Here is a story about the SA team which appeared in our daily newspaper, the San Antonio Express-News, the morning before our departure on Feb 27, 2009:
By Elizabeth Allen - Express-News
When administering vaccine to a struggling child while crowded by curious onlookers in a remote Indian village, it's important not to touch the medicine vial to the child's lips.
That's one of the tips that Boone and Dianne Powell brought back to fellow Rotarians this month as the others prepare to join an international effort to eradicate polio.
A member of the Rotary Club of San Antonio, Dianne Powell and her husband joined the teams of Rotary Club International, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the World Health Organization and UNICEF in the fight. Their trip and a two-week journey launching Friday from San Antonio were organized by local Rotarian and past district president Jim Berg.
Rotarians have long fought polio, but until this year, nobody from South Texas District 5840 has gone to India, Berg said.
“We've sent money that way, but we've never sent people that way,” he said. “I decided that I had heard about it long enough, and I wanted to go ... and show everybody with my camera and with my blog.”
Berg, John and Judy Hutcherson of the Fredericksburg Morning Rotary Club and Nora Turner of the Wimberley Rotary Club expect to arrive in India, jetlagged and exhausted, just in time for the next National Immunization Day, on March 1. Aided by the Greehey Family Foundation and NuStar Energy, they'll join a massive effort led by Indian health workers.
“There are far more Indians involved than Rotarians from Western countries,” Berg said. “We happen to go there only to be boots on the ground.”
But the presence of Westerners, combined with thousands of bright yellow advertising banners, draw attention to the event, according to the blog of Maine Rotarian Elias Thomas, whom Berg and the others will join.
Each push will vaccinate millions of children in a few days. Over 20 years, such efforts have helped reduce the annual world polio infection rate from more than 300,000 to about 2,000.
Dianne Powell grew up in Fort Worth, a world away from Chahalka, the Muslim village near Delhi where the Powells spent much of their visit hauling bricks to build bathrooms.
But she shares a physical link with them.
“I had polio when I was about 8 years old, and I had friends that I got to know in the hospital that didn't make it,” Powell said.
For many Americans younger than 40, polio is a storybook illness afflicting children of the past. But it's an ongoing reality in India, Nigeria, Pakistan and Afghanistan.
Poliomyelitis attacks the nervous system and can lead to permanent paralysis, usually in the legs. Sometimes it kills its sufferers by immobilizing their breathing muscles. It usually affects children and spreads most aggressively in communities with poor sanitation systems.
Not that many years ago, it was a terrifying reality in the U.S., affecting thousands of people a year. President Franklin D. Roosevelt contracted it in 1921 at age 39.
Dr. Jonas Salk developed the first polio vaccine, in 1954, and a 1962 aerial photo shows a long line of people snaking around San Antonio's Municipal Auditorium waiting for immunization.
Powell's memory of getting polio was as a sudden strike.
“I woke up one morning and I couldn't move,” she said. “They took me to the hospital and they did a spinal tap, which was excruciating.“Polio meant nothing to me. All I knew was there was this very painful procedure, and the next thing I knew, I was in a ward with all these kids, and my mother and father went away.”
It was the early 1950s, and Powell was treated with hot towels, baths and physical therapy. She watched as other children whose respiratory systems were attacked were placed in iron lungs, the large metal cylinders that acted like a bellows to regulate breathing.
“They were horrible-looking things, these big tubes, and you'd see a child's head sticking out of them,” Powell said.
When the Powells returned from India this month, they sat down with Berg, Turner and John Hutcherson.
“I just didn't realize how rough it was going to be, and how primitive our quarters were going to be, and how hard the work was going to be,” Dianne Powell said. On the other hand, she said, the group was generously fed and hosted.
She and her husband offered practical travel tips — hats, hand sanitizer, patience — as well as a description of immunization day, when crowds surrounded health workers.
Boone Powell spoke of the shock of seeing very young children in charge of infants.
“So you see the crowd kind of stirring in an area, and then, plop! This baby comes through the crowd carrying another baby,” he said.
For Hutcherson, the difficulties of third-world travel aren't new. Both Hutchersons have been on service trips, he said, with Judy Hutcherson recently back from Afghanistan.
“It's an opportunity to serve, and it's an opportunity to ... establish relationships with people around the world, and I believe that's how you do peace in the world,” he said. “It changes my view, and it also has an influence on their view.”
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
FRIDAY, THE THIRTEENTH - PART ONE
Since meeting Basu Dev Golyan, the Rotarian from Nepal, at our farewell dinner on the 8th, I had arranged to travel to Nepal, primarily to determine if there might be some projects to consider for our teams of Rotarians in future years. Through the help of Sanjiv and his office, I was able to purchase a ticket on a flight leaving from Delhi at 9:30 a.m. on Friday, the 13th. Not that I am suspicious or anything, but as the day unfolded, perhaps a few of the doubts I may have had became reality.
First, Sanjiv's driver was not too keen about meeting me at such an early hour to take me to the airport within the required two-hour pre-boarding time constraint. Well, Badal did arrive at the house to meet me. I had packed all of my clothing into my carry-on, but also had my laptop along, just in case I might have an opportunity to access the Internet at a WI-FI location. When we arrived at the airport, at about 8:00 (not quite the two hours required) I went to the entrance for KINGFISHER AIRLINES and checked in at the ticket counter. The attendant checked my bag through to Bagdogra (an airport in Bengal, not too far a drive from the border with Nepal). I asked if the flight would be on-time and was told it would be. This is great. Things are rolling along just fine. I then passed through security, trying to explain why every time the wand passed by my left knee, the lights flashed and the buzzer went off. I finally rolled up my pant leg, showed my scar and rapped on my knee a few times and said, "Titanium". The attendant smiled and let me pass through. I collected my laptop bag and jacket and proceeded to the waiting area.
Waiting area? What an understatement! Almost as soon as I reached that area, the departure screen indicated our flight had been postponed until 11:00. Not so bad. I could continue to read the book that Sean Dolter had loaned to me. The next announcement over the PA system indicated 12:30 p.m. Well, I guess I can live with this, I thought. Within minutes there was another announcement: "The flight on Kingfisher Airlines has been postponed until 2:30." There was never any explanation, and due to that fact, when an unsuspecting gate attendant from Kingfisher strolled down to the gate area, he was accosted by about two dozen very angry and VERY vocal passengers - all of them from India. I have never seen quite such an unruly crowd in an airport. I mean, they screamed and yelled and pushed and shoved and hollered epithets and expletives UN-deleted! Evidently, when I spoke to a man who had come to sit beside me because he noticed the Rotary emblem on my shirt, the crowd was getting more and more upset, due to the fact that supposedly since Bagdogra is also a military air base, no commercial flights are allowed into or out of that airport after 5:00 in the afternoons.
I decided to get something to eat and again experienced a rather unruly crowd of hungry passengers. Finally, I was able to get something VEG and returned to my seat in the waiting lounge. I ate my breakfast-lunch-whatever meal and settled in with my book. Then more yelling and screaming. I mean you cannot even make up fiction that plays out like this scene was doing. I was then informed that Kingfisher Airlines would allow passengers to go to the food counter and get some lunch at no further cost to the passenger, so I sallied forth to join the queue at the lunch counter. I was able to get a wrap of some kind because the veggie burgers were not available. The back of my ticket was endorsed by the attendant and I returned to my seat. Would you believe… at 4:00 that afternoon, we were allowed to leave the terminal and proceed to awaiting buses that would take us to the plane? Well, not so fast! We boarded the buses (with mostly windows) and the doors closed. Unfortunately, we stood for a good fifteen minutes without being able to leave, to open windows or, heaven forbid, to have the driver turn on the air conditioning. Remember the smell of wet winter clothes steaming on the radiators at school, when you were a little kid? Well multiply that smell exponentially and you MIGHT get an idea as to how the bus stunk by the time we began to roll. To say the passengers were not pleased would be to put it mildly. Again more pushing and shoving, and for what? Did these folks really believe the plane would leave without them? Did they really believe that someone else would sit in their assigned seats? Once all were boarded and settled into seats, we began to taxi and lift-off came at about 4:45 p.m. Not bad… only seven plus hours late, and not a cloud in the sky! I was so looking forward to a free Kingfisher beer or two, but that was not about to happen.
The flight was not too bumpy and I guess when all is said and done, perhaps the company wanted us all to be able to appreciate the magnificence of the views of the sunset reflecting its crimson rays on the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas. Doubtful, but it gave me hope. Upon landing, I picked up my checked bag and proceeded out to the parking lot and was met by a driver holding a piece of paper with some semblance of my name on it. He was a pleasant, older man, who took my bag and we proceeded to the car. I got in and was disappointed that darkness had encroached to the point it would be very difficult to see much of the countryside on the way to Biratnagar - the home of my host, Basu. The driver tried to communicate to me that the trip would take about two hours. Since I had been scheduled to address a joint meeting of two Rotary Clubs in Biratnagar, I thought anything is possible and if they met like so many other clubs meet, later in the evening, I could still make it there. Again, not so fast!!!
Although the driver really tried to make up for lost time - I mean for all seven hours of lost time - there was more in store for us along the way. We drove through totally blacked out areas - I mean not so much as a flickering candle or oil lamp, and then through some very noisy villages where open-air markets were still crowded despite the darkness of the hour. There always seems to be an inherent bustle about the villages in India, almost as though going to market is as much a social event as it might be for buying a few eggs or some fresh produce. I also noticed lots of bicycle rickshaws - I mean literally hundreds and hundreds of them, not only in the towns and villages, but also being pedaled along the main roads leading out of the villages, and with no safety features such as lights or reflectors. In the USA, OSHA would have a field day…
We finally reached an area where I began to notice signs that we were approaching the border with Nepal. We might still reach the meeting. Nay, nay, not so fast!!! First, we had to stop at the checkpoint on the Indian side of the border so I could legally exit the country and get my passport stamped. Unfortunately, the driver had forgotten this little tidbit of a requirement, so we had first driven to the border, only to be turned back so I could get the passport stamped. In what was close to total darkness, with an occasional single low-watt light bulb dangling from a frayed and spliced wire to interrupt what seemed like we were inside a large pocket, I was directed by a rather spirited military officer to go back to a hut in the rear of the compound and someone would come to meet me. I am sure I was the attraction, being rather large and white. I entered what I thought would be the right hut and was told to wait. Why not? After having left the safe haven of Sanjiv's home some twelve hours before, what is another few minutes? The officer finally came and asked me what I wanted. Although somewhat unsure as to what I really wanted, I told him I would be grateful if he would stamp my passport so I could proceed into Nepal. After fishing through the pages of my passport to find a clean page and to locate my current visa, he finally stamped it with such pronouncement that I am surprised it was simply stamped, rather than embossed.
Now, back to the car and my driver who was eagerly awaiting, ready to transport me to his master's house. We approached the international border between India and Nepal and were stopped again. I expected this, since one must check in at an immigration office to enter a country. He driver left me in the car to locate the right office. This location was even darker than the checkpoint on the Indian side, if that is possible. Not so much as two street lamps that seemed to flicker, almost in a pulsing rhythm. The few cars passing did not have headlights lit. Night vision in Nepal must be fantastic! About ten minutes later, the driver returned and got into the car. He looked upset. I asked him if there was a problem and he tried to explain we could not cross the border. "This is just ducky," I thought to myself. Here I am in the middle of nowhere, unable to speak Hindi or Nepalese, in near total darkness, wondering if I was to have the pleasure of camping out in the back seat of my sub-compact limousine. Ah, for the sake of adventure…
The driver tried several times to call on his mobile, presumably to Basu. He was finally able to get through, although the connection seemed a bit sketchy. He told me to wait in the car again, but this time he left the interior light on, and I really became the attraction - with passersby peering in the windows as though I were a giant white fish in a tiny fishbowl. Fifteen minutes later the driver returned to the car, seeming even more frustrated than before. He tried calling about a dozen times but to no avail. He got out of the car again and told me to stay there. Like I was about to go for an evening stroll or something??? Another fifteen minutes passed, and he returned to the car, rapped on the body of the car and motioned me out. He explained the Immigration Office was CLOSED!!! Oh joy. So where was he directing that I should proceed? A military officer was walking along the other side of the street, in the same general direction I was headed and I thought we should just about meet one another from perpendicular starting points. I guessed he was military, although his uniform was a bit suspect - typical army green jacket with a name tag and a medal, not buttoned; a relic of a rifle slung over his right shoulder; and a pair of dirty white cargo-type shorts and bare feet. "Oh well, go with the flow," I thought. The principal gate - a ten foot wall of steel, was closed and bolted shut. However, a tiny door opened into the yard of this outpost. I was invited to step in. I suddenly remembered a childhood story where the last part of the line flashed into my head, "said the spider to the fly". Was this going to be where I was encamped for the night? Would this be my ticket into the country? What was going to happen next?
Inside the building, and I swear this is true, there was an office with a processing counter. Perched atop the counter was a single lighted candle, about the thickness of a Bic pen, providing absolutely the ONLY light in the room. There were three men, including my barefooted, cargo shorted military officer, behind the counter. I was asked to produce my passport and in order to expedite this process; I opened it to the page where the Indian officer had pounded my exit information indelibly onto the page. He did not seem to be impressed with this and handed me a 3" x 5" piece of paper, an entry form, that I was required to fill out. I did so, and then a horrible thought crept into my mind. The previous day, I was supposed to have had two passport-sized photos taken, so I could provide them to the Nepalese Immigration officer, in order to obtain a visa and enter the country. That never happened. What to do now? Wait until I was asked for the photos. I handed the completed visa application form to a plain-clothes guy, who in turn handed it to the other man who then handed it to the barefooted, white cargo shorts guy. Each had to take a look at it, but how could they see any of the writing, since the candle was on my side of the room? One man produced a penlight and held it in his mouth, while he read over my visa application. He then asked the sixty-four thousand dollar question, "Photos?" Such a simple question. I thought to myself, "Elias, you are in SOOOOOOOOOOO much trouble!" Just as I was about to tell them I had no photos, I remembered my Rotary business card that has a photo of Jane and me on it. I reached into my pocket, produced two of these cards (the photo is only about an inch by and inch, but it is a photo) and handed them to the first guy, who guided his mouth-held penlight onto this new prize, then passed them onto guy number two who held them in front of the first guy's mouth with light, and finally passed them onto white shorts barefoot guy. (Do you see a Bollywood movie script in my future?) "Where is Madam?" he asked assertively. "Madam is at home shoveling snow," I informed him. "We must have Madam here with you to process," he said. I then told him to cut the picture in half so Madam did NOT have to be with me in order for me to enter Nepal, and Ripley, are you ready for this??? He took out a pair of manicure scissors, cut Madam out of the photo, stapled the two cards to my visa application, stamped my passport, peeled off a peel-and-stick-visa form from his book and slapped it into my passport. The flickering candle was extinguished and I was then escorted out of the building, through the tiny opening in the steel wall, and proceeded to my car, where no driver was to be seen. He appeared soon and we were off for Biratnagar, where presumably the Rotarians had long-since departed from their meeting. We got to the pike, which was only partially lowered, so we just drove underneath it and, huzzah, we were in Nepal. On to PART TWO.
First, Sanjiv's driver was not too keen about meeting me at such an early hour to take me to the airport within the required two-hour pre-boarding time constraint. Well, Badal did arrive at the house to meet me. I had packed all of my clothing into my carry-on, but also had my laptop along, just in case I might have an opportunity to access the Internet at a WI-FI location. When we arrived at the airport, at about 8:00 (not quite the two hours required) I went to the entrance for KINGFISHER AIRLINES and checked in at the ticket counter. The attendant checked my bag through to Bagdogra (an airport in Bengal, not too far a drive from the border with Nepal). I asked if the flight would be on-time and was told it would be. This is great. Things are rolling along just fine. I then passed through security, trying to explain why every time the wand passed by my left knee, the lights flashed and the buzzer went off. I finally rolled up my pant leg, showed my scar and rapped on my knee a few times and said, "Titanium". The attendant smiled and let me pass through. I collected my laptop bag and jacket and proceeded to the waiting area.
Waiting area? What an understatement! Almost as soon as I reached that area, the departure screen indicated our flight had been postponed until 11:00. Not so bad. I could continue to read the book that Sean Dolter had loaned to me. The next announcement over the PA system indicated 12:30 p.m. Well, I guess I can live with this, I thought. Within minutes there was another announcement: "The flight on Kingfisher Airlines has been postponed until 2:30." There was never any explanation, and due to that fact, when an unsuspecting gate attendant from Kingfisher strolled down to the gate area, he was accosted by about two dozen very angry and VERY vocal passengers - all of them from India. I have never seen quite such an unruly crowd in an airport. I mean, they screamed and yelled and pushed and shoved and hollered epithets and expletives UN-deleted! Evidently, when I spoke to a man who had come to sit beside me because he noticed the Rotary emblem on my shirt, the crowd was getting more and more upset, due to the fact that supposedly since Bagdogra is also a military air base, no commercial flights are allowed into or out of that airport after 5:00 in the afternoons.
I decided to get something to eat and again experienced a rather unruly crowd of hungry passengers. Finally, I was able to get something VEG and returned to my seat in the waiting lounge. I ate my breakfast-lunch-whatever meal and settled in with my book. Then more yelling and screaming. I mean you cannot even make up fiction that plays out like this scene was doing. I was then informed that Kingfisher Airlines would allow passengers to go to the food counter and get some lunch at no further cost to the passenger, so I sallied forth to join the queue at the lunch counter. I was able to get a wrap of some kind because the veggie burgers were not available. The back of my ticket was endorsed by the attendant and I returned to my seat. Would you believe… at 4:00 that afternoon, we were allowed to leave the terminal and proceed to awaiting buses that would take us to the plane? Well, not so fast! We boarded the buses (with mostly windows) and the doors closed. Unfortunately, we stood for a good fifteen minutes without being able to leave, to open windows or, heaven forbid, to have the driver turn on the air conditioning. Remember the smell of wet winter clothes steaming on the radiators at school, when you were a little kid? Well multiply that smell exponentially and you MIGHT get an idea as to how the bus stunk by the time we began to roll. To say the passengers were not pleased would be to put it mildly. Again more pushing and shoving, and for what? Did these folks really believe the plane would leave without them? Did they really believe that someone else would sit in their assigned seats? Once all were boarded and settled into seats, we began to taxi and lift-off came at about 4:45 p.m. Not bad… only seven plus hours late, and not a cloud in the sky! I was so looking forward to a free Kingfisher beer or two, but that was not about to happen.
The flight was not too bumpy and I guess when all is said and done, perhaps the company wanted us all to be able to appreciate the magnificence of the views of the sunset reflecting its crimson rays on the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas. Doubtful, but it gave me hope. Upon landing, I picked up my checked bag and proceeded out to the parking lot and was met by a driver holding a piece of paper with some semblance of my name on it. He was a pleasant, older man, who took my bag and we proceeded to the car. I got in and was disappointed that darkness had encroached to the point it would be very difficult to see much of the countryside on the way to Biratnagar - the home of my host, Basu. The driver tried to communicate to me that the trip would take about two hours. Since I had been scheduled to address a joint meeting of two Rotary Clubs in Biratnagar, I thought anything is possible and if they met like so many other clubs meet, later in the evening, I could still make it there. Again, not so fast!!!
Although the driver really tried to make up for lost time - I mean for all seven hours of lost time - there was more in store for us along the way. We drove through totally blacked out areas - I mean not so much as a flickering candle or oil lamp, and then through some very noisy villages where open-air markets were still crowded despite the darkness of the hour. There always seems to be an inherent bustle about the villages in India, almost as though going to market is as much a social event as it might be for buying a few eggs or some fresh produce. I also noticed lots of bicycle rickshaws - I mean literally hundreds and hundreds of them, not only in the towns and villages, but also being pedaled along the main roads leading out of the villages, and with no safety features such as lights or reflectors. In the USA, OSHA would have a field day…
We finally reached an area where I began to notice signs that we were approaching the border with Nepal. We might still reach the meeting. Nay, nay, not so fast!!! First, we had to stop at the checkpoint on the Indian side of the border so I could legally exit the country and get my passport stamped. Unfortunately, the driver had forgotten this little tidbit of a requirement, so we had first driven to the border, only to be turned back so I could get the passport stamped. In what was close to total darkness, with an occasional single low-watt light bulb dangling from a frayed and spliced wire to interrupt what seemed like we were inside a large pocket, I was directed by a rather spirited military officer to go back to a hut in the rear of the compound and someone would come to meet me. I am sure I was the attraction, being rather large and white. I entered what I thought would be the right hut and was told to wait. Why not? After having left the safe haven of Sanjiv's home some twelve hours before, what is another few minutes? The officer finally came and asked me what I wanted. Although somewhat unsure as to what I really wanted, I told him I would be grateful if he would stamp my passport so I could proceed into Nepal. After fishing through the pages of my passport to find a clean page and to locate my current visa, he finally stamped it with such pronouncement that I am surprised it was simply stamped, rather than embossed.
Now, back to the car and my driver who was eagerly awaiting, ready to transport me to his master's house. We approached the international border between India and Nepal and were stopped again. I expected this, since one must check in at an immigration office to enter a country. He driver left me in the car to locate the right office. This location was even darker than the checkpoint on the Indian side, if that is possible. Not so much as two street lamps that seemed to flicker, almost in a pulsing rhythm. The few cars passing did not have headlights lit. Night vision in Nepal must be fantastic! About ten minutes later, the driver returned and got into the car. He looked upset. I asked him if there was a problem and he tried to explain we could not cross the border. "This is just ducky," I thought to myself. Here I am in the middle of nowhere, unable to speak Hindi or Nepalese, in near total darkness, wondering if I was to have the pleasure of camping out in the back seat of my sub-compact limousine. Ah, for the sake of adventure…
The driver tried several times to call on his mobile, presumably to Basu. He was finally able to get through, although the connection seemed a bit sketchy. He told me to wait in the car again, but this time he left the interior light on, and I really became the attraction - with passersby peering in the windows as though I were a giant white fish in a tiny fishbowl. Fifteen minutes later the driver returned to the car, seeming even more frustrated than before. He tried calling about a dozen times but to no avail. He got out of the car again and told me to stay there. Like I was about to go for an evening stroll or something??? Another fifteen minutes passed, and he returned to the car, rapped on the body of the car and motioned me out. He explained the Immigration Office was CLOSED!!! Oh joy. So where was he directing that I should proceed? A military officer was walking along the other side of the street, in the same general direction I was headed and I thought we should just about meet one another from perpendicular starting points. I guessed he was military, although his uniform was a bit suspect - typical army green jacket with a name tag and a medal, not buttoned; a relic of a rifle slung over his right shoulder; and a pair of dirty white cargo-type shorts and bare feet. "Oh well, go with the flow," I thought. The principal gate - a ten foot wall of steel, was closed and bolted shut. However, a tiny door opened into the yard of this outpost. I was invited to step in. I suddenly remembered a childhood story where the last part of the line flashed into my head, "said the spider to the fly". Was this going to be where I was encamped for the night? Would this be my ticket into the country? What was going to happen next?
Inside the building, and I swear this is true, there was an office with a processing counter. Perched atop the counter was a single lighted candle, about the thickness of a Bic pen, providing absolutely the ONLY light in the room. There were three men, including my barefooted, cargo shorted military officer, behind the counter. I was asked to produce my passport and in order to expedite this process; I opened it to the page where the Indian officer had pounded my exit information indelibly onto the page. He did not seem to be impressed with this and handed me a 3" x 5" piece of paper, an entry form, that I was required to fill out. I did so, and then a horrible thought crept into my mind. The previous day, I was supposed to have had two passport-sized photos taken, so I could provide them to the Nepalese Immigration officer, in order to obtain a visa and enter the country. That never happened. What to do now? Wait until I was asked for the photos. I handed the completed visa application form to a plain-clothes guy, who in turn handed it to the other man who then handed it to the barefooted, white cargo shorts guy. Each had to take a look at it, but how could they see any of the writing, since the candle was on my side of the room? One man produced a penlight and held it in his mouth, while he read over my visa application. He then asked the sixty-four thousand dollar question, "Photos?" Such a simple question. I thought to myself, "Elias, you are in SOOOOOOOOOOO much trouble!" Just as I was about to tell them I had no photos, I remembered my Rotary business card that has a photo of Jane and me on it. I reached into my pocket, produced two of these cards (the photo is only about an inch by and inch, but it is a photo) and handed them to the first guy, who guided his mouth-held penlight onto this new prize, then passed them onto guy number two who held them in front of the first guy's mouth with light, and finally passed them onto white shorts barefoot guy. (Do you see a Bollywood movie script in my future?) "Where is Madam?" he asked assertively. "Madam is at home shoveling snow," I informed him. "We must have Madam here with you to process," he said. I then told him to cut the picture in half so Madam did NOT have to be with me in order for me to enter Nepal, and Ripley, are you ready for this??? He took out a pair of manicure scissors, cut Madam out of the photo, stapled the two cards to my visa application, stamped my passport, peeled off a peel-and-stick-visa form from his book and slapped it into my passport. The flickering candle was extinguished and I was then escorted out of the building, through the tiny opening in the steel wall, and proceeded to my car, where no driver was to be seen. He appeared soon and we were off for Biratnagar, where presumably the Rotarians had long-since departed from their meeting. We got to the pike, which was only partially lowered, so we just drove underneath it and, huzzah, we were in Nepal. On to PART TWO.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
PLAYING CATCH-UP… (Feb. 9-12)
...or is it ketchup???
Beginning on Monday, February 8, I worked with Sanjiv to update the information regarding our second group of team members scheduled to arrive on February 28. There were rooming arrangements to be made for the time we would be working on the project, as well as final information to share with the team members as to what they might expect for weather conditions, possible gifts to bring to the children in the village among other things. However, since our group had basically monopolized Sanjiv’s time and that of the rest of his family, there were more important items on his agenda which needed to be addressed – the MARRIAGE OF HIS SON, GAURAV, taking place on March 28 and 29!
Since I consider myself as a part of their family and they feel likewise, it was a pleasure and an honor for me when Sanjiv and Jyotsna invited me to go with them as they shopped for the chairs and tenting to be used for both days of the ceremonies – different for each day! On Monday, we visited a company that offers an amazing selection of tenting materials, colors, chair covers, table dressing and lighting. It seemed that Sanjiv, Jyotsna, Olie, Pallavi and I spent about three hours at this one vendor, but in the end were able to agree upon colors to be used, whether or not the chair covers should also have bows tied around the backs, and if so, what fabric and color would be used for this. We decided upon the setting for the bar as well as the food table, and a few suggestions I made that were accepted and will be implemented. Once we concluded this exercise, we went to a South Indian restaurant for lunch – after all, it was only 4:15 in the afternoon. One of the difficult situations to be addressed is the fact that the wedding ceremonies and festivities will take place at the “farm”, rather that in Delhi, so everything needs to be hauled there – and this will take a minimum of two hours to bring from Delhi.
Following lunch, Pallavi and I decided it would be great fun to visit the local Baskin-Robbins and pick up a number of varieties of ice cream to have for dessert at dinner later that evening.
The next day, we went shopping for jewelry and lehengas – the traditional dress for the bride to wear on the marriage day. The embroidery work and the beadwork on some of these garments were truly amazing – all done by hand, rather than machine. Some of the skirts were so heavily beaded that I would guess the weight exceeded thirty pounds. Pallavi, as the sister of the groom, also wanted to find a lehenga for herself. After all, she had the right to wear one since she is the groom’s sister. This day, it was just Pallavi, Sanjiv and I who were looking for the jewelry and the lehengas. I think we must have visited about fifteen different shops – many of them designer shops, and really did not find anything to purchase for Tatiana – the bride. You see, Gaurav lives in San Francisco, as does Tatiana. Additionally, neither she nor her family has ever traveled to India. Since time is compressed and Gaurav and Tatiana will only be arriving one week prior to the wedding, everything needs to be found, bought and delivered between now and the time they arrive. Final fittings will occur in that one week. Talk about stress!!!
Somehow, Sanjiv seemed to have been stricken with food poisoning, and landed flat on his back, with chills and nausea, etc. This coupled with his already bad back left him somewhat helpless and confined to the house. In addition, following Indian tradition, Jyotsna was packing to travel to Assam, from where she originated, to personally deliver all of the wedding invitations to five of her sisters, as well as their families, and to do some shopping for the wedding. To describe the household as one of hustle and bustle would clearly be a gross understatement.
Not only were we involved with shopping and making arrangements for the marriage, but I was also trying to rekindle some former relationships with friends in India, as well as make necessary arrangements for me to travel to Nepal toward the end of the week. I was able to speak with Raj Bardeja, who had been one of my hosts when I was in India as the Group Study Exchange team leader in 2003. I also visited with Yogesh Sikand. She and her husband and their son had also hosted me that same year. It was wonderful to catch up on these past several years. Rishi, her son, was studying for his final examinations. It is hard to believe that much time had passed since I had stayed at their home.
Ravi Dayal, who was one of my first Rotarian friends in India called and invited me to have lunch with him at Habitat – a wonderful complex in Delhi, that included fine accommodations and a wonderful roof-top restaurant. Following lunch, Ravi and I went to the section of the city where he had been raised. He needed to purchase tires for his wife’s van. It was kind of neat to see that all of the tire places were located on the same street, more or less next door to each other. Comparison-shopping was certainly easy. Once Ravi decided upon the vendor and the type tire (spelled tyre, here) then he said we needed to walk several blocks to a section of the city where crockery and glassware are sold. Ravi, who is an architect, had been contracted to not only draw the plans for the rehabilitation project for a building that will house the offices of the Congress Party, but to oversee the implementation of those plans, including the purchase of furniture and other accessories, including china, glassware, flatware, etc. He and I visited a number of shops in the basement of what I would probably term a wholesale house for that type of product, and we decided upon a china pattern, a flatware pattern, an everyday china pattern and glassware. After purchasing all of the crockery and other goods, we then had everything packed to be taken back to where he was having the tyres changed. Once all of this stuff was packed, only a few minutes expired before the packed boxes were all upstairs at the curb awaiting two bicycle rickshaws to take us and our purchases to the place where the van was getting some “new shoes”. What a sight – Ravi and I riding in one rickshaw, with a half-dozen carton boxes strapped to the undercarriage of the rickshaw, and one of the shopkeepers on another one, along with about a dozen more carton boxes. And this was not all of the stuff, either. The shopkeeper had to return to the building for twelve boxes of glassware that had not made it in the first shipment! Once the tyres were changed on the van, we went to the Congress Party Headquarters to see the project and to deliver the goods. It was fun for me to see the extent of the project and to see what work had been completed, and what furniture purchased, as well as hauling our purchases to their final destination. Once done there, Ravi and I went to meet his daughter, Mahima, whom I had not seen for about five years. She is already in University and also studying for her final examinations. We met her near the exit for the underground railway system and then drove to Sanjiv’s house. It was time to enjoy some R&R, as well as to be brought up to date with Ravi and his family. He even worked with Sanjiv to choose the ultimate food selections for the marriage – choosing veg and non-veg, continental, Chinese and traditional dishes. Ravi actually was quite good at this exercise.
When we returned to Sanjiv’s house, Pallavi and one of here cousins were working on the plans for the marriage, including a skit that would parody Gaurav and his bride-to-be. Mahima has some practice in this, so she and Pallavi, as well as Olie and another cousin worked on the skit. When they left, Ravi and Mahima were totally involved in the wedding and all of its parts. After a few hours, Ravi and his daughter left for home and we set about eating dinner – this late night dinner stuff really has to go. I have tried to convince Sanjiv that having a full dinner at eleven at night is not healthy, but have not gotten very far. This is especially true since I was to be getting up very early the next morning to go to the airport to catch a flight to Bagdogra – located in Bengal, near the border with Nepal.
Beginning on Monday, February 8, I worked with Sanjiv to update the information regarding our second group of team members scheduled to arrive on February 28. There were rooming arrangements to be made for the time we would be working on the project, as well as final information to share with the team members as to what they might expect for weather conditions, possible gifts to bring to the children in the village among other things. However, since our group had basically monopolized Sanjiv’s time and that of the rest of his family, there were more important items on his agenda which needed to be addressed – the MARRIAGE OF HIS SON, GAURAV, taking place on March 28 and 29!
Since I consider myself as a part of their family and they feel likewise, it was a pleasure and an honor for me when Sanjiv and Jyotsna invited me to go with them as they shopped for the chairs and tenting to be used for both days of the ceremonies – different for each day! On Monday, we visited a company that offers an amazing selection of tenting materials, colors, chair covers, table dressing and lighting. It seemed that Sanjiv, Jyotsna, Olie, Pallavi and I spent about three hours at this one vendor, but in the end were able to agree upon colors to be used, whether or not the chair covers should also have bows tied around the backs, and if so, what fabric and color would be used for this. We decided upon the setting for the bar as well as the food table, and a few suggestions I made that were accepted and will be implemented. Once we concluded this exercise, we went to a South Indian restaurant for lunch – after all, it was only 4:15 in the afternoon. One of the difficult situations to be addressed is the fact that the wedding ceremonies and festivities will take place at the “farm”, rather that in Delhi, so everything needs to be hauled there – and this will take a minimum of two hours to bring from Delhi.
Following lunch, Pallavi and I decided it would be great fun to visit the local Baskin-Robbins and pick up a number of varieties of ice cream to have for dessert at dinner later that evening.
The next day, we went shopping for jewelry and lehengas – the traditional dress for the bride to wear on the marriage day. The embroidery work and the beadwork on some of these garments were truly amazing – all done by hand, rather than machine. Some of the skirts were so heavily beaded that I would guess the weight exceeded thirty pounds. Pallavi, as the sister of the groom, also wanted to find a lehenga for herself. After all, she had the right to wear one since she is the groom’s sister. This day, it was just Pallavi, Sanjiv and I who were looking for the jewelry and the lehengas. I think we must have visited about fifteen different shops – many of them designer shops, and really did not find anything to purchase for Tatiana – the bride. You see, Gaurav lives in San Francisco, as does Tatiana. Additionally, neither she nor her family has ever traveled to India. Since time is compressed and Gaurav and Tatiana will only be arriving one week prior to the wedding, everything needs to be found, bought and delivered between now and the time they arrive. Final fittings will occur in that one week. Talk about stress!!!
Somehow, Sanjiv seemed to have been stricken with food poisoning, and landed flat on his back, with chills and nausea, etc. This coupled with his already bad back left him somewhat helpless and confined to the house. In addition, following Indian tradition, Jyotsna was packing to travel to Assam, from where she originated, to personally deliver all of the wedding invitations to five of her sisters, as well as their families, and to do some shopping for the wedding. To describe the household as one of hustle and bustle would clearly be a gross understatement.
Not only were we involved with shopping and making arrangements for the marriage, but I was also trying to rekindle some former relationships with friends in India, as well as make necessary arrangements for me to travel to Nepal toward the end of the week. I was able to speak with Raj Bardeja, who had been one of my hosts when I was in India as the Group Study Exchange team leader in 2003. I also visited with Yogesh Sikand. She and her husband and their son had also hosted me that same year. It was wonderful to catch up on these past several years. Rishi, her son, was studying for his final examinations. It is hard to believe that much time had passed since I had stayed at their home.
Ravi Dayal, who was one of my first Rotarian friends in India called and invited me to have lunch with him at Habitat – a wonderful complex in Delhi, that included fine accommodations and a wonderful roof-top restaurant. Following lunch, Ravi and I went to the section of the city where he had been raised. He needed to purchase tires for his wife’s van. It was kind of neat to see that all of the tire places were located on the same street, more or less next door to each other. Comparison-shopping was certainly easy. Once Ravi decided upon the vendor and the type tire (spelled tyre, here) then he said we needed to walk several blocks to a section of the city where crockery and glassware are sold. Ravi, who is an architect, had been contracted to not only draw the plans for the rehabilitation project for a building that will house the offices of the Congress Party, but to oversee the implementation of those plans, including the purchase of furniture and other accessories, including china, glassware, flatware, etc. He and I visited a number of shops in the basement of what I would probably term a wholesale house for that type of product, and we decided upon a china pattern, a flatware pattern, an everyday china pattern and glassware. After purchasing all of the crockery and other goods, we then had everything packed to be taken back to where he was having the tyres changed. Once all of this stuff was packed, only a few minutes expired before the packed boxes were all upstairs at the curb awaiting two bicycle rickshaws to take us and our purchases to the place where the van was getting some “new shoes”. What a sight – Ravi and I riding in one rickshaw, with a half-dozen carton boxes strapped to the undercarriage of the rickshaw, and one of the shopkeepers on another one, along with about a dozen more carton boxes. And this was not all of the stuff, either. The shopkeeper had to return to the building for twelve boxes of glassware that had not made it in the first shipment! Once the tyres were changed on the van, we went to the Congress Party Headquarters to see the project and to deliver the goods. It was fun for me to see the extent of the project and to see what work had been completed, and what furniture purchased, as well as hauling our purchases to their final destination. Once done there, Ravi and I went to meet his daughter, Mahima, whom I had not seen for about five years. She is already in University and also studying for her final examinations. We met her near the exit for the underground railway system and then drove to Sanjiv’s house. It was time to enjoy some R&R, as well as to be brought up to date with Ravi and his family. He even worked with Sanjiv to choose the ultimate food selections for the marriage – choosing veg and non-veg, continental, Chinese and traditional dishes. Ravi actually was quite good at this exercise.
When we returned to Sanjiv’s house, Pallavi and one of here cousins were working on the plans for the marriage, including a skit that would parody Gaurav and his bride-to-be. Mahima has some practice in this, so she and Pallavi, as well as Olie and another cousin worked on the skit. When they left, Ravi and Mahima were totally involved in the wedding and all of its parts. After a few hours, Ravi and his daughter left for home and we set about eating dinner – this late night dinner stuff really has to go. I have tried to convince Sanjiv that having a full dinner at eleven at night is not healthy, but have not gotten very far. This is especially true since I was to be getting up very early the next morning to go to the airport to catch a flight to Bagdogra – located in Bengal, near the border with Nepal.
DILLY HUT? DELHI HAT? DELHI HAAT? - (Feb. 8)
Following checkout from our hotel in Agra, we boarded the bus with Suresh at the wheel and now three riding shotgun – Ragu was joined by Crissie and Cassandra. This new seating arrangement provided the two women with an “up close and personal” view of everything which was aiming toward our bus, and at the same time gave the rest of us a bit more legroom. We were hoping to be able to beat some of the morning traffic into Delhi, but it is very difficult to determine whether or not we succeeded. Who knows when it comes to traffic in Delhi?
We stopped at a rest stop along the way, purchased some snacks and cold drinks and sat outside in the garden. We were the first ones out there, but when subsequent bus groups arrived, they too wanted to sit out in the garden in the warm sun. I guess we set the standard. Some of us purchased various trinkets to take home to friends and family. We were back on the road, and eventually stopped for our lunch at India’s example of a fast food restaurant chain – Halduram’s. When looking at the huge menu (one could purchase North Indian, South Indian, Chinese and several other ethnic foods) several of us decided upon a less traditional fare – namely veggie burgers! Actually, the veggie burgers were a good deal better than the ones we are able to purchase at home, either at Burger Kind or at the supermarkets. These were served with French fries and ketchup, so other than the setting, who would have known where we were eating?
After finishing up our lunch with a sinful sweet, gooey, sticky pastry treat, we headed into Delhi. I had contacted a fellow Rotarian, Brian Fulp from the Homesdale, Pennsylvania Rotary Club, who was traveling in India at the same time. He is affiliated with the Himalayan Institute and that group was bringing a few hundred devotees to India for two weeks, working with them in Assam, where the institute has a facility. It happened that Brian and I had been playing telephone tag, but finally caught up with one another an arranged to meet somewhere later that afternoon. Some of the group wanted “free” time; others wanted to visit Fab-India, a store that sells clothing for men, women and children; and still others were still light on gifts to take home. The bus dropped off most of us at Fab India, and the others hired tuk-tuks (auto-rickshaws) to take them into the Connaught Circus area of the city. Sean, in particular, wanted to purchase a gift for all of us to give to Sanjiv and his family for the amazing bit of hosting they provided to us. It was not simply feeding us, but providing toilets, providing Internet access, providing R&R, and providing rooms to serve as Sick Bay, when one or another of us fell victim to Delhi Belly.
I checked out a few things at Fab India and was actually able to find a vest and shirt for my grandson. Boone, Dianne, Kim, Nancy and Pallavi stayed back for a while, and I left in a tuk-tuk to be driven over to Delhi Haat (or Dilly Hut). This is a wonderful open-air market, where artisans from all parts of India have booths for two or three weeks and sell their products, only to be replaced by others from different regions when the first folks return to their homes. Prices at Delhi Haat are also considered pretty reasonable and the variety one sees is considerable. (Haat in Hindi means open market.) I had already made arrangements to meet Brian Fulp and the easiest place to find was Delhi Haat. Brian had never been there prior to today, but he was certainly agreeable to meet there and share experiences and concerns. When we met, Brian and I picked up from where we had left off several months back when I spoke at a District Conference in Pennsylvania this past October. It was enjoyable meeting someone I knew who was also halfway around the world and comparing notes with him about his experiences.
After being at Delhi Haat for a while, the remainder of the group arrived and split up to take in the wide variety of the shops and handicrafts from every state in India. Dianne retained her title of being the very BEST shopper of our team – having found some goodies at Fab India, as well as Delhi Haat. When the appointed time arrived, we gathered at the gate and waited for the bus to meet us. This was to be the last trip we would be taking in the bus, under the very able direction and control of Suresh and Ragu. We worked our way through the throngs of cars, auto-rickshaws, tuk-tuks, trucks, buses and whatever else managed to crowd the streets and clog virtually every intersection in the city. Finally, we made it to Safdarjung Enclave, Sector B, block 1 and number 22 – the home of Sanjiv, Jyotsna, Pallavi, Olie and of course, granddad (Sanjiv’s father, who is a very spry eighty-seven years young). We off loaded all of our bags from the bus, because following dinner, we would be splitting the group and sending them off in different directions: Chris Parkinson and Cassandra Bradley, along with Dianne and Boone Powell would be departing for the airport for the fifteen plus hour flight back to Newark, and then on either to New Hampshire, Boston or San Antonio. Sean and Kim would be going to a hotel for the night, then flying on up to Kathmandu, Nepal for a week. Nancy Day and Crissie Day would be staying at a different hotel from Sean and Kim, and the following day would be flying back to Seattle. Linda Nicol was not with us, as she had remained on in Mewat to offer her services as a massage therapist to polio victims for a couple of weeks. I was the only remaining member of the team and moved into my old bedroom at Sanjiv’s house.
During dinner, each member of the team spoke of impressions of the trip, experiences to and from, as well as within the village. Chris Parkinson talked about composing and singing his own compositions at his three daughters’ weddings. Sanjiv asked if he would sing for us, and he said he really needed a guitar. Did I ever mention the MAGIC OF ROTARY??? It is alive and well in Delhi, in the personage of Sanjiv Saran. He told Chris he would just take a minute and when he returned, he produced a dusty guitar case, but a nice guitar inside! Chris entertained us with one of the wedding songs. Dinner was drawing to a close – schedules needed to be met – and we needed to pause for a few moments to thank Sanjiv, Jyotsna and Olie, as well as Pallavi, for all they had done to make our stay a wonderful experience. We had all agreed to purchase a gift for them and left that task to Sean Dolter. He presented a packed and heavy sack to Sanjiv and Jyotsna, and asked them to open it. The content was uncovered and revealed a magnificent hand-carved statue of Lord Ganesh. This is going to be taken to the farm and placed in the niche in the entry hall of the house, where it will serve as the overseeing god of the household. Lord Ganesh or Ganesha or Genesha (take your pick of the spellings) is the elephant god and if you are interested in learning of the story about what seems to be the most popular manifestation of the Hindu gods, I suggest you try researching in Wikipedia, Google or Yahoo or some other search engine. Sanjiv and Jyotsna seemed to be overwhelmed with the gift and thanked each of us. Not only did they have tears in their eyes, but most of us did, as well. It was time to depart and say our farewells, at least for now. The SUV was waiting out in front of the house to take the four fly-home members to the airport. Other vehicles took Sean and Kim, and Nancy and Crissie. We were about to shut off the lights, when the doorbell rang. The gentleman who was at the door was Basu Dev Golyan, a Rotarian from Nepal, with whom Sanjiv and I had been speaking regarding meeting to discuss the potential of projects in Nepal in future years.
More on this later, but it is time for me to close this off and shut down my laptop, and kiss another night goodbye.
We stopped at a rest stop along the way, purchased some snacks and cold drinks and sat outside in the garden. We were the first ones out there, but when subsequent bus groups arrived, they too wanted to sit out in the garden in the warm sun. I guess we set the standard. Some of us purchased various trinkets to take home to friends and family. We were back on the road, and eventually stopped for our lunch at India’s example of a fast food restaurant chain – Halduram’s. When looking at the huge menu (one could purchase North Indian, South Indian, Chinese and several other ethnic foods) several of us decided upon a less traditional fare – namely veggie burgers! Actually, the veggie burgers were a good deal better than the ones we are able to purchase at home, either at Burger Kind or at the supermarkets. These were served with French fries and ketchup, so other than the setting, who would have known where we were eating?
After finishing up our lunch with a sinful sweet, gooey, sticky pastry treat, we headed into Delhi. I had contacted a fellow Rotarian, Brian Fulp from the Homesdale, Pennsylvania Rotary Club, who was traveling in India at the same time. He is affiliated with the Himalayan Institute and that group was bringing a few hundred devotees to India for two weeks, working with them in Assam, where the institute has a facility. It happened that Brian and I had been playing telephone tag, but finally caught up with one another an arranged to meet somewhere later that afternoon. Some of the group wanted “free” time; others wanted to visit Fab-India, a store that sells clothing for men, women and children; and still others were still light on gifts to take home. The bus dropped off most of us at Fab India, and the others hired tuk-tuks (auto-rickshaws) to take them into the Connaught Circus area of the city. Sean, in particular, wanted to purchase a gift for all of us to give to Sanjiv and his family for the amazing bit of hosting they provided to us. It was not simply feeding us, but providing toilets, providing Internet access, providing R&R, and providing rooms to serve as Sick Bay, when one or another of us fell victim to Delhi Belly.
I checked out a few things at Fab India and was actually able to find a vest and shirt for my grandson. Boone, Dianne, Kim, Nancy and Pallavi stayed back for a while, and I left in a tuk-tuk to be driven over to Delhi Haat (or Dilly Hut). This is a wonderful open-air market, where artisans from all parts of India have booths for two or three weeks and sell their products, only to be replaced by others from different regions when the first folks return to their homes. Prices at Delhi Haat are also considered pretty reasonable and the variety one sees is considerable. (Haat in Hindi means open market.) I had already made arrangements to meet Brian Fulp and the easiest place to find was Delhi Haat. Brian had never been there prior to today, but he was certainly agreeable to meet there and share experiences and concerns. When we met, Brian and I picked up from where we had left off several months back when I spoke at a District Conference in Pennsylvania this past October. It was enjoyable meeting someone I knew who was also halfway around the world and comparing notes with him about his experiences.
After being at Delhi Haat for a while, the remainder of the group arrived and split up to take in the wide variety of the shops and handicrafts from every state in India. Dianne retained her title of being the very BEST shopper of our team – having found some goodies at Fab India, as well as Delhi Haat. When the appointed time arrived, we gathered at the gate and waited for the bus to meet us. This was to be the last trip we would be taking in the bus, under the very able direction and control of Suresh and Ragu. We worked our way through the throngs of cars, auto-rickshaws, tuk-tuks, trucks, buses and whatever else managed to crowd the streets and clog virtually every intersection in the city. Finally, we made it to Safdarjung Enclave, Sector B, block 1 and number 22 – the home of Sanjiv, Jyotsna, Pallavi, Olie and of course, granddad (Sanjiv’s father, who is a very spry eighty-seven years young). We off loaded all of our bags from the bus, because following dinner, we would be splitting the group and sending them off in different directions: Chris Parkinson and Cassandra Bradley, along with Dianne and Boone Powell would be departing for the airport for the fifteen plus hour flight back to Newark, and then on either to New Hampshire, Boston or San Antonio. Sean and Kim would be going to a hotel for the night, then flying on up to Kathmandu, Nepal for a week. Nancy Day and Crissie Day would be staying at a different hotel from Sean and Kim, and the following day would be flying back to Seattle. Linda Nicol was not with us, as she had remained on in Mewat to offer her services as a massage therapist to polio victims for a couple of weeks. I was the only remaining member of the team and moved into my old bedroom at Sanjiv’s house.
During dinner, each member of the team spoke of impressions of the trip, experiences to and from, as well as within the village. Chris Parkinson talked about composing and singing his own compositions at his three daughters’ weddings. Sanjiv asked if he would sing for us, and he said he really needed a guitar. Did I ever mention the MAGIC OF ROTARY??? It is alive and well in Delhi, in the personage of Sanjiv Saran. He told Chris he would just take a minute and when he returned, he produced a dusty guitar case, but a nice guitar inside! Chris entertained us with one of the wedding songs. Dinner was drawing to a close – schedules needed to be met – and we needed to pause for a few moments to thank Sanjiv, Jyotsna and Olie, as well as Pallavi, for all they had done to make our stay a wonderful experience. We had all agreed to purchase a gift for them and left that task to Sean Dolter. He presented a packed and heavy sack to Sanjiv and Jyotsna, and asked them to open it. The content was uncovered and revealed a magnificent hand-carved statue of Lord Ganesh. This is going to be taken to the farm and placed in the niche in the entry hall of the house, where it will serve as the overseeing god of the household. Lord Ganesh or Ganesha or Genesha (take your pick of the spellings) is the elephant god and if you are interested in learning of the story about what seems to be the most popular manifestation of the Hindu gods, I suggest you try researching in Wikipedia, Google or Yahoo or some other search engine. Sanjiv and Jyotsna seemed to be overwhelmed with the gift and thanked each of us. Not only did they have tears in their eyes, but most of us did, as well. It was time to depart and say our farewells, at least for now. The SUV was waiting out in front of the house to take the four fly-home members to the airport. Other vehicles took Sean and Kim, and Nancy and Crissie. We were about to shut off the lights, when the doorbell rang. The gentleman who was at the door was Basu Dev Golyan, a Rotarian from Nepal, with whom Sanjiv and I had been speaking regarding meeting to discuss the potential of projects in Nepal in future years.
More on this later, but it is time for me to close this off and shut down my laptop, and kiss another night goodbye.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
SHAH JAHAN'S MONUMENT TO HIS BELOVED… (Feb. 7)
After another relatively early breakfast, we met Suresh and Ragu out in front of our hotel, for the ride to Agra. One fact people from outside of India sometimes fail to realize is distance and time to cover that distance. As I may have mentioned earlier on in this BLOG, the distance of one hundred miles in the US or Canada can generally be driven in well under two hours. However, in India, a distance of one hundred miles might well take some six hours to drive. So when traveling in a bus, sitting in seats that may not be anywhere near as comfortable as the front seat of your car or mine, distance and time may increase exponentially, at least to those experiencing the ride. Such was the case during many of our drives from one location to another. Today was no exception.
Although we left the hotel early by India standards, and were beyond the city limits of Jaipur, the ride seemed long. We stopped along the way at restaurants that offered washrooms and toilets. This gave us the chance to stretch our legs and possibly even get some of the kinks out of our backs or necks. During most of the week at the project, we generally gravitated to the same seats on the bus, but now, we ventured out of our comfort zones and dared to cross the aisle or move to the back of the bus. The perennial question asked by most kids of their parents, "Are we there, yet?" was most assuredly on the tip of the tongue of most of us at one time or another. Pallavi had suggested that we should just push right on through to the hotel, have some lunch, settle in and then go for our tour of one of the wonders of the world - the Taj Mahal.
The Howard Park Hotel was where we would be staying for the next twenty-four hours (actually about eighteen or nineteen hours) and when we arrived, we were greeted with a blue fruit drink as we waited to be assigned to our rooms. Our bags were brought into the lobby and once identified, were brought by the bellmen to our rooms. We were all assigned to rooms on the third floor. My room was very pleasant, although the smell of stale smoke permeated everything - sheets, upholstered couch and chairs, even the towels in the bathroom. I realize there is nothing worse than a reformed anything, but the smell was pretty intense. I asked if there were non-smoking rooms and was told that hotel did not provide for non-smokers. I turned on the air conditioner and the exhaust fan and figured out a way to have them remain on even when I was not in the room - since the key tag had to be inserted into the switch by the door in order for the power to be on in the room. I removed the key and left the tag in the switch.
During the trip from Jaipur to Agra, Pallavi and I were contacting Past District Governor (PDG) Naresh Sood from one of the Agra Rotary Clubs. Five years ago, I led about twenty-five Rotarians to India for a National Immunization Day against polio (NID) and while visiting Agra, we were shown a medical facility that had been donated by O.P Aggarwal and his family. The facility was where corrective surgeries were conducted - free of charge - for polio victims. Several members of that group committed to raise funds for a Matching Grant from The Rotary Foundation, to eliminate the list of one thousand patients who awaited surgery. With the cost of approximately $40.00 per surgery, we raised about $45,000 for the project. I wanted to visit the facility to see how the project was progressing. Therefore, I was disappointed when I learned that PDG Sood was out of station, attending the District Conference. In addition, the officers of the Club were also attending the same conference. After several calls, Naresh was able to contact two senior members of his club - Rotarian Jain and Rotarian Gupta, both past presidents. We arranged for them to meet me at the hotel after lunch and they would take me to visit the facility, and then on to the Taj Mahal gate so I could meet the rest of the team. We met in the lobby following lunch and left for the hospital.
As we proceeded to the hospital, I felt I recognized these two men. Finally, one of them spoke and said, "I believe we have met previously". I told him I felt the same and after a bit of conversation, we determined we had met several years before. We arrived at the hospital, now operated by a different surgeon. The chief medical officer of this tiny hospital (attached to his home) had retired from his private practice of orthopaedic surgery, and devoted his life to our project. His son and daughter-in-law are also surgeons. I learned every Thursday seven or eight (sometimes ten or twelve) patients who have paralyzed limbs come to the hospital or clinic for their corrective surgeries. Additionally, once they are healed, they may return to the clinic to be fitted for braces (or calipers) to help support them while they are undergoing a regimen of physical therapy. The restorative nature of these surgeries is tremendous. Imagine having been relegated to a chair or a hand-bicycle or crutches, and then learning that such a facility exists and you can have your surgery at no cost. Imagine being crippled one day and being able to live a far more "normal" life, able to find employment and to become a productive member of society. This is the opportunity our Matching Grant provides to each of these patients. Thus far, more than 700 surgeries have been performed. Although brief, my tour of the clinic was most satisfying. The two Rotarians accompanied me back to the car-park area near the east gate of the Taj Mahal, and we said our goodbyes. I met Pallavi and we were at the gate and entering within five minutes of the time the team had arrived. I was even able to jump into the group photo before we proceeded with the tour.
If you have never read or heard the story about the Taj Mahal and the undying love Shah Jahan had for his beautiful wife, take the time to read about it. It would not serve any purpose for me to attempt to relate the story here in this BLOG. Once one enters the gate, goes through security, and walks a few hundred yards to enter the main gate of red sandstone that somewhat obscures ones view of the Taj, and then enters through that gate, one's breath is literally taken away. I believe each and every time I have visited the Taj Mahal, something very special occurs and today was no exception. Whether taken by the incredible ornate simplicity of this mausoleum, or moved by a personal moment, one can not help but be affected by this wonder of the world.
We were provided with small bottles of mineral water, as well as booties to cover our feet or our shoes, if we chose not to go barefooted. We walked along through beautiful gardens and every few seconds we paused to appreciate the beauty of the monument that lay before us. Some of us went to the mosque adjacent to the Taj, while others walked back through the gardens. We looked across the river where Shah Jahan had intended to build the negative image of the Taj - the black Taj. This never happened and I fear would have detracted from the beauty of this monument, had it ever been built.
Restoration is taking place all the time, and artisans work as they would have hundreds of years ago, using hand wheels to sand down and polish precious and semi-precious stones they use to replace those that have been chiseled out and stolen from the walls.
That evening, we met in the lobby and walked to a nearby restaurant - The Silk Road, where we were served typical food of Rajasthan. Back to the hotel and sleep to prepare for another very full day.
Although we left the hotel early by India standards, and were beyond the city limits of Jaipur, the ride seemed long. We stopped along the way at restaurants that offered washrooms and toilets. This gave us the chance to stretch our legs and possibly even get some of the kinks out of our backs or necks. During most of the week at the project, we generally gravitated to the same seats on the bus, but now, we ventured out of our comfort zones and dared to cross the aisle or move to the back of the bus. The perennial question asked by most kids of their parents, "Are we there, yet?" was most assuredly on the tip of the tongue of most of us at one time or another. Pallavi had suggested that we should just push right on through to the hotel, have some lunch, settle in and then go for our tour of one of the wonders of the world - the Taj Mahal.
The Howard Park Hotel was where we would be staying for the next twenty-four hours (actually about eighteen or nineteen hours) and when we arrived, we were greeted with a blue fruit drink as we waited to be assigned to our rooms. Our bags were brought into the lobby and once identified, were brought by the bellmen to our rooms. We were all assigned to rooms on the third floor. My room was very pleasant, although the smell of stale smoke permeated everything - sheets, upholstered couch and chairs, even the towels in the bathroom. I realize there is nothing worse than a reformed anything, but the smell was pretty intense. I asked if there were non-smoking rooms and was told that hotel did not provide for non-smokers. I turned on the air conditioner and the exhaust fan and figured out a way to have them remain on even when I was not in the room - since the key tag had to be inserted into the switch by the door in order for the power to be on in the room. I removed the key and left the tag in the switch.
During the trip from Jaipur to Agra, Pallavi and I were contacting Past District Governor (PDG) Naresh Sood from one of the Agra Rotary Clubs. Five years ago, I led about twenty-five Rotarians to India for a National Immunization Day against polio (NID) and while visiting Agra, we were shown a medical facility that had been donated by O.P Aggarwal and his family. The facility was where corrective surgeries were conducted - free of charge - for polio victims. Several members of that group committed to raise funds for a Matching Grant from The Rotary Foundation, to eliminate the list of one thousand patients who awaited surgery. With the cost of approximately $40.00 per surgery, we raised about $45,000 for the project. I wanted to visit the facility to see how the project was progressing. Therefore, I was disappointed when I learned that PDG Sood was out of station, attending the District Conference. In addition, the officers of the Club were also attending the same conference. After several calls, Naresh was able to contact two senior members of his club - Rotarian Jain and Rotarian Gupta, both past presidents. We arranged for them to meet me at the hotel after lunch and they would take me to visit the facility, and then on to the Taj Mahal gate so I could meet the rest of the team. We met in the lobby following lunch and left for the hospital.
As we proceeded to the hospital, I felt I recognized these two men. Finally, one of them spoke and said, "I believe we have met previously". I told him I felt the same and after a bit of conversation, we determined we had met several years before. We arrived at the hospital, now operated by a different surgeon. The chief medical officer of this tiny hospital (attached to his home) had retired from his private practice of orthopaedic surgery, and devoted his life to our project. His son and daughter-in-law are also surgeons. I learned every Thursday seven or eight (sometimes ten or twelve) patients who have paralyzed limbs come to the hospital or clinic for their corrective surgeries. Additionally, once they are healed, they may return to the clinic to be fitted for braces (or calipers) to help support them while they are undergoing a regimen of physical therapy. The restorative nature of these surgeries is tremendous. Imagine having been relegated to a chair or a hand-bicycle or crutches, and then learning that such a facility exists and you can have your surgery at no cost. Imagine being crippled one day and being able to live a far more "normal" life, able to find employment and to become a productive member of society. This is the opportunity our Matching Grant provides to each of these patients. Thus far, more than 700 surgeries have been performed. Although brief, my tour of the clinic was most satisfying. The two Rotarians accompanied me back to the car-park area near the east gate of the Taj Mahal, and we said our goodbyes. I met Pallavi and we were at the gate and entering within five minutes of the time the team had arrived. I was even able to jump into the group photo before we proceeded with the tour.
If you have never read or heard the story about the Taj Mahal and the undying love Shah Jahan had for his beautiful wife, take the time to read about it. It would not serve any purpose for me to attempt to relate the story here in this BLOG. Once one enters the gate, goes through security, and walks a few hundred yards to enter the main gate of red sandstone that somewhat obscures ones view of the Taj, and then enters through that gate, one's breath is literally taken away. I believe each and every time I have visited the Taj Mahal, something very special occurs and today was no exception. Whether taken by the incredible ornate simplicity of this mausoleum, or moved by a personal moment, one can not help but be affected by this wonder of the world.
We were provided with small bottles of mineral water, as well as booties to cover our feet or our shoes, if we chose not to go barefooted. We walked along through beautiful gardens and every few seconds we paused to appreciate the beauty of the monument that lay before us. Some of us went to the mosque adjacent to the Taj, while others walked back through the gardens. We looked across the river where Shah Jahan had intended to build the negative image of the Taj - the black Taj. This never happened and I fear would have detracted from the beauty of this monument, had it ever been built.
Restoration is taking place all the time, and artisans work as they would have hundreds of years ago, using hand wheels to sand down and polish precious and semi-precious stones they use to replace those that have been chiseled out and stolen from the walls.
That evening, we met in the lobby and walked to a nearby restaurant - The Silk Road, where we were served typical food of Rajasthan. Back to the hotel and sleep to prepare for another very full day.
Dianne and Boone are home!
Elias and I spoke for about one hour on Monday, February 9th. Boone and Dianne were on their way home and were, perhaps, already settled into their pillows - adjusting.
On Tuesday, the Powells agreed to brief San Antonio team members, Nora Turner, John Hutcherson and me, about their experiences the following day after Rotary.
On Wednesday, before their private and in depth 1-hour talk, the Powells and I spoke to the Rotary Club of San Antonio - about 300 members at lunch - showing them my 8 min edit of Bill Gates' 40 min speech announcing his additional $255 million gift to the Rotary Foundation's efforts to eradicate polio. Then the Powells related in about 5 min their thoughts on their time in India. More from them later with pictures. They were wonderful!
We have our list of things to not forget and are looking forward to seeing Elias.
On Tuesday, the Powells agreed to brief San Antonio team members, Nora Turner, John Hutcherson and me, about their experiences the following day after Rotary.
On Wednesday, before their private and in depth 1-hour talk, the Powells and I spoke to the Rotary Club of San Antonio - about 300 members at lunch - showing them my 8 min edit of Bill Gates' 40 min speech announcing his additional $255 million gift to the Rotary Foundation's efforts to eradicate polio. Then the Powells related in about 5 min their thoughts on their time in India. More from them later with pictures. They were wonderful!
We have our list of things to not forget and are looking forward to seeing Elias.
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