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.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
IN MEMORIAM
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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?
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.
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.
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