIS was Delhi. Within only a few yards, one can purchase padlocks and silk saris, and hanging mutton from the butcher to the finest of gold jewelry. We passed mothers and daughters sitting on benches outside fabric shops where they were choosing material to be fashioned into wedding dresses. Vendor after vendor sold sweets or snacks. We looked up at a truly amazing sight – that of literally hundreds of power lines and telephone lines criss-crossing and all bunched up at the corners of streets and alleys (can you spell spider web?) How this all works is truly miraculous, but it all DOES work. As we proceeded along the way, our drivers entered ever-narrower alleys until we could literally reach out and touch the walls on both sides simultaneously. And yet, commerce was taking place before our eyes in its finest form – that of free enterprise.

We were spewed out of this madness onto the street and pedaled across the main road to the entrance to the Red Fort. We jumped down from our chariots and proceeded into the Red Fort. Since this location had been used for Republic Day events, evidence of some of the bleachers, as well as crowd control barriers were still visible. The nation’s flag flew proudly above the parapet, where the Prime Minister often will deliver remarks on such occasions. Our tour of Red Fort was somewhat abbreviated, due to the fact that we still had to be taken to the train station to board the night train for Ranthambore. We did learn, however, about the fact that the British destroyed eighty percent of the buildings originally constructed and barracks for the British army were erected in their place. Not that the barracks were so bad architecturally, but what a shame to tear down buildings, rather than adapting existing ones. We walked through the main gate and then through what had once served the maharaja and maharani as the bazaar. We also visited the various white marble palaces and the baths. The restoration of some of these buildings is quite remarkable and it is nice to realize that someday these buildings and others might be returned to their previous splendor. While we were inside the Red Fort, I noticed a KICK POLIO OUT OF INDIA cap a gentleman was wearing. It also displays the Rotary International emblem. I called to him, pointed out the rotary emblem on my shirt, and he waited for me to get to him. We shook hands and introduced ourselves. He is from Italy, and also had come to India to participate in the NID activities on February 1st. He was also interested in learning about our work project, and may very well be interested in bringing a few Rotarians from Italy next year, when we are working on yet another project.

Following our tour, we once more boarded the bus. On the way to the train station, we were able to stop for a comfort break at The Oberoi Hotel – one of the most beautiful hotels any of us had ever seen. Someday, I would like to return there, just to be able to see the entire facility. Also along the way, I realized it was time for me to call into the Fox NEWS affiliate in Portland, Maine, for an on-the-spot interview with Ray Richardson and Ted Talbott. The connection was not a good one, but I did hear there had been a substantial storm from which most of southern Maine was digging out. We entered the station and walked to the platform, where we waited just a few minutes, before boarding our coaches for the late night journey to Ranthambore – for the tiger preserve safaris.

MONDAY – LAST DAY FOR WORK PROJECT - 2 February

2009-02-07T09:48:00.000-08:00

It seems like only yesterday we were arriving for the first time at the farm (having walked up the road for a couple of kilometers through dozens of trucks in a traffic jam at midnight to have dinner) and now we are coming the last time for breakfast before work at the site. An incredible amount of work has been accomplished, especially since the ten of us on the team comprised the greatest part of the work force. The only other persons (the professionals) were Ramish and Pappu the two brick masons, and their helpers, as well as two boys mixing the masala. So if you take about sixteen laborers and give them a vacant plot of land, with only a perimeter trench dug, and at the end of the week of work one sees that the footings and foundation have been laid, and two side walls and the front wall have all been completed, laying one brick at a time, to a height of seven feet, it is not too shabby an accomplishment. We moved approximately twenty thousand bricks, passing them one or two at a time in brick lines. We carried and passed literally hundreds of basins of rock, crushed stone, sand, rough masala mix and finer masala mix. We invited several of the locals to join our brick lines or the masala lines, and many did – from those who were only about four years of age all the way to the local camel driver, who I would guess to be in his fifties.

We finished breakfast and most of us walked again from the farm into the village to the work site. What is great fun for each of us is the fact that over the week we have been working, several of the villagers, old and young alike, recognize us and many call us by their pronunciations of our names. Crissie became Cushie; Elias became Eeliahs; and so on. I think each of us will miss the interaction with the children (the ones who were well-behaved) as well as the adults – the camel driver, the tailor, the Imam, the wife of the head of the Panchayat (whom the ladies met and really enjoyed), the teacher at the Rotary Computer Training Center, some of the students from there, the man who sits each morning and makes rope, the omelet guy and so many more. Also, it was so gratifying to notice that in the passing of the week, nearly every woman and teenaged girl has refrained from covering her face when we come near them. That shows such a level of trust, having been built beginning in 2007 and continuing today.

We were eager to work on the project, but also just as eager to continue to build upon the sustainable relationship with Chahalka. Sean had brought a gold soccer ball, I had brought some nerf baseballs from the Portland Sea Dogs (Boston Red sox affiliate in Portland, Maine) and Cassandra had brought a jump rope. These were the items we brought with us that morning, although we had lots of other trinkets and gifts to share with the villagers. At late morning, Sean and I returned to the bus, he picking up the soccer ball, as well as a couple of Frisbees, and I grabbed a half-dozen nerf balls. It was time to see if we could REALLY create some chaos at the site. Cassandra and Nancy taught the kids to jump rope (mostly the girls); Sean took some of the boys to the far end of the neighbors property and kicked and passed the soccer ball around; and I learned a bit about pitching the nerf ball to some of the teenaged boys who were able to drive it quite a distance. As I may have mentioned previously, this kind of ball worked very well with playing cricket, especially around young children, because nobody could get hurt, even if hit with the ball. Lots of kids joined in the fun while adults, including several of the women, sat along the perimeter of the new playing field, and watched the fun. I had also brought along a number of tiny bottles of bubble liquid (similar to those given out at wedding receptions) and immediately had a crowd of little kids gathered around me while I showed them how to blow streams of bubbles that floated like iridescent orbs, until poked by a tiny child. To see smiles being born on the faces of children as they look fascinated with how these bubbles float by them, is worth all of the aggravation – well, almost. The difficulty comes when one of us tried passing a trinket to a particular child. At that moment, dozens of flailing arms and hands appear from nowhere. I got a bit tired of this exercise in frustration and when one boy of about ten grabbed the bottle of bubbles from the hand of a four year old, I grabbed his arm and made him give it to the younger child. How long this new owner would hold on to his prize is another story, I am sure.

Relaxing lunch back at the farm and then back to town for a few hours more work, before we were to meet with the members of the Panchayat at the home of the Sur Panch (spelling?) We learned that panch is five, and I guess it makes sense, therefore, that Panchayat is comprised of five elder men of the community. I am sure each of us was looking forward to passing out gifts to the children, particularly those who had pitched in and helped us during the week. Sanjiv’s warning aside, we were confident we would be able to distribute the gifts in an orderly manner. NOT SO!

We arrived at the home where this was to occur, and chairs had been set out in the yard. The members of the team sat down, followed by the members of the Panchayat. Similar to the previous year, each of the men on our team was turbaned by one of the elders – a huge compliment and show of respect to us. The ladies were invited to leave this area and to go inside the home, where the wife of the Sur Panch treated them to tea. They were each given a lovely head shawl. In the meanwhile, one could almost cut the tension with a knife outside in the yard. The children had all seen us arriving with a suitcase and a couple of carton boxes and some bags, as well. The children knew there were goodies inside. Cassandra had brought about a hundred baseball hats from the Fisher Cats of New Hampshire; I had brought more nerf baseballs from the Portland Sea Dogs; Sean and Kim had brought tee shirts from some teams, including the Olympics, from Canada; Chris had brought some soccer balls; Cassandra had soaps and lotions for the ladies; and the list went on and on. Unfortunately, when one shows the least amount of weakness or gives the tiniest impression that a gift might be coming, one is read like the proverbial book, and chaos erupts. So it was today in Chahalka. Suffice it to say that the decision was made to give all of the items to the teachers at the local school and have them distribute them to the children. Unfortunately, those kids who do not attend the government free school will not receive gifts, but this might encourage more kids to go to school and remain taking classes for the six years. Right now, there are about 300 students with only two teachers. And we think we have it bad with our crowded school class enrollments.

We boarded the bus, and not without some difficulty, and took one last ride back to the farm for dinner. Again, Sandoo and Dinesh, under the watchful eyes and guidance of Jyotsna and Oli, prepared another feast for us. We enjoyed sharing stories amongst ourselves, but the best one was how Sanjiv and Jyotsna met and got married. If you ever meet Sanjiv, take the time to have him share this wonderful and heartwarming story with you. Boone and I think it would make a wonderful BOLLYWOOD epic. Stay tuned, folks, one never knows…

Preparing in San Antonio - tell Diane and Boone we need their advice nest Wed.

2009-02-06T06:43:00.000-08:00

Elias and team:

The second wave from San Antonio is slowly preparing for our end of month flight across the world!

We have read all of the posts and enjoyed reliving your traffic jams and feasts at the farm.

Please relate to Diane and Boone that our group will be meeting on Feb 11 (next Wed) at the Bright Shawl at 11.45 for a regular meeting of the Rotary Club of San Antonio. I will have the podium for 10 min and will show my edited video of Bill Gates' presentation of $255 million at the International Assembly in San Diego last month. There will be an Express-News reporter there and a photographer as well as a WOAI and KTSA reps too - so their presence would add greatly to the story and the picture.

Then afterwards in the Boardroom - we would love to hear some their accounts of the trip as well as tips about packing, eating, sleeping, etc.

Elias - keep up the great blog...we are hanging on every word.

IN MEMORIAM

2009-02-05T17:39:00.001-08:00

Last year, when I was here with fifty-four Rotarians and Friends of Rotary from seven countries, one of the teams sent to the village of Nusera to distribute polio vaccine had done a walk-about in the village, following the morning of dispensing vaccine. They and wandered up one alley and turned down another. Eventually, they saw a young boy sitting, hunched over, in a chair, in front of his house. They came to know this was Iqbal, a boy of fourteen, who had been paralyzed since he was four years old, and had basically lived his life sitting. The chair was a wooden frame and was caned with very rough fibers and twisted plastic. The group also learned that Iqbal had sat in the same chair for these last ten years of his life – being carried out to it in the morning by his father before the father went to the fields to farm, and then was brought back into his house at night, and laid on a mat of the floor for sleep. If nobody was nearby when Iqbal needed to relieve himself, he simply did so in the chair and was forced to sit in his own waste until someone returned home to help clean him. Obviously, this situation tugged at the hearts of this small group of Rotarians, and they decided to do something about it.

They were working with Dr. Sachin, and told him they wanted to purchase a wheel chair for Iqbal, as well as a portable camp commode for him. At least he could exist with some dignity. They collected funds for both items and also got Dr. Sachin to agree to find someone who would provide medical care to this boy for one year. The team raised the funds, the items were purchased and brought back by the team members and a few others of us. For further details, check last year’s BLOG: http://rotarydreamteam-india2008.blogspot.com

The reason Linda and I were returning to Nusera was so we could check on Iqbal’s progress, as well as to find out how his little baby brother – Sakil was doing. Last year when we visited the home, Sakil had only just been diagnosed with polio three weeks prior.

We were driven to Nusera by Dr. Randhawa’s personal driver (or should I say pilot!) literally flying over roads and bumps, passing every vehicle in our path. You see the car in which we were riding was an official car, complete with siren and flashing red and blue lights. EVERYONE got out of our way. We were dropped off with Dr. Sachin and Dr. Randhawa in the center of the village and walked the rest of the way to Iqbal’s house. Linda and I were so looking forward to seeing Iqbal in his wheelchair, being pushed around the village. When we arrived at the house, nobody was sitting out in front. Perhaps Iqbal was at school? Two beds were brought out for us to sit on them and we sat for a short while. Dr. Sachin inquired as to Iqbal’s whereabouts. He was informed the little boy had died. I am sure it was difficult for him to tell us. He had arranged for medical care for Iqbal, but had not been informed of his death, a few months previous. Linda and I listened to the news, and it felt as if someone had kicked us both in the stomach. I inquired about Sakil, and the child was brought to me. The doctor checked him and told us it would be another year before he would be ready to receive physiotherapy. After a few very awkward moments, we left the house and walked back to the bus. We were told that once a Muslim person dies, his or her name is not mentioned within the family again. Having said this, however, we needed to know what happened. As we approached the center of the village, the man who had been walking with us (Iqbal’s uncle) told us he had died back in October of respiratory failure. We had learned that Iqbal had muscular dystrophy, and that respiratory difficulties are very common. I could not wait any longer. I asked Dr. Sachin to ask the uncle if, since we had been there last year, and had given the wheelchair and commode to Iqbal, had the boy enjoyed any part of his life. We were told that he had been wheeled throughout the village and that he was able to see his village for the first time, at his own level. He had smiled when another little boy had pushed him around the narrow streets and alleys. It was hard for Linda and me to fight back the tears. We had hoped so very much to see a smile on his face, but that was not to be. We would be forced to remember when Shirley McCaughey and Joanne Larson from last year’s team had removed his scratchy brown plaid shirt, covered with filth, and pulled a now soft tee shirt over his head and to see a tiny smile on his face. I had the memory of lifting him, along with Rotary International Director Kjell-Ake Akesson from Sweden, from his hard-seated wooded chair, into a pliable and malleable web-seated wheelchair, and seeing relief come to his face. We remembered the EMPTY CHAIR – where Iqbal had sat for some ten years, but which exemplified the freedom we had provided to him, if only for a few months.

There is an irony here. Not only had Iqbal died since we visited him in February 2008, but there was another death. Dr. Sachin told us there had not been a new diagnosed case of polio in all of Mewat, since we distributed polio vaccine one year ago. So with death comes life, and hopefully all of the children, now and in the future, in this area, and throughout the world, will live normal, healthy lives because we were able to provide two drops of life-saving vaccine to them. Perhaps we made a difference.

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 1st – NID DAY

2009-02-05T17:36:00.000-08:00

It was up early and on the go for our team today. National Immunization Day (NID) was one of the two principal reasons our team is here in India. As a bit of background for those reading this who are unfamiliar with Rotary International, let me provide a few brief facts:

Rotary International was founded by Paul Harris, a young lawyer from Vermont, with three friends in Chicago on February 23, 1905.
The first service project completed by a Rotary Club also took place in Chicago, and was the construction of a public toilet facility.
The Rotary Foundation was begun as the funding arm of Rotary about forty years after the founding of Rotary.
Nearly twenty-five years ago, Rotary joined forces with the World Health Organization, the Centers for Disease Control, the United Nations and adopted the eradication of polio throughout the world as its first and only corporate project
National Immunization Days (NIDs) evolved from the idea that it might be simpler for Rotarians and other volunteers, along with folks in the medical field as well as government employees, to take one day and immunize children under the age of five in an entire nation and to do this in one day! Successes have ranged from immunizing thirty or forty million children all the way to nearly two hundred million children, and all in a single day!
Polio remains endemic in only four countries – Afghanistan, Pakistan, Nigeria and India.
The success rate for NIDs in India is astounding, and now there are many SNIDs (sub-NIDs) conducted in parts of Uttar Pardesh and Bihar states, where there are still some cases of polio diagnosed each year.
Rotarians from all over the world descend upon countries where NIDs are scheduled, and work alongside local Rotarians, as well as other volunteers, to help immunize kids.

This year, much like last year, our ROTARY DREAM TEAM – INDIA 2009 was requested by Dr. Sachin, the Medical Officer for polio eradication verification of the World Health Organization to work in the vicinity of Ghasera and Nuh, located about sixty or seventy kilometers away from where we were staying in Sohna. We ate an early breakfast and were on our way with our driver, Suresh, and his porter, Ragu. One reason we had been asked to arrive early was to be able to participate in the kick-off or opening ceremonies of the efforts in that region. They were taking place on the grounds of a fairly large hospital. We learned this hospital was the gift of a sheik from Saudi Arabia.

We bumped and jostled our way along the roads to Ghasera, which is located in Mewat (pronounced MAY-VAAT). We arrived to find the parking lot of the hospital total empty, and boys setting up chairs around the perimeter of the area set aside for the ceremonies. We descended from the bus and I was pleased to see two familiar faces, that of Dr. Sachin along with the chief physician of the hospital. They were pleased to see that I had returned with another team to assist in the NID that day. After a toilet break (and you can only imagine with the bouncing of the bus along the roads, as well as the potential for Delhi Belly that lingered for several members of the team, a toilet break was entirely necessary) we toured a small portion of the hospital and then boarded the bus to be taken to a tiny village where we would dispense drops – the life-saving drops of the polio vaccine, to children of the village. You see, since the guest of honor for the opening ceremonies had not yet arrived, it would be pointless to proceed without him. This was one of the many “adjustments” we seemed to be constantly making since our arrival in India a week prior. India Time is something all of its own, and if you have never experienced it you can never know or understand.

We arrived at the village and walked to one of the dispensing sites and a few of us remained at that post, while others walked the village alleys, serving once more as the pied-pipers – the curiosities of a village which had most likely never seen white westerners before. Although this might be a bit of a nuisance to us, the good thing was that children followed us to the distribution site and once there, were encouraged to get their drops. Even though we may have felt a bit extraneous at times during the day, our mere presence had an important effect upon the success of the eradication efforts – we attracted attention to polio eradication and with the arrival of ten total strangers, who were differently dressed and of a different skin color, there MUST be something important happening that day. We had been given a specific amount of time to work in the village before returning to the hospital. However, as is the custom in India, our visit was rewarded by the local people serving us tea and sweets. I have so often said that in India, every event has a ceremony.

When we returned to the hospital grounds, there were still only a few people there, but shortly thereafter, a school bus arrived with children from neighboring towns, as well as an ambulance that was packed with kids – the only visual I can provide is the Volkswagen ad from years ago when more than a dozen clowns exited the VW Bug. More and more children arrived, being led to the center of the area set for the ceremony, and then finally, the star of the day – world-renowned cricketer from India, Ashish Nehra. After being welcomed by one dignitary after another, with the traditional bouquet of flowers, we were then introduced to him. I explained to Ashish who we were, why we were here and a little bit about Rotary International. He had actually heard of the good works of Rotarians, particularly in India, and was pleased to accept a team shirt from me, and immediately put it on and wore it for the remainder of the ceremony. We had a team picture taken with Ashish, and then he, Chris Parkinson and I were invited to join the two doctors on the stage for the ceremony.

Ashish spoke first to all of those gathered and drove home the importance of having ALL children immunized against polio. He was also most gracious and spoke a few minutes about Rotary and the Rotarians of our team who had come from the USA and Canada, just to help out in this effort. Both the children and the adults gathered cheered. Chris Parkinson was the next to speak, indicating this was his first trip to India and how pleased he was to actually participate in an NID. I then spoke, sharing a few thoughts and hopes for the success of the day’s events. The three of us were then invited to come down from the stage and to give drops to the children who had been gathered and sat in a very orderly manner in lines of about fifty children. Several other members of the team were also able to give drops at that time. Children were given cardboard masks, provided with the Rotary emblem, as well as whistles, also carrying Rotary’s name. Following this, our team was driven to two villages a bit further out from the immediate area of the hospital. We were divided into two groups, and Sanjiv, the ever-present videographer traveled between locations in order to get more footage for the DVD he will later produce for each of us.

Those of us in my group, traveled with a physician who currently works at the hospital at Mewat. He is a man in his fifties or sixties, and has a full head of hair, which would naturally be white or at least gray, but in fact was more or less a carrot-orange, from the Henna dye he had used. It was really quite bright! When we left the schoolyard where the other members of the team would be working, we proceeded up the street to the main street in the town. On the corner, several shopkeepers were selling blocks of what appeared to be beeswax. The blocks were about one foot square and about four to five inches thick. I asked the doctor what it was they were selling and he told me sugar. The blocks were absolutely covered with flies, and I do not mean a few buzzing around. As far as the untrained eye might see, they could have been blocks of sugar with raisins in them – there were that many flies. Before we could say, “No thank you”, he had the bus driver stop and he got off the bus and purchased a chunk from the inside and middle of one of the blocks. He returned in a flash, carrying a chunk of the stuff, wrapped in a piece of newspaper. Well, when in India… So he broke off pieces of the sugar and some of us sampled it, while the others palmed the substance, waiting for an opportune moment to drop it into a receptacle or along the street. Actually, it was extremely sweet, but had the aftertaste of molasses. The doctor explained the process of squeezing the juice for sugar cane into a kettle and then boiling it and re-boiling it until a very thick syrupy substance was created and then that was formed into blocks – hopefully with no “raisins” added into the mix! We proceeded to the next town, dropped off Chris, Nancy and Crissie for their assignment and that left two of us to go to the next location.

Linda Nicol, from the Nipigon, Ontario Rotary Club, and I worked together down a side street and then another alley. We rode in a tiny van with the head of that village’s polio program, and she kindly introduced us to the volunteer women who had been sitting at that distribution point for a few hours. I think they were happy to turn over the vials of drops to us. One by one, children arrived for their life-saving vaccine, and after getting a pin from us and their marked baby finger, the kids ran in different directions, only to bring back other children to see the funny looking white people (that would be Linda and me) who were giving special pins if you got your drops. When we finished giving drops of vaccine to the children at that sector, we accompanied the head of the program in the tiny van and returned to the site where the others were working. When we arrived, each of our teams had immunized quite a number of children, but all of a sudden, we could hear quite a commotion approaching from up the street. Chris, Nancy and Crissie were working at this location and generally, when there is a commotion, it is all about Crissie – she is a very beautiful young woman with straight blonde hair and this seems to draw a tremendous amount of attention. However, as the noise increased in decibel level, we turned to see four young men hauling a wooden cart (about 6’ x 6’) down the street, with five babies bouncing along over each bump. Three of the babies were stark naked and I am sure none of them had any idea as to what was in store for them if they agreed to take a ride in the cart – they were coming to get their polio drops! One little boy was so unhappy when Crissie reached forward to give him the vaccine and it seemed as if we all had to work at calming him so he would get the drops.

Once finished there, we walked up to the corner to meet our bus. We passed by a man who was feeding thick sheets of material through what looked to me like an old-fashioned mangle. The doctor explained the man was re-fluffing cotton to be used to make new quilts or comforters. There was a tremendous amount of fluff dust created by this process and the doctor advised that we did not want to breathe in the loose fibers. Enough said, and we proceeded to our bus that would return us to the first town to meet our teammates.

When we arrived at the schoolyard, we could see none of our fellow team members. Evidently, they had gone on a walking tour of the town, having concluded their responsibilities at the distribution site. We waited for about ten minutes and then I called Sanjiv to find out their ETA. He told me they would all be back to board the bus in five minutes. Once they arrived, they joined us on the bus for a ride back to the hospital and lunch at the home of Dr. Randhawa – the chief surgeon and Chief Operating Officer of the hospital. Since this was where Linda would be coming and staying for the next two weeks, we thought it a good idea to get some sense of where she would be living. You see, Linda Nicol is a massage therapist by profession, and she had volunteered to work at a facility to provide massage therapy to children who are victims of polio paralysis. She is remaining in India for about six weeks, meeting up with the new team at the end of February, but with about two weeks of time where she will live at the hospital, staying with a family on the campus, and then working on a minimum of six patients each day, alternating two groups of six, in hopes of not only relieving some of their discomfort through massage by creating a new blood flow to the atrophied muscles, but also teaching the mothers how to continue the process once she has left India.

Lunch was typical of Indian light food, with salad, dal and rotis. Dessert looked like tiny crabapples – but in truth were made of marzipan. Following lunch, the rest of the team boarded the bus to return to Sohna, where they would be able to rest for an hour or so, and then meet Linda and me back at the farm for dinner. We were on a different mission.

SATURDAY, SULTANPURI & SARASWATI - January 31st

2009-02-05T02:14:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned in my last posting, the members of the Rotary Club of Delhi – West invited the team to visit a singular project, which they initiated a few years back. It is a center in the Sultanpuri district of Delhi, where underprivileged children can come and be educated in a number of different disciplines. It was especially gratifying for me to visit the center, because when the Delhi – West club was little more than beyond the planning stages of the center, several members approached me and my Rotary club in Maine, asking if we would consider working on a Matching Grant from The Rotary Foundation. We were able to raise a few thousand dollars, which when matched with other funds collected both in India and the United States, and then matched again by The Rotary Foundation, the entire first stage of the project was funded. On a visit five years ago, members of my team were quite impressed with the Sultanpuri project, and one of the members, Anne Russell from the Rotary Club of Hampton, New Hampshire, sent funds to purchase three sewing machines for girls to learn how to stitch clothing and someday earn a living. The following year, I delivered the sewing machines, and today, I was so pleased to see three girls in their late teens using the sewing machines and stitching clothing from simple salwar kameses to wedding dresses for brides.

From the farm, it took nearly three hours to drive to that section of Delhi, even though it is not even seventy kilometers. Traffic grinds to a screeching halt once reaching the outskirts of Delhi. At one point, I think we actually moved forward a total of two hundred yards in ten minutes. When we arrived at the dropping off point, we had to cross a very busy street, and then walked down a narrower one to the center. The students and the Rotarians were outside waiting to greet us and it was the students who placed garlands around our necks. We were then taken on a tour of the school, which had been successfully expanded to include classrooms on the second floor. The success here really points out the great differences, which exist between what can happen with government and private sector assistance in an urban area, and what does NOT happen in remote areas such as the village of Chahalka. Out there, only seventy kilometers from Sultanpuri, the assistance available from the government or non-government organizations (NGOs) simply does not occur. Villages similar to Chahalka slip under the radar and are neglected. They are neglected, that is, until friends like Sanjiv Saran and groups he and I have organized for the past three years from some seven countries take the initiative to travel to India, leaving homes and families and jobs to travel half-way around the world, merely to serve others.

Before I elaborate more on our visit to Sultanpuri, I want to take a few moments to say how blessed each of the members of our team is. We are blessed to have understanding and supportive families. We are blessed to be able to pick up and leave our businesses in the hands of others, while we serve total strangers. We are blessed as Rotarians to be able to realize our passions and dreams, through working cooperatively with other Rotary Clubs from around the world, as well as with The Rotary Foundation. If we forget to say “Thank You” often enough, I hope this might serve to let our families and friends know just how much we appreciate how much you do for us.

Back to Sultanpuri: We were pleased to see the dispensary, where people in the neighborhood can come to pay a fraction of the appropriate charge to purchase homeopathic medicines. We were taken into another classroom where girls were learning the basics of cosmetology. Two students were actually working on an exercise in make-up for brides. The work they were doing will help them in the future to be able to be hired in private homes to provide make-up services for brides and the other women in the family. Upstairs, boys were learning computer training. When we finished the tour, we were invited outside to see performances by both the boys and girls – dancing, as well as recitations. Again, it was obvious to each of the members of the team how a difference in geographic location can make a huge difference in the quality of life. Clearly, the students who receive education are the advantaged ones over those in Chahalka.

As long as we were in Delhi, and it was Sunday afternoon, and there was no way we would be able to reach the worksite before dark, we were able to tour Humayun’s Tomb. This tomb is distinctly similar in so many aspects to its great uncle – the Taj Mahal in Agra. We were able to walk leisurely around the grounds and to gain an appreciation for the Muslim influence on architecture in India. Following our tour in Delhi, we boarded our bus and headed back to the farm. Unfortunately, it seemed that every one else in Delhi decided it would be a great time to drive around the city, or at least in the sector where we were driving. We got into a bottleneck, and two hours after we left from the tomb, we were still within the city limits of Delhi. We thought we would NEVER arrive at the farm. A few of the team members were succumbing to Delhi Belly, and really needed to stop at the motel and remain there for the rest of the evening, without joining us for another amazing meal. One of the things they missed was what we saw when we arrived at the farm and walked into the entry hall.

Unbeknownst to us, today throughout India, Hindus celebrated the festival of Saraswati, the goddess of the arts and of knowledge. While we were in Delhi, Jyotsna had taken great pains to create a beautiful design on the table, using powders of different colors, including sandalwood, saffron, and other vegetable died powders. It must have taken her hours to complete. She had also cut two or three dozen red and white roses from the gardens, as well as hibiscus blossoms and tiny white flowers that she strung into a garland to drape around the icon of Saraswati. Oli, her sister, also had made some rings of brightly colored yarns, which added to the festive nature of the display.

Throughout the entire week, Sanjiv, Jyotsna and Oli have made us feel so welcome, and have truly spoiled each of us with love and affection, as well as wonderful food, meal after meal. We are forever grateful for their caring and their love.

FULL DAY ON FRIDAY - January 30th

2009-02-05T02:13:00.000-08:00

Today, we were going to work a full day at the site, and it was an early day for us. We awakened to the sounds of the chanting of the priests from the Hindu temple located about a five or six mile drive from our motel, but almost a direct drop of six hundred feet straight down below. Having said this, however, I would not want to be one to take that plunge! The hillside is pretty rugged terrain and if I have not remarked about this previously, the abundance of thorny bushes and trees is overwhelming. It seems that wherever one walks, feet or pants or sleeves are being caught on one type of thorny bush or another. Although bougainvilleas are magnificent with their spray of colors, ranging from a creamy white through the oranges to magentas, they are also one of the thorniest bushes around. They do, however, provide splendor and beauty to what otherwise might be termed a rather dismal landscape.

We were at the farm bright and early, arriving before seven-thirty, and breakfast was mostly ready when we arrived. Linda Nicol had brought along a large plastic jar of peanut butter, and many of us spread the peanut butter on the bananas that Sandoo had put out for us. There were corn flakes that we could enjoy with hot mile, as well as rotis and scrambled eggs with chopped onions and cilantro. We finished breakfast and most of us decided to walk to the village. This is a wonderful exercise in the mornings, and one, which we enjoy thoroughly, because it provides us with the opportunity to interact with the villagers, particularly with the children, many of whom are up and walking to school. Some women and girls are washing their water buffaloes that are tethered to a stake or to the outside walls of their houses. One dog was nursing its four puppies, while fully standing up, keeping a watchful eye on any intruder that might come her way. Two mother hens were shooing their broods of day-old chicks away from the foot traffic along the road. Goats were braying. The village was also awakening to another sunny day. Sean and I walked by where the omelet guy has his afternoon station. There were a few older men sitting on the left side of the road, opposite where one of the tailors is outside pressing some of his creations, most afternoons. We walked over to where the old men were sitting and saw one of them making rope. He had a pile of what looked like bleached grasses in front of him and he would pick up a small pinch-full of grass and work that into the twist of one side of the two strands, then spin it between the palms of his hands, and twist, before picking up the next batch.

We walked along, trailing Kim, Cassandra and Kim, until we reached the sight. Boone, Dianne and Chris were following behind us. When we had left the dusty drive from the farm, out onto the road, we had begun with six of us walking, or perhaps seven. But Boone and Dianne road the bus through the dusty part, and then disembarked at the road and caught up with Chris. Along the way, we had also passed the troupe of monkeys hiding amongst the rocks, but still close to the road, expressing their curiosity about us, almost as much as we expressed outs toward them. As we got closer to them, the milkman, riding a motorcycle and carrying six large and three small metal milk pails, carefully balanced on both sides of his motorcycle, stopped and passed a small packet to three boys who seemed to have been waiting for him. One boy unfolded the newspaper wrapping and removed a handful of rotis (Indian flatbread) that he shared with his friends. They then tossed the rotis to the monkeys who snatched them up and then scampered to a safe place to eat them. One mother monkey, caught the roti in one paw, while her tiny suckling baby clung to her stomach as the mother walked on all fours to her rocky perch. When Sean and I approached the village, I suggested we might want to take a shortcut through a different sector, which would bring us out near the worksite.

We all finally arrived at the site, each one of us having experienced a different view of the village and its inhabitants. Dianne and Boone had a unique experience when they passed by the home where a small herd of goats is kept. One of the little girls passed a newborn goat to Dianne. She told us later that it must have been only hours old, barely dried off from birth, still exhibiting its umbilical cord. The children also passed her a small rabbit, but that was flopping around so much, she could not continue to hold it.

At the site, it was back to, “Masala, masala, masala!” We were once more in lines, passing basins of the newly mixed slop from one to the next, with the empty basins either passed back through the line or flung like Frisbees in front of us. I worked alongside of Ramish, laying brick and trowelling masala. I remembered one lesson my dad had taught me about laying bricks and that was NOT to place bricks evenly on top of one another. With a staggered pattern, the wall would be stronger. I communicated this to Ramish and he called out to the other brick masons and told them to follow that practice from then on. Nancy was over on our side, passing bricks and masala up to me. Ramish would raise the string line one or two score of bricks as we proceeded to build the wall. It was satisfying to see the height of the two side walls – remembering that on the first day, we faced a two-foot deep ditch, and from there laid a foundation of rock, followed by crushed stone, followed by a slurry of cement, sand and smaller rocks, to a brick foundation and then the walls. We really were progressing quite nicely.

After a full morning of labor, we returned to the farm for a shorter lunch, and then back to the site. The sun was quite hot, and some of us felt the back of our necks getting a bit warm from it. Sanjiv had told us a group of ladies from the village would like to meet with the ladies on our team, so at about four in the afternoon, the ladies, accompanied by Sanjiv, wandered across the lot adjacent to the work site and entered a home. We did not see them for quite some time, and when it came time to call off work for the day, I called him on his mobile and told him that Boone, Chris, Sean and I were going to walk down to the schoolyard and would meet them and the bus there.

We spoke to a number of the villagers, who were either carrying basins of clean laundry on their heads, or directing their goats or water buffaloes down the right paths. Sean and I stopped at the local tailor shop – one I had visited last year and the year before, and chatted with the tailor and his assistant. Sean asked if the tailor could make him a regular shirt, but he told him he was too “fit” and he did not have a pattern that would work for Sean. Fit meant that Sean is considerably larger in stature than the men of the village – he has broad shoulders and is very strong. We then heard some commotion over in the schoolyard and walked over to find Chris and Boone enjoying cricket with the locals. By the time I reached the cricket pitch (or what had been roughly carved out of the uneven landscape of the schoolyard) Chris was pitching to some of the teenaged boys. Lots of cheers erupted when the batter hit a fly ball and Chris caught it. “OUT!” they screamed and encouraged Chris to go to the other end and assume the position of batter. After about a half-hour, the women and the bus arrived and it was back to the farm for dinner.

Sanjiv had told us earlier in the day that the members of his Rotary Club had invited us to travel into Delhi the following morning, so we could visit another project of their club – one which I had helped gain a Matching Grant from The Rotary Foundation several years previous. The project is located in the slums of an older section of Delhi and was called SARVARTH SULTANPURI. Because of this change in plans (one always has to maintain a degree of flexibility in India) we would be coming back to the farm very early the next morning for a long bus ride into the city. An early night to bed and hopefully some decent sleep.

SAD DAY IN CHAHALKA - January 29th

2009-02-05T02:10:00.000-08:00

It is Thursday, January 29, and we went to the farm for breakfast, as usual, and learned from Sanjiv, that his night watchman, who lives in Chahalka, had told him his grandniece had died. Shahid, who has worked for Sanjiv and his family ever since the farm was built about fifteen years ago, has a rather sizeable family in the village. He himself has a number of children, and his brother, who lives next door to him, also has a rather large family.

It seems that the little girl, who was only a year-and-a-half, had been taken to the hospital a few times over the past month. Each time, she was sent home, presumably with medications for whatever it was that ailed her. However, as a result of dehydration, most likely caused by dysentery, the little girl died. It was difficult to get many more details, but the loss of a child is always trying on those who remain. After talking about it with Sanjiv, we decided to finish our work earlier in the afternoon and go to the family’s home and visit with them. Although none of us speaks Hindi, we felt we might be of some comfort to them, just by paying our respects.

As we worked through the morning, some of us wondered how it would appear to the family if ten or twelve people descended upon their home, and I expressed our concern to Sanjiv. He checked with Shahid, and told us it would be all right, and not only that, but beneficial. We even suggested that a few of us pay our respects, but Sanjiv assured us it would be appropriate for us to all go. At lunch, we checked to see if we should be taking something to the family – food, flowers, whatever. Again, Sanjiv checked and was told that our visit would be sufficient. I think each of us tried to imagine ourselves in the position of the family, wondering how we might feel with a dozen total strangers arriving at our home to express their sympathy for the loss of a child none had ever met. Whatever our feelings were, we finished our work for the day and walked through the village to the home.

Nearly every time we walk through the village, whether it is just a short walk through the streets and alleys, or if we are walking from the farm to the village, as several of us have done for the past few mornings, we generally end up looking like the Rotary pied-pipers, with dozens of children and a fair number of adults walking with or behind us. It was the same today. We walked along the road from the project, and to the central intersection that led down to the mosque. We passed by where the omelet man is generally stationed. We came to another “mom and pop” shop and turned up the street and began climbing the hill, as the street curved to the right and upward. There was a gentleman who was walking in our midst, who seemed to know exactly where we were going (since none of us did). As it turns out, the man was Shahid’s brother, the grandfather of the little girl who had died. We arrived at his home and walked one doorway further, and were invited into the yard. Three beds had been placed outside on what we might refer to as a terrace. We were invited to come in and to sit down on the beds. There was a nanny goat tied over in one corner, and lots and lots of people, most likely family and close friends. Some of us wondered if we might have caused discomfort to the family by being the focal point of the people gathered.

Shahid’s brother spoke with Sanjiv and told him who the father and mother were. The dad was probably about thirty years of age, and was wearing a red tee shirt with white sleeves. The mother looked as much like a Madonna as any woman I had ever seen. She was dressed in a peach-colored sari, with her head covered. It seemed to me that perhaps another younger woman might be her sister, since they were wearing saris of the same color. Another woman, considerably older than those two, was also dressed in the same color. As we learned, this woman was Shahid’s wife, so I guess our assumption was pretty accurate. The child’s mother simply stood with a regal look about her. Somehow, she must have understood the fact that we were a bit uncomfortable or uneasy. We were offered hot chai, served in small glasses. It was steaming as Shahid’s brother poured it for each of us. A little girl of about ten years in age, with her little brother, sat next to Crissie, and seemed to be quite taken with her. We later learned that this little girl was Shahid’s sixth daughter, and she told her grandmother that Crissie was her model, her ideal. A few photos were taken and we just sat and chatted amongst ourselves, not knowing exactly what to do. As I looked around our group, over the next several minutes, I saw tears welling up in each of us, again maybe placing ourselves in the circumstances of the parents and grandparents.

When it was time to leave, we checked with Sanjiv as to the appropriate behavior toward the parents – whether the women in our group could embrace the mother; whether a simple handshake with the dad would be acceptable. Each of us expressed our empathy and sympathy to the parents, the women hugging the mom and the men shaking the hand of the dad. When I got to the father, I shook his hand and he reached out to me, so I just did what I would do with a friend, I embraced him. It seems this was all right, since he hugged me tightly, in return. We left the home, but as we entered back out onto the street, the grandfather – Shahid’s brother, invited us in to see his little shop in the front of his home. He sold mostly food items and offered me a bottle of orange crush. I thanked him but declined his offer. I felt he had given way more than any of us expected, sharing his home and hospitality at a most difficult time. The little girl was the second of two children, but we were told the parents, although grief-stricken, were resigned to the fact that it was Allah’s will that the little girl should die.

We wandered back down the hill to the center of he village and I asked if we might be able to enter the mosque, since there were no prayers going on at that time. Sanjiv checked and by the time we reached the entry gate, it was unlocked and opened to us. A few of the elders in the village entered with us, each of us removing our shoes and covering out heads as we passed through the gate. Since Sanjiv did not have a hat, he placed a clean handkerchief over his head. We walked into the mosque, a plain brick building, where the windows faced west toward Mecca. Without asking to check, I suspect that each of us in his or her own way offered a silent prayer on behalf of the little girl who had died. Outside the building, Sanjiv pointed out the types of arches used on this building – not simply the plain ones used by Muslims, but also the more ornate ones (scalloped) used by Hindus in their buildings. It seemed appropriate to us – the joining together of two cultures, and actually three, if you added the members of the team. We left the mosque, put our shoes back on and walked a short distance to board the bus to return to the farm for dinner. Hopefully, we were able to bring some comfort to the grieving family, and to show them we cared, although most of us had never experienced a tragedy such as this.

BUCKET BATH OR SACRED BATH?

2009-02-05T02:06:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, I spent the greater part of the day in Delhi, meeting with members of the Board of Directors of the Rotary Club of Delhi-West. It was nice to be able to re-kindle old friendships and to make some new ones. Since I have been coming to India (2001), I have enjoyed wonderful friendships with members of this Rotary Club and have completed two Matching Grant projects with them, this current one in Chahalka Village being the third.

When I returned from Delhi, Sanjiv and I drove to the farm and joined the other members of the team for relaxation and attitude adjustment, followed yet again by another sumptuous repast – dinner on the patio under the stars, and the watchful eye of the MIR space station. We returned to our motel, picked up our keys at the front desk and settled in for another night’s sleep, before leaving again in the morning for breakfast.

We boarded the bus following our breakfast for the ride into the village, and when we arrived at the site, I was amazed and impressed as to the progress made the previous day. When we first arrived on the previous Sunday, there was nothing more than a trench ditch marking where the boundary walls would be erected. Not only had we dumped rocks and then crushed gravel into those ditches, and poured the masala over it to form the base for the footing and foundation, but also bricks were now showing above grade! Huge progress in just a couple of days.

When we broke for lunch, we returned once more to the farm for our now-routine garden lunch, out near the coy pond. Sanjiv suggested we might be interested in traveling into Sohna and visiting a Hindu temple there. The temple had been constructed at the site of natural hot springs. The mythology is that a monk had sat at the base of a banyan tree, and perhaps his spirit had been responsible for the existence of the hot springs. These springs provided restorative powers to the faithful. As a tribute to this monk, the people built a temple surrounding the banyan tree and the place where the monk sat every day. Sanjiv took us to visit that temple and to see the hot springs within the temple. Within, there are several small shrines to the various manifestations of Lord Shiva and Lord Krishna – Ganesha and the monkey god, and many others.

When we entered the temple, we were to leave our shoes outside at the shoe-check. Some of us went barefoot, while others preferred to keep socks on. Dianne did not have socks, so she was able to tie plastic baggies over her feet. The central courtyard area had two pools, where once people came to bathe in the hot springs. Now only one of those pool areas is used. There were four or five young men standing down in the pool, washing themselves. Sanjiv told us we would have an opportunity to bathe in the healing waters, if we wanted to do so. Chris tried to purchase a towel at a shop outside the gate, but the towel was dirty, so he took a pass on buying it. Even for eighty rupees (about $2.00 USD) Chris felt it not with the investment. I had brought a towel from our motel, so I was set to go. We walked around the central area, went to a screened window area, where we were able to actually feel the steam from the hot sulfur springs rising through the screen. It was really quite warm. Some of the ladies in our group walked up the stairs to another area, where it was separate from where the men bathe. Sean and I purchased tickets (20 rupees each) for a private room where we could enjoy the hot springs and stay there for twenty minutes. Although it was not the cleanest shower room, we were able to bathe away from the public pool area for men. Sitting down into the pool (about 18 inches of very warm water) we experienced the sulfur and the heat of the water. There was a metal dipping pail that I took and filled from a small spigot, with quite warm water and poured it over my head. I had a fairly strong headache for most of that morning and early afternoon, and still had it when we arrived at the temple. Pouring the hot water over my head couldn’t hurt, so I did it four or five times while relaxing in the pool. We dried off and met the rest of the group back in the courtyard. Each time I poured the hot water over my head, the headache seemed to lessen. By the time we left that area, and walked around outside for a while, my headache disappeared and never returned. Our teammates were outside and enjoying a sweet dessert.

We then entered an area where the banyan tree and a statue of the monk were located. The priest offered prayers for each of us and put a teeka or bindi on each of our foreheads. We also had the opportunity to offer prayers, as well as some puffed rice to the images of the gods. In one or two of the smaller shrines, priests were inside bathing the gods with water, buttermilk and honey. They then dressed each of the gods before they went back to sleep. The reverence and respect shown by each of these priests was heartwarming, at least to me.

We left this area and Sanjiv stopped and explained the representations of these various gods, depicted in painted tiles on the walls. Each of us was able to walk away with a bit more knowledge of the mythology surrounding Hinduism. Several of us followed the practice of Sanjiv and his sister-in-law, Ollie (Shamoli) and rang the elephant bells hanging down from the ceilings. We left the temple, picked up our shoes and after every member wiped his or her feet on my towel, before going back out onto the narrow, winding street, put our shoes on. My towel look like it had been dragged through the muddy streets, and hopefully the manager at the motel would not be too upset with me for returning it in that condition.

Walking along the streets, we became the attraction for the natives of the city, with stares coming left and right. We entered a few shops, stopped by one or two jewelers to see their necklaces and bracelets – all of which we learned were “demonstration” pieces, the real ones kept in the safes behind the jewelers. We had all seen them being worn by some of the women in Chahalka, and wanted to find out the cost, IF they were crafted of solid gold, which we were told most were, the cost would be about $2,000 USD. It is no wonder the women wore them and never took them off from around their necks. Sean and Chris both donned garlands made especially for grooms at weddings, that were crafted from stapling rupee notes together. Some were made of ten rupee notes, others from twenties, and some actually were made of one hundred rupee notes. These kind of reminded me of the “dollar dance” which is often a feature of weddings in America.
After picking up a few snacks in one of the shops, we returned to the bus that was parked out in front of a Sikh temple. We got back to the motel about twenty minutes later for an hour rest, before returning to the farm for another starlight dinner.

REPUBLIC DAY – January 26

2009-01-30T06:04:00.001-08:00

Since there was no work scheduled for today, we were invited to two different celebrations. Eight years ago, I had attended the Republic Day parade in Delhi and it was quite remarkable. Our group and two million of our newest friends lined the streets, standing on bleachers that had been erected by the government along the parade route, while three jet helicopters streamed down past us, showering the crowd with rose petals and marigold petals. It was an amazing experience.

This morning, we ate breakfast at the farm and boarded the bus to take us into the village. When we arrived, we first visited the home of a young girl, Arasthun, who had befriended one of our team member’s daughters this past year. Two years before we were to leave for this year’s trip, Cari Roberts (daughter of Sean and Pam Roberts from the 2008 team) contacted me and asked if I would take some gifts to Arasthun. Last year, Arasthun kept coming by the day-care center and eventually designed and painted some flowers on either side of the mural that Ray Sykes had drawn and members had painted on the wall of the day-care center. It was difficult for Arasthun when we all left, because Cari, her new friend, was leaving and she was afraid she would never see her or hear from her again. When Cari asked me to take some gifts to Arasthun, I said of course I would. The package arrived on Thursday, and I packed it into my bag to carry across to Arashthun. Back to the present…

We walked over to Arasthun’s home, from the school yard where our bus was parked, and were welcomed by her family – her mom, her dad, and her eight sisters and her little brother. We were invited to sit down and enjoy some hot milk – water buffalo’s milk. To be welcomed into the home of Muslim family in the village, was in itself an honor. But to be offered hot milk was singular. Arasthun’s parents showed us their home, We saw the corner where her mother cooked over burning dung patties and sticks; we saw some of the beds where the children slept; and her mother showed us her dowry – a magnificent gold choker necklace, which she wears all the time. On the front gate of their home, I noticed some markings in chalk. I figured out that these were numbers marking the times when the children had been immunized against polio. The last time was in December. It was good to see that even though there was not a formalized NID in Chahalka, volunteers came to the village to distribute the life-saving vaccine. After our visit, we walked across the road to the school yard, and walked to the other end to the computer training center. We had been told to expect a special ceremony organized by the students.

Special it was. When we entered the school yard, all forty-five students were standing at attention waiting for us to sit down. There were chairs for us set in a line across the front of the building. The instructor invited me to come to the flag pole and to unfurl the flag of India, that was already raised to the top of the pole. I snapped the rope and was showered in a burst of rose petals and marigold petals. What a contrast from eight years ago, when we were showed by rose petals and marigold petals, bursting from the jet helicopters! This celebration of the start of Republic Day was equal to if not exceeded that of 2001. At that point, the students sang the Indian National Anthem, while we all stood at attention. After this ceremony, the students invited into the center for a formal inspection. WOW! Since I was here a year ago, and we had finished the painting of the outside, the inside, built the walls around the school yard, and raised the banner in front of the training center, the desks had been purchased and installed; the computers had been purchased and set up; the generator had been purchased and set up outside in the school yard; the floors had been swept clean; and the students had been attending classes for more than six months. I recognized some of the students from the two previous years, some who had carried rocks alongside us; some who had mixed concrete (masala) in their bare feet; some who had simply sat and watched us during the extreme makeover of this building into what it is today. All of the students sat at their desks working on current projects. I was then invited to come to the front of the classroom, while each student introduced himself to me, proudly announcing his name, the name of his father, the level of course study he had achieved before entering computer training and the courses he had completed and those he was still working to complete. The age of the students ranged from seventeen to thirty-nine years. We learned that the students come to classes five or six days each week; they study two to three hours each day; they take examinations one each month and if they fail to meet the minimum level of proficiency, they are moved back two levels to begin again. It was most rewarding to see this program working and providing opportunities for young men to enter the workforce in neighboring Sohna or Gurgaon. When we had finished at the computer training center, we walked next door to see the day-care center. It is currently used by about a dozen families each day, being able to leave their children in a safe environment, while their mothers could work to help the family income.

By this time, we returned to the bus, and went to the farm for lunch. We were in for a treat, not only for eating our lunch out under the trees near the coy pond and amongst dozens of rose bushes, but also for what was planned for the afternoon. We shared and enjoyed a few bottles of Kingfisher beer, salads, and other veg and non-veg dishes. We re-boarded the bus and drove to a neighboring village, inhabited mostly by Hindu families, and located in a very fertile valley, a complete opposite to the barren landscape of Chahalka. One of the village leaders had visited the previous day at the farm, to invite us to his village’s Republic Day celebration. When we arrived in the center of the village, we stepped off the bus and were greeted by the members of the Gram Panchayat. These venerable looking gentlemen all stepped forward and placed garlands around the necks of the men in our group, while women garlanded our ladies, and embraced them warmly. What a welcome! We sat down and learned a little more about the village, with the help of Sanjiv’s translation. While the men sat in the center of the group, the women sat a bit to the side. We were then invited to join the members of the Gram Panchayat in smoking the water pipe – or hookah. One of the senior members smoked it first and then turned the pipe stem to me. Not wishing to offend our hosts, I participated and passed the stem to the next member of the team and then around the circle. The women were invited to smoke the ladies’ pipe, and some of our team members did so. Following the welcoming ceremonies, we were asked to walk down the road to the school. We were shown a room that was available to be used to house a computer-training center, similar to the one in Chahalka. There were several substantial differences between the two facilities – this village appears to have considerable wealth, as opposed to Chahalka. The schoolroom already exists, while the building in Chahalka had to be totally rehabilitated. The final difference is that the people in this village are interested in educating their girl children in computer training, rather than confining the training to boys and young men. Some of the team members may be interested in pursuing this project for assisting with the funding of another computer training center.

Following the tour of the school, we were then invited to climb onto a trailer behind a tractor and to be driven to the parade ground about a half-mile down the road, where the traditional outdoor wrestling competition was already under way. Teams from neighboring towns challenge the local wrestlers out on the dusty field. Four wrestlers join arms and a wrestler from the opposite team crosses over into “enemy” territory, and taunts the foursome into trying to take him down. Once he touches one of the four wrestlers, it is his goal to escape back over the center line without being pinned. We all stood in the trailer and the tractor hauled us down the road and into the parking area of the parade ground. Once we rounded the corner, several of the locals turned and noticed we were a group of white westerners. We caused quite a stir as we neared the reviewing stand, and when we climbed down off the trailer, and walked toward the field, the crowd parted (sort of like Moses parting the Red Sea!). The village event organizers had arranged chairs for us right down on the edge of the field, in front of the stage where dignitaries were seated. Sean Dolter had been a class wrestler several years ago, but he had never witnessed an event quite like this one. At the time we arrived, the competition had progressed to the semi-finals. Unfortunately, the local team had been defeated in the semi-finals, but the villagers remained at the match to cheer on their favorite wrestlers. Our team was invited to join the dignitaries out on the field to greet the wrestlers of each team. These young men, probably between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, were very fit and obviously somewhat curious as to why a group of white westerners were coming onto the field to shake their hands.

Back at our seats, another event was announced to occur prior to the final match. This separate event was to be a race, twice around the grounds, and to be run by two gentlemen, each of whom was past the age of seventy! One man was straight and thin, while the second, although thin, had quite badly bowed legs. The race was started and the two runners were flagged off for their race. The taller man moved out in front quite quickly, and remained so all the way around both times. He won the race, outpacing his opponent by nearly one full trip around the course. He was honored with a standing ovation, and his opponent was also heavily applauded for his efforts.

The final match began and all of us were entertained by the gestures and moves of one of the referees – a Muslim gentleman, with a Henna-dyed bright red beard. He moved into watch the wrestlers, stepping almost like a flamingo. It was quite a performance. The match finally concluded, the winners announced, and it was time to board our bus that Suresh and Ragu had moved onto the edge of the field. We shared our garlands with the winner of the race, as well as his opponent. It was not back to the farm for some wine and another wonderful dinner.

WELCOME TO CHAHALKA

2009-01-29T04:53:00.000-08:00

Most of us slept at least a few hours during the night, or should I say the wee hours of the morning. Unfortunately, Cassandra had not figured out how to turn off the lights in her room, so she could only catch a few minutes of sleep, because she was blocking out the light with her hands. Kim was feeling a little better after several hours of sleep and Shawn was raring to go. Chris Parkinson was not able to solve the puzzle of turning on the ghiza (individual water heater in his bathroom) so his bucket bath was a bit chilly. Dianne and Boone seemed pretty chipper. Linda is always cheerful, regardless of the time of day. Nancy and Crissie both greeted us with smiles, so I guess all in all, the first several hours for us as a team were pretty good.

We boarded our bus, with Suresh at the wheel and Ragu riding shotgun. We encountered some traffic on the mountain road, but nothing quite as bad as the previous night. Well, that may be an understatement, or at least a little premature. We rounded the bend in the road by the radio towers and sure enough, another gridlock! We sat for about five minutes and since Sanjiv was expecting us to arrive fairly soon, I decided to call him to let him know our situation. We decided to wait it out for a bit, but if the situation did not improve, and rapidly, I was to call him again and he would meet
us as he had only hours before. Strangely enough, however, in daylight, the road did not look anywhere near as safe as it had in total darkness. Somehow the night before, whether it was due to our state of exhaustion or just the feeling that we were enveloped in some kind of cocoon of safety, but we had no hesitation walking up the mountain road, wending our way amongst the huge trucks in total darkness.

Breakfast was wonderful, having been prepared by Sandoo, the cook at the farm. We enjoyed rotis (a sort of flat bread), scrambled eggs with vegetables, fruit juices, coffee, tea, as well as corn flakes for those who are used to cereal in the morning. After all, we wanted to have a reasonably substantial breakfast before venturing down into the village for our first day of work at the project site. After potty breaks, it was time to board the bus again, and drive to the village. For Linda Nicol and me, it was pretty nostalgic – seeing the very barren landscape (sort of like looking at parts of the Grand Canyon in the US, but not as colorful or attractive). We passed a few familiar sites, and as we neared the village, we began to see children walking alongside the road. Undoubtedly, it had been a year since any of them had seen a TOURIST bus enter the village. As I may have indicated before, Chahalka is NOT on the normal itinerary for tourists visiting India! Following the narrow road into the village, we were able to see a few homes under construction, either next door to or across the road from very typical village homes (one-room brick cubes) that had fairly good sized displays of dung patties drying on the ground or on rocks where they had been placed by the girls who made them. Even some of the dung huts were still standing, as they had been the year before.

Cow dung, or dung from water buffaloes (the cattle of choice in Chahalka) is the principal source of fuel, used both for cooking, as well as for providing heat. Mostly young girls take a large metal basin and go to the fields where the cattle may be grazing, or just into their own yards, and fill the basins with fresh, steaming dung. Once the basins are full, the girls put the basins on top of their heads and balance it there as they carry it back to their homes. Once there, the girls take a few handfuls of the dung and pat it onto the ground and form a disk-shaped patty. Very often each girl will push her hands and fingers into the patty to form a kind of signature to each patty. In other words, each girl or woman making the dung patties has a hallmark or a trademark. Even at this, the lowest caste, people take great pride in their work and want to do the very best job they can.

The bus approached the intersection near the mosque, and I pointed out the two previous projects on the left to my teammates – the two washing platforms and the computer-training center and day-care center. Women and girls were atop the water supply well cover, dipping down into it to retrieve buckets of water, both for drinking and for washing their clothing and utensils at the washing platforms, immediately adjacent to the well. Due to frequent interruptions in power provided to the village, it is difficult to get water piped into the washing platforms, so the women and girls simply dip into the well for the water and carry it down the new steps from the well and walk over onto the platforms.

We turned right at the mosque and drove (or should I say bounced and bucked) up the narrow muddy way toward the worksite. I looked to my left and recognized the medical dispensary, followed by the tailor’s shop. There he was, sitting at his sewing machine. He looked up, saw the bus and me waving from the inside and actually smiled in recognition. I guess there cannot be a more pleasant welcome than for someone to recognize you. He waved and we continued up past the water buffaloes tied in front of a few homes, both left and right, and made it to the top of the hill. We passed the front of the home where a few of us last year were invited to smoke the water pipe of hookah, with some of the older gentlemen of the village. The hookah was there, as Linda and I remembered, right next to the bed (a very basic frame and woven bedspring). “Where was the omelet guy?” I asked Linda. She too had remembered the young man who sold eggs from his cart at the top of the hill. However, she did not recall the fact that he made the best omelets. Last year, I watched in amazement as he scrambled three eggs in his pan (heated over a propane gas burner) and then added freshly chopped cilantro, onions, green peppers and tomatoes, as well as a bit of salt and pepper. The next part was the best! He then placed two slices of bread into the heating mixture, and eventually folded the cooked egg mixture over and over, until he formed the perfect omelet sandwich. I ate one of his creations last year and looked forward to doing the same this year.

Suresh turned the bus left and we proceeded down a gradual hill and saw a fairly large group of villagers waiting at a site on the right side of the road. With bus parked, we all disembarked and walked across the road, amidst an instant crowd of children – literally dozens of them – all looking up at us with spectacular smiles. Sanjiv had driven ahead of us in his car, so he, Jyotsna and Olie were standing by a hand-painted sign which stated we were at the site of the ROTARY INTER NATIONAL Chahalka Toilet Block project, sponsored by the Rotary Club of Delhi-West, the Rotary Club of Sanford-Springvale, and the Gram Panchayat (elder council of the village). I asked Seanto take a photo of Sanjiv and me standing in front of the sign, with me holding FLAT FREDDIE THE FROG (provided to me by my grandson’s first grade class). As you see above, the sign indicated ROTARY INTER NATIONAL, which is just as correct as three words as with two.

The next few minutes was quite moving for all of us. Although a typical way to welcome people at a Hindu village is the placement of flower garlands around the necks of visitors, it is not typical in a Muslim village. However, the members of the Gram Panchayat were all there and stepped forward to me and placed not one, not two, not three, but about eight garlands made of marigolds around my neck. They then proceeded to garland the rest of the members of the team, shaking hands and smiling as they did so. As I was standing there, I marveled at the warmth of the welcome and the fact that these men remembered me, but more importantly the fact they remembered our team of Rotarians from the previous two years, and were genuinely pleased to see us back again. I was, however, unprepared for the next incident. I felt a tug on my arm, turned around only to see Ramish, the brick mason from the previous two years. He was still wearing his gold V-neck knitted vest and his blue shirt, trousers and flip-flops. He grinned and then embraced me with a strong hug. As we separated, I noticed him brushing aside a tear from each eye. He then took me by the hand and we walked together in this manner the few yards to the trenches marking the boundaries for the toilet block building, and it was, “Let the work begin!”

It did not take very long before each of us had donned our work gloves (generously provided by Springvale Hardware Store in Maine) and began picking up rocks, filling basins with them and then passing the basins along the assembly line and dumping them into the trenches as a base for the footings. Even more quickly than in the previous two years, we were able to encourage or cajole some of the children into joining our lines, and they enthusiastically passed the rocks or retrieved the empty basins and carried them back to the rock pile for refilling. Once we had completed one side of the boundary trench, we shifted our line to dump the rocks along the other sides. This took about a half-hour and we were on to the next phase – dumping in some crushed stone on top of the larger ones. Ramish and his tender worked hard at smashing the larger rocks with their sledgehammers. Most of us cringed as we watched, since neither was wearing shoes, but only flip flops to protect their feet and toes. Next step was to collect and then pass basins of sand, which were then dumped on top of the rocks. This mixture provided a relatively even floor for the next step.

Two teenaged boys were busy mixing up masala – the concrete mixture, which we were then to collect, using the same basins, again passing this loose slop along the line, to be dumped on top of the rocks and sand. Ramish and his tender were in the trenches, smoothing out the masala with trowels. Work progressed at a snappy pace, interrupted occasionally by Cassandra cooing over the newborn baby she was holding, or Linda saying her name over and over again until the children were able to pronounce it, all the while wearing those beautiful smiles on their faces. It was sometime during all of this activity, that we broke and boarded the bus to be taken back to the farm for lunch.

We arrived to find tables set out on the lawn, amongst the rose gardens. We sat for a while on the patio of the house, and in a short while, I saw a little red car enter the back gate. I immediately recognized my niece, Pallavi (the daughter of Sanjiv and Jyotsna) who had driven out from Delhi, bringing Sanjiv’s father with her. Again, another reunion, with hugs, and smiles and tears. Sanjiv’s dad, or Papa as we call him, looked as fit as ever and was proud to tell me it was due to his daily regimen of waling in Nehru park every day. He, by the way, is eighty-seven years young! All of us enjoyed sampling juices, with many of us opting for our first taste of Kingfisher beer. Lunch was brought out from the kitchen and we enjoyed a wonderful meal, including fresh salad, rice, chicken, dhal and japatis (another flat bread, prepared by Sandoo). What is remarkable is the fact there has been no power to the house since our arrival. Sandoo has been preparing our meals on two tiny propane burners, with lights in the house provided by the generator.

It was back to work and then back to the motel to freshen up and then back to the farm for dinner. Sampling of red and white wines enhanced the relaxation period prior to dinner. Eating out under the stars, while most of us had come from the cold of winter, was indeed a treat. We looked up initially and Sanjiv pointed out the MIR space station that was the only light in the dark sky, at least for a while. Several of us looked through binoculars and were able to see greater definition of MIR.

Finally, back in the bus and back to our rooms at the motel. Hopefully, we would enjoy a good night’s rest, Kim would begin to feel better and we would all be up and ready to participate in the festivities the next day. You see, Monday, January 26, was the 50th anniversary of Republic Day – marking India’s independence from being a part of the British Empire.

2nd Team in Texas is monitoring !

2009-01-27T10:52:00.000-08:00

Elias,

Thanks for the update on the traffic. We too will assemble at the Continental counter in Newark and together proceed to the International Gate.

Do you have any update on goodies we should bring for the kids?

PS Give my best to Diane and Boone.

INDIRA GANDHI AIRPORT - January 24th

2009-01-27T00:14:00.000-08:00

Our flight (Continental Flight 82) arrived on time – about 9:15 local time on Saturday evening. Most of the members of the team were processed through immigration and baggage claim, while three of us were directed a different way, because our good friend and new patient was too weak to walk the long way through the airport. We eventually caught up with the rest of the group and worked our way through customs and immigration. We were met by Divan – one of the folks who works for Sanjiv, and worked our way to out to our bus, driven by Suresh and navigated by his porter, Ragu.

A few minutes after we departed from the airport terminal, we found ourselves mired in a huge traffic jam. The fact of a traffic jam at 10:30 at night was a bit foreign to most of us. We drove (or should I correct that by saying we crept) all the way to Gurgaon, and turned left onto the road to Sohna. En route, we listened as Cassandra told us of her very unique experience during our flight from Newark to Delhi. I certainly would not feel right if I were violate a confidence, so for those of you who know her, please feel free to contact her to learn the details.

When we had boarded our bus, Divan received a telephone message from Sanjiv telling him the traffic had been jammed on the mountain road to Sohna all day due to a semi-tractor trailer truck having overturned early that morning, dumping its entire load onto the road, closing both lanes of traffic. Sanjiv told Divan he hoped the debris would be cleared soon, so we could proceed up the mountain road to the place we would be staying – the Sohna Tourist Motel. One thing I noticed, about the time we left the city limits of Delhi and proceeded toward Gurgaon was that the roads were town up – a huge expansion project undertaken in the last several months. It was wonderful to see the progress, but at the same time, the bumps and jolts during the ride did not help our friend, Kim, who had been ill during the flight, and was still terribly weak. Even though our driver, Suresh, was driving very slowly, Kim was in terrible distress. We talked about the situation and Shawn and Kim decided to stay back at the motel, rather than drive the remainder of the way to Sanjiv’s farmhouse for a midnight dinner. We arrived at the motel, checked in with reception and took our bags to our rooms. We met three more members of our team, who had arrived earlier on Saturday. Crissie Day, a Rotarian from Oregon, and her mother, Nancy Day were pleased to see us. Linda Nicol, one of the members of last year’s team, from Nipigon, Ontario, was also there. Shawn and Kim stayed at the motel and the rest of us, including Crissie, Nancy and Linda, boarded the bus for a late night ride to the farm. Not more than five minutes into our ride, we found ourselves in a huge traffic jam on the mountain road. I telephoned Sanjiv to discuss a plan, and we decided all of us would begin walking up the road and Sanjiv would drive his car from the farm as far down the mountain road as possible, and drive us the rest of the way.

Now let’s make an evaluation here… Most of us had been up anytime from 2:30
‘til 5:00 in the morning on Friday. It was now midnight on Saturday night. We were going for a walk, in total darkness, other than for the parking lights on all of the tractor-trailer trucks stopped on the road. From my description, Sanjiv thought we were about three kilometers from the farm. And, we are going for a walk??? Are you kidding?

Rather than “strolling” along the outer edge of the road (where, incidentally there are NO GUARDRAILS to protect us from tumbling down the side of the mountain), I suggested we try to snake our way between the two rows of trucks, and work our way along the road until we met up with Sanjiv. Dianne and Boone from San Antonio, Texas, were somewhat concerned as to whether there might BE snakes along the road, or any other things that “might go bump in the night”! We all trooped along, in the total darkness of the night, seeing only a few constellations up above, and trusting Sanjiv would soon meet us to ferry us to the farm for dinner. After all, don’t we all customarily eat our dinner between midnight and two in the morning??? After walking about a kilometer, I heard a voice calling, “Where is my long-lost brother, Elias?” It was Sanjiv and we were all relieved to see him. He drove the first five people and the rest of us agreed to continue to walk until he returned to take us to the farm. I had been concerned I had not been able to exercise and do a cardio-walk, so this filled the bill. Sanjiv returned, picked us up and drove to the farm. Jyotsna, Sanjiv’s wife, and her sister, Ollie, were there to welcome us. We had a wonderful dinner and at about 3:00 in the morning, we were driven back to the motel, the traffic jam having been cleared. We had agreed to meet our bus on Sunday morning at about 10:30 to return for breakfast at the farm.

Pleasant dreams…

CAN WE REALLY BE LEAVING?

2009-01-27T00:11:00.000-08:00

Although each member of the Team has been packing, unpacking and then re-packing, it is actually hard to imagine that the day has finally arrived – January 23, 2009, when most of us will descend upon Newark’s Liberty Airport to begin the very long second leg of our journey to India. With me, it began at about 2:30 a.m., when I awoke and dressed and went to my office to clear up some loose ends and check Emails and then return home to shower and dress. Even at that insane hour, I found myself picking up the telephone and calling my friend, Sanjiv Saran in India to check last-minute details. At about 5:30, I returned home to find my wife, Jane had already been up for a while, probably as much because of the anticipation of driving me to the Manchester, New Hampshire airport, as due to a few strategically timed yowls from Jack, our not-so-slim-and-trim cat. For Jack, it was “time to put food in here!” When Jack first wandered into our lives this past August, he had been abandoned and lived on his own for who knows how long. He was totally emaciated and his long grey coat was dirty and matted. However, after living with us, Jack has, how shall we say, blossomed! At any rate, Jack had already eaten one of his breakfasts when I arrived home. I showered, dressed and loaded the car with my bags, and we were off to my office to meet Violet Dube-Moody, who had volunteered to drive to Manchester with us and then back with Jane.

We moved right along, all the way to Rochester, before we became part of a long line of semi-tractor-trailer trucks and a few interspersed cars, which moved (at least in our terms) at a snail’s pace. I kind of smiled inwardly, when I realized in our part of the country, we had no idea what snail’s pace meant! Maybe driving in this line of traffic was just a gentle nudge to my memory of how a true bottle-neck works – how it works in India! Upon arriving at the airport, I had already received a call from a team member, Cassandra Bradley from the Laconia, New Hampshire area, to tell me she was running a few minutes late and that Past District Governor Chris Parkinson (also a member of our Team) would be swinging by the airport to pick up the carton box containing our Team’s official shirts, so he could unpack and re-pack one of his bags to bring them along to India. (My bags were already bursting at the seams, partly due to the fifty-or-so nerf baseballs I had jammed into one of them to take along for the kids in Chahalka.

Jane and I said our good-byes and she and Violet drove off to return to the office, and then Jane to home, where she would meet friends to play what hopefully would become one of many days of bridge games during my absence. I received another call from Cassandra telling me that Chris should be at the airport in any minute and that I should be waiting outside for him, so he would not have to go to the trouble of parking his car before finding me. As it turned out, the security officer on duty outside the terminal would not allow me to stand outside while my bags remained inside, no more than ten feet from me, on the other side of the windows. I moved everything outside, waited until Chris stopped, loaded his car with the shirts, and then drove off. Cassandra arrived a short while later and we checked in at the Continental ticket counter, and were successful in convincing the attendant that although our reservations for this leg of our trip had not been made at the same time, she could certainly waive the charge of $70 per bag for our second bags, since we were connecting to the flight to Delhi, and actually checking our bags all the way through from Manchester. We proceeded to the waiting area, only to hear the announcement, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are reporting the flight to Newark will be delayed for at least one hour, but we will keep you updated as to an exact time.” I told Cassandra I prefer taking earlier flights into Newark just to make sure I arrive in plenty of time, keeping “flexibility and adjustment” as two terms prominently in my mindset. We departed just about an hour late and arrived without incident, trusting that our bags had been checked all the way through to Delhi, and better still, that they would make it there.

Upon arrival at the Newark airport, I received a call on my cell phone from one of the team members, Shawn Dolter, who confessed that, “I have already broken one rule, and I have not even met you yet.” He told me he and his wife, Kim Thistle (both from Newfoundland) had arrived into Newark the previous day and wanted to travel into the “Big Apple” for some sightseeing, and the only way they could make such a trip was to check into the ticket counter, and send their bags through to Delhi. We had all previously agreed to meet at the international ticket counter before checking in at Continental. As it turns out, most of us arrived on Friday via Continental, so we were all on the “inside” and could only meet at the ticket counter, if we left the “inner sanctum” and then had to re-enter through the screening process, which always takes a long time, especially in Newark.

Not to dwell on a point too long, but suffice it to say we all finally met at Gallagher’s Restaurant for a light dinner and some liquid refreshment. We worked our way to the gate and boarded for our fourteen-and-a-half flight to the next chapter of our lives – India and all it had in store for us. We were somewhat clustered in our seat assignments, and after a very bumpy (ladies and gentlemen, we are going to be experiencing some mild turbulence, so please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts secured tightly) first hour, we settled into a 37,000 foot altitude flight pattern for the duration.

Unfortunately, one of our team members became terribly ill during the entire flight, and as we would learn, would remain so for a few days. Although we thought or hoped it might just be a twenty-four hour bug, whatever it was took its toll on her and finally, on January 26 (Republic Day) she re-gained strength and became a most active member of the team.

Two days and counting

2009-01-21T18:50:00.000-08:00

Wednesday night...doing my final packing....I am very excited about the trip! I am so happy to have received 100 baseball caps from the Fisher Cats for the boys and a bag of material from Keepsake Quilting for scarves for the girls. I also received soap and lotion to take with me from the Naswa Resort. I am sure that this will be a life changing experience for me and will be a trip I will never forget. I am so blessed to have the Laconia Rotary club's support which enables me to participate in such a worthwhile mission where I will have a direct impact on so many children's lives. I am so proud to be a Rotarian!

FOX NEWS INTERVIEW this morning...

2009-01-21T13:25:00.000-08:00

For those who are intersted in watching my interview on the Fox News affiliate in Portland, Maine, this morning, please click on the link below. Happy viewing!

http://www.myfoxmaine.com/myfox/pages/InsideFox/Detail?contentId=8288236&version=1&locale=EN-US&layoutCode=VSTY&pageId=5.2.1

Bill Gates Stuns 2009-'10 District Governors !

2009-01-21T11:57:00.000-08:00

About 535 incoming Rotary District Governors were stunned by the surprise appearance of Bill Gates, Jr. Called upon to address the International Assembly of District Governor Elects (DGEs) for the year 2009-'10, Mr. Gates related his personal connection with the polio virus - his wife's aunt contracted polio many years ago. Bill himself said that his birth was 3 years after the last large outbreak in the USA.

Melinda Gates is the Co-chair of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. Bill Gates was introduced to the Assembly as the Co-Chair of the Gates Foundation and then humbly took the stage to thunderous applause of an audience of about 1,200 governors, wives, staff and press.

About 30 minutes into his address, he let the other shoe drop: he had decided to award an additional US$255 million to Rotary's Polio Plus campaign with the agreement that Rotary International raise an additional US$100 million.

The audience was very moved and excited! Tears were evident amongst many of the assembled Governors. This second challenge gift will result in The Rotary Foundation neding to match an additional US$100 million against the US$255 million grant. To date, The Rotary Foundation has raised in excess of US$70 million against the original Gates challenge of US$100 million.

Both matching grants must be met not later than June 30, 2013!

In all Rotary International will raise US$200 million and the Gates Foundation will donate US$355 million.

Posted from San Diego,

Jim Berg, Past District Governor 2003-04
San Antonio, Texas

A WEEK FROM RIGHT NOW, WE WOULD BE THERE ALREADY!

2009-01-17T09:43:00.000-08:00

As I look at the clock in my office, I marvel at the fact that one week from now, almost to this precise minute, we shall have landed at Indira Gandhi Airport in Delhi, to be met by my fellow Rotarian (and Little Brother) Sanjiv Saran and some folks from his travel company. For me, it will be like going home (at least a home away from home) yet for others, although exhausted, I am sure their senses will be keen. For the two hour ride from the airport out to Sanjiv's farm near Sohna, the sights and sounds and smells of India will bring about sensory overload for the newbies, much as they did to me the first time I traveled to India in January 2001.

In the past few days, I have also received additional Emails from those joining my teams, regarding what they expect to experience in India. I have attached more of them below for you to enjoy.

First, from Past District Governor, Jim Berg, of San Antonio, Texas USA:

On the eve of my getting inoculations for the upcoming travel to India, I would offer the following: I have been a member of Rotary since 1976 and a most active Rotarian since 1994 when I was chosen to be the President of Club #52 in San Antonio. Over those 97 years various members have made a significant impact on the direction and goals of our large Club (~550 members)…for example, Harry Rogers in 1926 was an RI President from the Rotary Club of San Antonio. As one of the largest Clubs in the world and a leader in our District, our Club should set an example to ‘lead the way.’ So, this trip is a first sponsored from District 5840 and I am looking forward leading about 8 south Texas Rotarians toward fulfilling Rotary’s goal of eradicating polio. As a member of the Zone 26 Rotary Foundation team, I think it important to participate and bring back images so that contributions to the Foundation will have a local face on our international giving.

Next, I heard from one of our Canadian teammates, Arlene Miller:

I have a couple of reasons for joining the Rotary Dream Team.
I have been on a couple of International projects with my Rotary Club and I
know the kind of positive change Rotary can and does make in this world. To
that end my daughter has an interest in being a part of a group that works
to enhance the lives of the less fortunate. International projects are an
incredible way to truly do service above self.

Cassandra Bradley is next... she is a Club president in Laconia, New Hampshire, a neighboring district to mine, a bit to the west:

I have chosen to join the “Dream Team” this year to participate in Rotary’s mission to eradicate Polio as well as help the less fortunate live healthier and more sustaining lives. I have been doing humanitarian work both in the United States as well as in developing countries and find each experience to be both fulfilling and life changing. This work makes me proud to be a Rotarian it’s what we do and who we are. I hope that as in every other experience I make new friends and acquaintances and leave India knowing that we made a difference.

We are pleased to have a ROTARACTOR from Norwich, England, along with our team - Guy Boocock:

I joined the Rotary Dream Team - India 2009 as an opportunity to achieve a life-time goal. Ever since I first saw Challenge Anneka, all those years ago, I have had a deep urge to help third world countries in their struggle against diseases and poverty. I hope to experience something I have never experienced before and discover a fantastic culture whilst providing a life-saving service. Having taken part in the Rotary Youth Leadership Award earlier this year, I discovered far more about Rotary and what it achieves and so joined Rotaract. I came out of RYLA a far more confident person, a life-changing experience if you will, and would recommend it to anyone. Through it you can have many opportunities to help many people.

Kim Thistle, another neighbor to the north in Canada, shares her thoughts:

I have wanted to do something in a third world country for a number of
years. Between raising children and running a business it was always
put on the back burner. My 21 year old daughter has spent a summer in
Chile and a summer in South Africa doing volunteer work and listening
to her stories has rekindled the urge. I turn 50 this year and told my
husband that for my birthday I wanted to go somewhere and do something
that counts. This is it! I am looking forward to the opportunity to
work with the local people and to doing something for the greater good.
I am doing this as much for me as I am for them. It is time I saw
the big picture up close.

Finally, we have heard from Jane Bevington, another new member from "across the pond" in England:

I have always dreamt of visiting India and the only member of my
family with the same desire is my daughter who cannot get the time
from work to accompany me.
She did 2 weeks of charity work in Tanzania several years ago and I
realised that it would be my desire to do the same in India. Then I
was diagnosed with a condition requiring Chemotherapy.
For the past 4 years my immune system would never have tolerated the
conditions and vaccinations needed to travel to India. With chemo 2
years behind me, at Christmas, I was given the blessings of my
specialist to travel to India!
I have been a Rotarian for 5 years and, as I worked full-time, I have
not given as much towards their efforts for charity as I would wish. I
am now only working part-time.
The Rotary dream team project dropped into my lap at just the right
time and the right place!
I hope to be able to give something to those who are far less
fortunate than I, and at the same time meet people and see places I
have only ever dreamt of.

Yesterday, I visited my grandson's first grade class, and talked with his classmates and teachers for about an hour, showing them many photos I had taken this past year, while traveling in India. The children were very engaged in the discussion, and hopefully will present me with a character, similar to FLAT STANLEY, so that I can have this mascot in many of the photos we will take during our experience. I am not sure if he will be named FREDDIE THE FROG or TOMMY THE TOAD, but both frogs and toads seem to be very important to Mrs. Gosling's first graders at Saint Thomas School.

20 BELOW AND ONE WEEK TO GO...

2009-01-16T01:16:00.001-08:00

About one hour ago, I woke up and decided to switch on the WEATHER CHANNEL. Probably would have been better off to pull a pillow and the comforter over my head and go back to sleep! The "LOCAL ON THE 8s" happy voice came on to announce that it was currently 20 DEGREES BELOW ZERO (Fahrenheit) with light winds! Are you kidding????

A short while later, I braved the elements, walked across the driveway to the garage, was pleased to see the automatic door opener was working, got into my car and drove the one mile to my office. When I started the engine of the car, the temperature reading was 18 degrees ABOVE zero. However, within less than the one mile journey, the indicator showed the temperature plummeting to MINUS TWENTY.

Out of curiosity, I went to the search engine and typed in CURRENT TEMPERATURE IN DELHI, INDIA. Are you ready for this??? PLUS 73 degrees (Fahrenheit). I realize that that reading was not necessarily "current", as it was the reading from noon, when in actuality it is about 3:00 p.m. local time, but a differential of ONE-HUNDRED-AND-ONE DEGREES???

With the countdown of only one week remaining before the members of Group A wend our ways to our local airports to converge later on in the day in Newark, New Jersey, to then fly out on the evening of January 23, I can assure you that the temperature difference must be bringing smiles to more than my face!

As we do the last minute packing (or in my case, decide which bags I will be packing) we are calling friends, business associates and local newspapers and radio and television stations to put the final touches on our preparations. Just yesterday, I received a call from Krista at Winter People in Freeport, Maine (that's right, the home of the world famous L.L. Bean's) and we discussed the fine details of the embroidery work being done on our official shirts for the ROTARY DREAM TEAM - INDIA 2009. I will be picking up the shirts in a few days. Next, I received a telephone call from the assistant general manager of the local Red Sox Baseball Team affiliate, and was pleased to have him tell me he had about one hundred soft baseballs I could take along for the children of the village. A while later, I was thrilled to receive an Email from one of last year's team members, Shirley McCaughey, who had arranged with the PURELL company to provide us with sample sized bottles of PURELL, the wonderful hand sanitizer, along with a handy-dandy belt clip, so each of us will have our own supply close at hand (no pun intended) on an elasticized pull-out string. Guess you have to see it to appreciate it.

At any rate, with one hundred degrees warmer climate, gifts for the children of the village, hearing from past and present members of our team, I guess I must confess I am sort of leaning toward where I will be in a little more than a week. Watched an amazing movie last evening, too. The title of the film is WATER, and for anyone even remotely interested in India and its rich culture, it is a must-see.

In about five hours, I will have the pleasure of going to visit the first grade at my grandson's school - ST. THOMAS SCHOOL in Sanford, Maine, where I will sit down with the kids and explain a little bit about where I am going and how they can follow our trip on this BLOG. More about my class experience, later!!!

When WHO sings???

2009-01-10T01:30:00.001-08:00

The old expression, "It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings," comes to mind, especially with the latest report of cases of POLIO throughout the world. Unfortunately, the numbers are up over 2007, and the need is so very great right now, to make sure we break the chain of this virus. To view the most recent reports, please click on the link here: http://www.polioeradication.org/casecount.asp

As is easily seen, three new cases of POLIO (two cases of Wild Polio Virus 1 and one case of Wild Polio Virus 3 - WPV1 and WPV3, respectively) were recently reported, bringing the total of new cases in India to 549 for the year 2008. Just when it is believed an area is fully contained, one or two cases are diagnosed, and it is back to scheduling National Immunization Days (NIDs), where literally tens of millions of children, under the age of five years, receive the POLIO vaccine from volunteers such as those traveling with me on the ROTARY DREAM TEAM - INDIA 2009.

With further review of the report referenced above, one can easily see that Nigeria, India, Pakistan and Afghanistan still lead the world in recent diagnoses, although it is difficult to verify in Afghanistan exactly how many new cases there might be, due to current conditions there.

Below, I have included more comments from members of my team as to why they have chosen to join the ROTARY DREAM TEAM - INDIA 2009.

First from Rotarian Mark Little, from the Rotary Club of Norwich-St. Edmund's in England:

Of all the Rotary projects which I have been involved with abroad, the
forthcoming toilet project is going to be one of the most worthwhile and
effective. Sanitation has always played second fiddle to the provision of
safe clean water. The implication that the overwhelming majority of sickness
is water-borne or is caused by faulty drinking water still pervades popular
lore today. The reality, however, is that a much higher proportion of this
disease burden is to do with poor excreta control and lack of hygiene. For
many years, the over-emphasis on water as the principal driver of public
health, and the much higher demand from customers for water supplies as
compared to toilets, has skewed interest and investment. Our sanitation
project is going to redress the imbalance a little.

It will also be a great delight for me to meet up with Rotarian friends from abroad who I have not
met for a year at Chahalka and to sample some of the Indian cuisine provided for us by my good friend Sanjiv.

Next we hear from Nancy Day, the mother of a Rotarian, who will be joining her daughter, Crissie, as members of the team:

Traveling to India has always been a "dream trip" for me; thus, the opportunity to participate in
Rotary's program to help the women and children in Chahalka improve their lives makes the trip even more rewarding. In addition to experiencing the beauty and vastness of India, I look forward to broadening my knowledge of other cultures and giving something back to those who are less fortunate. Finally, I am happy to be sharing this experience and special time with my daughter, Crissie, who is the Rotarian.

Finally, in this posting, we read comments from Ken and Lois Horton, from Nipigon, Ontario, who will be joining one of last year's team members, Linda Nicol...

We have had several members of our Rotary Club travel to India to assist with Rotary’s initiative to help rid the world of polio. Our club has been very active in contributing towards this endeavour, and we both made donations as well. Last year, four of our members traveled to India with the 2008 Dream Team and unfortunately, we were unable to go with them. During 2008, a Canadian, Ramish Ferris, who was born in India, bicycled across Canada to raise money for polio sufferers. 75% of the proceeds for his Cycle to walk campaign were donated to Polio Plus, and Rotary Clubs across Canada helped by hosting fund-raisers and accommodating his team as they traveled. I (Lois) am currently the President of our local club and feel a huge commitment to this cause. I am also most interested in helping the village of Chahalka after seeing the photos of last year’s group and learning of the needs of the people. We love to travel and want to learn more about the people of India and interact with fellow Rotarians to help in other parts of the world.

We would like to hope that this will be one of the last NID that will be needed to eradicate polio, and would be quite pleased if it will be so.
Last year’s group was so enthusiastic about the “Dream Team”, we thought that it would be exciting to find out for ourselves.

As we near the date of departure from our homes, many of us traveling from pretty frigid areas, I am confident there are mixed emotions: leaving family, leaving our daily routines, leaving our businesses, leaving our local Rotary Clubs, and embarking upon a journey of unknowns. If we reflect upon the amazing progress that has been made ever since Rotary International took on the eradication of POLIO as its first and only corporate project, joining forces with the United Nations through UNICEF, the Centers for Disease Control, and the World Health Organization, we stand in awe of the distance we have traveled. We have immunized over TWO BILLION CHILDREN and as Dr. R. Bruce Aylward, World Health Organization's coordinator of the Global Polio Eradication Initiative, stated at a Rotary Zone Institute this past September in Philadelphia, it is due to Rotary International's unwavering dedication to this cause that we have reached the levels of eradication that we have. However, Dr. Aylward went on to state without equivocation that if we fail to END POLIO NOW, we risk the very strong possibility of POLIO returning to countries throughout the world which have been POLIO-FREE for decades.

Whether it is the FAT LADY or ROTARY INTERNATIONAL or yes, even WHO (World Health Organization) that sings, we will all join the choir knowing each of us has participated to some degree in the eradication of POLIO from the face of the earth! Let's make sure that children like the little boy in this photo will not have to fear paralysis or death from POLIO.

San Antonio Express-News is following us.

2009-01-08T16:05:00.000-08:00

Good News! The Managing Executive Editor of the San Antonio Express-News emailed me just recently to alert me that an editor will be assigned soon to our blog so as to follow our most meaningful work in India.

I will carry my Nikon 200 to India to post HI-RESOLUTION pictures for use by the local San Antonio media (TV and newsprint).

WHY ARE WE GOING ON THIS MISSION???

2009-01-08T01:25:00.000-08:00

About a week ago, I sent an Email out to members of my two teams, and requested that each send me a paragraph or two in order to share with me and all the readers of our BLOG, just why each had decided to join the ROTARY DREAM TEAM - INDIA 2009. Below, I have included some of those paragraphs. In the coming days, as the date of departure from home gets closer, I will include more of these in this BLOG. I am so privileged to be working alongside Rotarians - people with passion to serve others.

This first one is from Past District Governor Jim Berg from San Antonio, Texas USA:

On the eve of my getting inoculations for the upcoming travel to India, I would offer the following: I have been a member of Rotary since 1976 and a most active Rotarian since 1994 when I was chosen to be the President of Club #52 in San Antonio. Over those 97 years various members have made a significant impact on the direction and goals of our large Club (~550 members)…for example, Harry Rogers in 1926 was an RI President from the Rotary Club of San Antonio. As one of the largest Clubs in the world and a leader in our District, our Club should set an example to ‘lead the way.’ So, this trip is a first sponsored from District 5840 and I am looking forward leading about 8 south Texas Rotarians toward fulfilling Rotary’s goal of eradicating polio. As a member of the Zone 26 Rotary Foundation team, I think it important to participate and bring back images so that contributions to the Foundation will have a local face on our international giving.

The next is from Rotarian Arlene Miller:

I have a couple of reasons for joining the Rotary Dream Team.
I have been on a couple of International projects with my Rotary Club and I
know the kind of positive change Rotary can and does make in this world. To
that end my daughter has an interest in being a part of a group that works
to enhance the lives of the less fortunate. International projects are an
incredible way to truly do service above self.

Next comes Club President Cassandra Bradley, from the Rotary Club of Laconia, New Hampshire, USA:

I have chosen to join the “Dream Team” this year to participate in Rotary’s mission to eradicate Polio as well as help the less fortunate live healthier and more sustaining lives. I have been doing humanitarian work both in the United States as well as in developing countries and find each experience to be both fulfilling and life changing. This work makes me proud to be a Rotarian it’s what we do and who we are. I hope that as in every other experience I make new friends and acquaintances and leave India knowing that we made a difference.

Next is from John and Judy Hutcherson:

We believe that peace and prosperity in the world comes from friendship, relationships, education, and understanding. Rotary’s core belief is a commitment to service and world peace. This NID trip is an opportunity to continue to spread peace and friendship to a remote place in the world. It is these small acts on the part of many that bring positive change in the world. Polio is almost gone!!!!!!!!!!! Over the past few years we have been to Russia, Mexico, and our local prisons to extend friendship.(Judy has been to Afghanistan and Guatemala as well). Coming to India is another tiny step. It will be great to meet this exciting team for our work. On the more selfish side, India is an economic engine we must understand as this world is flatter and our economies more interdependent.

Finally, for today at least, is a message from Ken and Lois Horton:

We have had several members of our Rotary Club travel to India to assist with Rotary’s initiative to help rid the world of polio. Our club has been very active in contributing towards this endeavour, and we both made donations as well. Last year, four of our members traveled to India with the 2008 Dream Team and unfortunately, we were unable to go with them. During 2008, a Canadian, Ramish Ferris, who was born in India, bicycled across Canada to raise money for polio sufferers. 75% of the proceeds for his Cycle to walk campaign were donated to Polio Plus, and Rotary Clubs across Canada helped by hosting fund-raisers and accommodating his team as they traveled. I (Lois) am currently the President of our local club and feel a huge commitment to this cause. I am also most interested in helping the village of Chahalka after seeing the photos of last year’s group and learning of the needs of the people. We love to travel and want to learn more about the people of India and interact with fellow Rotarians to help in other parts of the world.

We would like to hope that this will be one of the last NID that will be needed to eradicate polio, and would be quite pleased if it will be so.
Last year’s group was so enthusiastic about the “Dream Team”, we thought that it would be exciting to find out for ourselves.

Stay tuned for more...

WANT TO KNOW WHERE WE ARE GOING???

2009-01-07T09:29:00.000-08:00

In an effort to explain where we are going to be working - in the village of CHAHALKA (also spelled Chehalka) I ventured onto a number of websites and probably the best one I found was as a result of the son of a friend doing the search for me. I don't think I would EVER have been able to accomplish this task on my own. He suggested I navigate to http://www.mapmyindia.com/

Once on their site, click on MAPS, and then type in Haryana. This gets you to the general area, and you can easily see we are located west of Delhi - India's capital. Then in the search area, type in Sohna, Gurgaon, Haryana and click on GO. This brings you even closer to where we will be working. If you then click TWO magnifications in, to get a closer look, find the marker for SOHNA and then look northwest, and you should be able to locate the village of Chehalka. If all else fails, you can click on this attachment and you should see about the same as I have described:

T-MINUS SIXTEEN AND COUNTING...

2009-01-07T08:46:00.000-08:00

This morning, when looking out my windows, and seeing the results of yet another ice-snow-sleet storm, I also reflected upon what my wife, Jane has been saying to friends and family, "Elias will be wintering in India, away from all of this!" Well, to a certain degree, she is right, I WILL be away for a good portion of the hassles of snow and ice and melting and re-freezing. However, like all of the rest of the members of my two teams, I am not going on vacation to India. I am looking forward to the many challenges which await each and every one of us, as we leave our families, our friends, our jobs, and travel to the other side of the world, to serve with other Rotarians and Friends of Rotary, as we participate in two different National Immunization Days (NIDs) to give oral vaccine to children under the age of five years, in order to BREAK THE CHAIN of this insidious disease. If you take the time to ask most people, "What is Polio?" you most likely will get a blank stare from the majority of people. The success of eradication is huge, but we are only at about 99.3% of the way. There are still four countries where polio is endemic - Afghanistan, Pakistan, Nigeria and parts of India. To gain a little bit of the flavor of what the largest "army" ever mobilized in the history of the world is doing, please read below:

As all of you are aware, Rotary continues its efforts to End Polio Now. The
following presentation tells the story of polio and why Rotary is still in
the front line of eradicating this disease in the world. If you have the
occasion to share this link with others, please do so. It's a story worth
telling.
Be patient ... it loads slowly, especially if your browser/server speeds are
slow: http://www.thefinalinch.org/
Thank you for everyone's efforts in our fight to End Polio Now.

So, even if we are escaping the cold, raw weather conditions of our homes, (leaving in approximately sixteen days) we will be working as a part of this incredible army of volunteers to make sure this disease is conquered, once and for all, and we and our children and their children, for generations to come, will live in a POLIO-FREE WORLD.

Initial Countdown

2009-01-05T01:18:00.000-08:00

In less than three weeks, I will be joining several other Rotarians from around the world, as we travel to India to participate in Rotary International's effort to eradicate POLIO from the world. In addition to working alongside some one hundred thousand other volunteers, both from India, as well as other countries, in what is called a NATIONAL IMMUNIZATION DAY (NID) on Sunday, February 1, 2009, our team will be very involved with a "hands-on" project.

The project is part of a sustainable relationship we have created over the past two years, with the people of a poor Muslim village, about fifty kilometers west of New Delhi, close to one of the evolving "IT "centers in India - the city of Gurgaon. The village - Chahalka (also spelled Chehalka) is located in pretty desolate landscape, about ten minutes from the small city of Sohna.

In February 2007, I had the good fortune to lead a group of Rotarians from three countries to Chahalka, where we funded and constructed (working with local laborers) two washing platforms near the center of the village, which helped to re-establish the village drinking water to safe drinking standards. Prior to our involvement in Chahalka, women and girls would take their clothes, pots and pans, and yes, their water buffaloes to the central water supply - a tiled well close to the largest school play yard, and proceed to dip down into the well, gather water and then wash their clothes, dishes, and water buffaloes, with the waste water either pouring or seeping back into the water supply. It was a self-perpetuating prophesy that anyone drinking from the well would undoubtedly get sick from water-borne diseases. By constructing the two washing platforms, and diverting the waste water away from the water supply, we were successful in changing the potability of the water from unsafe and polluted to safe for drinking!

This past year, I led fifty-four Rotarians and Friends of Rotary (from seven countries!) back to Chahalka, where together with local laborers, we transformed two-thirds of what was a derelict local government building into the ROTARY COMPUTER AND VOCATIONAL TRAINING CENTRE and the remaining one-third into the ROTARY DAY CARE CENTRE OF CHAHALKA. Already, we have been pleased that more than sixty young people from the village have been educated in computer technology, and will soon enter the work force at entry-level wages, rather than having to rely upon more menial jobs, which pay little and are only sporadically available. {for more information about this project, please visit my BLOG: http://rotarydreamteam-india2008.blogspot.com }

This year, there will be two groups of Rotarians coming from Canada, the United States, England, France and India, and our "hands-on" project will be the construction of thirty-five Sanitation Enhancement Facilities (toilet blocks) to be located in a centralized area in the village. These SEFs will contain toilets, showers and sinks. This year, we are pleased to announce that through the efforts of one of last year's participants - Lawrence Furbish of the Rotary Club of Sanford-Springvale, Maine (USA), we applied for a Matching Grant from THE ROTARY FOUNDATION and received approval. We worked with several clubs and districts throughout the Rotary world, some which were involved in the 2008 project, and some which will be involved in the 2009 project.

In future postings, we will learn from several members of our two teams what motivated them to join our ROTARY DREAM TEAM - INDIA 2009, and what they expect to gain from the experience. In addition, throughout the coming three or four months, we will continue to post here, so family, friends and fellow Rotarians from around the world will be able to follow our progress and share in our efforts to MAKE DREAMS REAL.

NAMASTE
or
नमस्ते