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.
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.
Elias,
ReplyDeleteGlad to read that the team's work is underway.
The San Antonio contingent is meeting Feb 11 after our Club meeting to finalize packing, etc.
I note in your blog to bring work gloves (and boots or work shoes).
I want to bring a small banner from the Rotary Club of San Antonio to snap a picture...India will be the furthest this Club of 96 years has projected itself.
Hi Elias,
ReplyDeleteThis is a note for my dad (PDG Chris). Let him know that we miss him and are so proud of him.
Keep up all of the good work you are doing!
Thanks,
Jess
hello Myself Mohd Saleem a resident of chahalka village, now i think this the most working purpose training center , now i am freshly completed the degree of Master of computer Application, now i want to meet you by serving your organization. please give one chance. bye...........
ReplyDelete