Last Day at Orphanage 9/5/10

(the dates aren’t necessarily accurate to the day they were written, but the day they were written about.)

Songs being listened to:

"Dear Mama"-- 2pac

"Sign No More" -- Mumford & Sons

"The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us” Sufjan Stevens

My last 5 consecutive days at antotoya were really fun. I got to know Dr. Mosses twin sons that were about my age. Both of them looked like Robert Johnson, and they were really funny and sneaky. Since the first day at the Orphanage, they kept offering us “Cold drink” which is pretty much bottled orange or mango juice. Michael and I knew that it was probably only for visiting guests, and we didn’t want to be treated better than anyone else, so we constantly refused. After the first 4 or 5 refusals, Hussein (one of the twins) explained his motives; with a mischievous smile he said, “If the staff here sees us with a glass of cold drink, they will be angry. But if we pour YOU a glass, then we can drink straight from the bottle when no one is watching”. After that I think we took cold drink every time it was offered to us.

I did a lot of painting. I once found myself standing on the top shelf of a fifteen to twenty foot ladder outside of the orphanage. I was volunteered to do this because I was a lot taller than any of the other guys. On top of that ladder, I was as tall as the Historic Kasmere Gate that stood right next to the orphanage. I had someone holding the ladder, and then with one hand I grasped for dear life onto a pipe in case the ladder were to fall out from behind me.

It’s really funny how quick you can get used to guys missing hands and feet and legs. But it’s really great because you stop feeling sorry for them… in a good way. Michael and I noticed that it wasn’t we who were assisting these young guys that were missing limbs, but more often than not, they were helping us and showing us what to do. There was a guy who mopped the floor while hopping on one foot and kept reprimanding me for doing it wrong. There was a guy without hands who helped me hang up laundry, there was a guy that I think had leprosy and was missing all of his fingers holding my ladder steady (and he did a really good job too. And all of them were just normal teenage guys who I’m sure were making dirty jokes to each-other in Hindi the whole time.

Hussein told me that Father Jane always wore a colored scarf and an orange apron because Mother Teresa gave it to him when he left Kulcutta. He wore it proudly wherever he went. Our last day at the orphanage, we did laundry for 150 people in the rain… and this was monsoon rain, so it was like standing under a waterfall. After that the father met us in the corridor and said “change out of those wet clothes before you get sick! Here I have a gift for you. Have you ever worn a lungi? ” . Because it was our last day, he gave us both tee shirts and then lungis (basically like a towel that you wear instead of pants…. A man skirt…. A “Mirt”[man-skirt=mirt]). I thought it was a huge honor, considering the Father knew it was our last day there. He also told us we could come back whenever we wanted and LIVE there! He was told us “yeah, we would be happy to let you stay here. Usually whenever we get volunteers from abroad, they want high-up kinds of jobs. They don’t want to do the necessary simple work like painting, cleaning and doing laundry, giving bathes, like it’s beneath them; and we don’t have high-up jobs to give. It’s really rare to find hard workers that will do anything that’s asked of them”. That was probably the highlight of my trip/life thus far.

Our last day there was a Sunday, so we got to attend mass. It was really cool and personal it was a really mixed crowd. The entire time I was paranoid because I didn’t tie the lungi right, and was afraid every time I stood up that my lungi would fall off in the middle of mass…. And it almost did every time. After mass I went to go back to work but first had to retie my lungi. The Father saw me and was like “what, you don’t like it?” and I was like “No I love it! It’s just falling off”. The father was like “well you’re doing it wrong” and he tore off my lungi (thank God I was wearing underwear, which I had considered ditching when I changed due to the wetness)….at this point I couldn’t help but giggle considering the irony of standing half naked in front of a Roman Catholic Priest, but he quickly wrapped the 3 meters of fabric around and tied it properly.

Michael and I said goodbye to a lot of the people there and got the Father’s email. We walked all the way home wearing our lungis… and we were stared at more than usual. I’ve worn the lungi almost every other night around the house, and I think it’s fulfilled a lifelong goal of mine. I’ve always been bitter that girls get to wear all this crazy cool stuff, and guys are limited in their selection… unless they want to cross-dress. I don’t think it will be necessarily appropriate to wear my lungi around Fresno, but I’m probably going to anyways.

Here is a link to a facebook photo album of pictures pertaining to this blog post: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=225891&id=737369396&ref=mf

Oh Sheesh Ya'll! 9/4/10

Songs being listened to:

“Long black veil”—The Band

“Skinny Love” –Bon Iver

“Shift” – Grizzly Bear

“For the widows in paradise, for the fatherless in Ypsilanti” -- Sufjan Stevens

When Michael and I got back from our first days work at the orphanage we felt really good about we were doing. We really loved our new Schedule For a while our schedules were just really hit-and-miss, but now we had a solid rain or shine, five hours a day three days a week schedule for the orphanage. Besides this we were also doing teaching in the Wazipur slum twice a week and helping with homework with the boys at our hostile five days a week (previously three). But the day we got back we found out that for complicated financial reasons, we were probably going to have to leave Delhi. We were pretty bummed, but felt really good about the option of going to Dehra -dun (a city 7 hours train from Delhi at the foothills of the Himalayas). After making a few calls this became our official plan and we were planning on leaving in 5 days.

Knowing we were actually leaving put everything into bittersweet perspective for me. Though I was excited about living with my friends in Dehra Dun, It was really hard knowing I would have to say goodbye to all the boys at the hostile and all the kids in the Wazipur slum that I had grown to love . I was also dishearten that we had to leave our new found home and friends at the orphanage. On Friday we went to the orphanage and told the Father that this would probably be our last day; he was very understanding. At the End of the day I told him I was free all weekend and could come every day for 5 hours a day until I left Delhi.

Knowing I had to leave Delhi also meant I could start doing some things that I was previously afraid of doing -- mostly in the metro-- for fear of getting in trouble. For Instance: Every metro station (subway) has beautiful long handrails that go down the steps that just BEG to be slid down. I finally decided to start doing this without discrimination...every metro station, every rail. I can’t believe more people don't do it considering how wonderfully long the ride is. I also started making ridiculous faces at people that were already staring at me in the metro. Michael and I had an entire metro car laughing hysterically when we kept mimicking the pitch of the metro horn every time it honked at people in each station. This all lead to a climax to the time I rode on the brand new just opened metro line. Things got a bit out of hand...

So to give you a little background; at home I have a giant swing set that has a rope hanging from it. One of my favorite pastimes is to put all of my body0weight on the rope, pivot on the tip of one foot, and then spin ridiculously fast on it. It’s really fun, you should try it. A while back I had the idea of doing this on the handles that are dangling from the ceiling inside the metro car, but was always to afraid/smart/common sensical to do this. One day I figured "what the heck! I’m only going to be in Delhi for 2 more days”.

The metro car was fairly empty so I had plenty of room for my acrobatics. I kicked off my sandals, pivoted on one toe and hung from the handle and just started spinning. It worked remarkably well and was really fun. Of course there were about twenty people staring at me, but they would have been anyways. I did this for over five minutes, maybe ten. Time flew. Something in me expected everyone to start trying it for themselves, and maybe they would have…. but…as I started spinning again, with all my body weight dependant on the handle, the rope holding that handle snapped and I came crashing down with a thud with the handle in hand. Oh sheesh ya’ll! Surprisingly, nobody laughed.

I jumped to my feet, and put the handle in my pocket and ran out of the train at the next stop. I ran because after the handle snapped I realized that there were brand new surveillance cameras in this brand new metro line that had just opened the day before. So somewhere out there is great footage of a Ferangi (derogatory term for foreigner) eating shi[shkababs] on the Deli Metro. The metro station I got out on had also just opened the day before. Because it was a new metro line, it would be 30 minutes before the next train came. In this time I heard the automated PDA that I’d heard a thousand times played in the metro stations, but this time it came to life for me: “vandalizing or defacing metro property is a punishable offense”. Oh sheesh ya’ll! Even in my most paranoid of states my common sense had not yet repossessed me: I got extremely bored in this empty metro station, so I decided to walk up the excalater in the wrong direction… for 10 minutes strait. It was then a metro official said “Come wiwth me”. O sheesh ya’ll! As I walked with him, yet another PDA that I’d heard so many times came to life “please report any suspicious activities or individuals to the nearest metro official”. The metro official to be to his boss’s office, that scene from Slumdog Millionaire where he was being interrogated by a cop with a bucket of water and a car battery occupied my then paranoid imagination. Especially because I thought they would pat me down and find the metro handle, and then of course I would have to account for every moment in my life that led up to the moment I was destined to break off the metro handle… so that I could be reunited with Latika…. Ok… bad reference

But the boss said with a wag of his head “why is it that you walked down the escalator the wrong way?” and I was like “I’m so sorry sir! I guess I was just really bored”. He laughed and said something like “Sir, the Race Course Metro Station is not a place to come for boring!”. I knew what he probably meant and thanked him for his advice and they let me go (without patting me down).

Oh Sheesh ya’ll! Twas a Dream

First day at Antyodaya Orphanage

Songs being listened to:

"Southern Point"-- Grizzly Bear

"Awake my Sould"-- Mumford & Sons

"Peach Plum Pear" -- Joanna Newsom

We had a great first day at Antyodaya. We showed up and Father Ravinder Jain was like "Ok, you can take these ladders and clean the nooks in the ceiling". The ceiling was probably a good 15-20 feet off the ground and both ladders were rickety and were liable to collapse at any moment. Luckiliy a really nice guy from Sudan named "Dr. Moss" was there to help, making sure the ladder stood sturdy and didn't collapse while I was standing on or straddling the top part of the ladder that probably at one time had a sticker that said "Caution: This is not a step". It took about 3 hours to wash the ceiling nooks; in that time I got to know alot about Dr. Moss

He was a very educated man from Sudan who spoke English, Arabic, French, and Tamil (and no Hindi). He had a build and a smile that made him look like Rafiki in the most flattering of ways. He had moved to South India and lived there for 21 years working as a doctor. He married and had twins. I asked him why he was staying there at Antyodaya (which is essentially a homeless/destitute/orphan shelter). He told me that an Indian politician he knew took all off his families property and possessions and destroyed all of his qualification certificates, and family's identification cards and passports. They fled to Delhi and have to live at this orphanage until they can get there passports sorted out and go back to Sudan. Despite his higher education, his families previously cushy life and status, he and his family were not the least bit bitter or too conceited to do the everyday chores that needed to be done around the orphanage.

Aside from washing the ceilings, we also hand washed laundry for about 150 people. Some of the guys thought it was really funny that my full name was "Josiah" because compared to them I was really slow at doing laundry, and "Josiah" sounds like a name in Hindi given to "Someone who does everything really fast and in a rush". Heh... story of my life. Oh, Also.... I lost feeling in one side of my left sniffer toe from squatting on my toes for 2 hours doing laundry. There doesn't seem to be any discoloration or lack of blood-flow to that toe, so I don't think it's too serious. And if it's not serious I don't mind it staying this way just as a souvenir.

During one of my discussions with Dr. Moss, he said something like "Earlier today I was talking to Father Jain and I was telling him, God smiles on those who are humble in spirit, and willing to serve. Those who serve others, love God. Too many people think they are too good to serve others; cleaning, doing the laundry is beneath themBut on the day we meet God, he is going to ask us "were you willing to lay your life down for those who needed you?". I normally wouldn't mention this, but just to give you all perspective, this man and his family were devote Muslims. And honestly, some of the most honest and nicest people I have met in Delhi have been of the Islamic faith. I just hate hearing about all the hate that has been shown and stereotypes that have been giving to people of this particular faith. I hate hearing about the Quran book burning that is happening in Florida. It grieves me.

Orphanage 8/30/10

Ep's that have been shuffled together and listened to on repeat:

-- "All Delighted People EP" -Sufjan Stevens

--"Vespers I&II EP" --Aaron Strumpel

Today Michael and I went to the Antyodaya orphanageto meet with Father Ravinder Jane, who runs it. This guy Apparently used to work with Mother Teresa , which is really inspiring to me.

When we got there, he recognized me from 2 years ago when I used to help tutor. To be honest, my expectations of our meeting was this: "Hello Father, we would like to help out wherever you would like us. Here is the one hour time slot we are comfortable giving. I assume you want us to tutor?", in other words, something in me expecting to make the plans. So many times when you go somewhere to help, they just expect you to know what to do and don't give you much direction. To my pleasant surprise, with no reserve he was like "you would like to help however you can? Ok, you can come at 7:30 am and wash dishes, then you can clip finger nails for people who can't do it themselves. Maybe help with haircuts and dressing wounds [this is also a home for the destitute]. You can come until 12:30ish [5 hours]?"

Michael and I were ecstatic. This is exactly what my desire has been, but I feel like too often it is people asking me how I would LIKE to help as opposed to "Hey, do this. Thank you". Its been my fondest wish to help with the sick homeless begging people I see every every day. This place takes in people who are dying on the street. When you walk in the door you are greeted by a guy with one arm. As you walk thru you shake hands with boys and men with no legs, no site, mute, wounds. I have felt so unable to help these people and now finally I have the opportunity to serve in a practical way. The main thing I do here in Delhi is help with homework and teach. I understand how practical and important that is, but it really isn't my forte (though I am happy to do it). However, getting my hands dirty is something I'm good at.

Michael and I left and shared with each other how we loved how Father Ravider didn't flatter us or beat around the bush. We discussed how we think Momma T would have handled things in a similar way. I wish all of India would be this strait forward, but that is just the American in me coming out.

an ode to Charlton 8/20/10

Songs being listened too:
Summer in the city --Regina Specktor
Peach Plum Pear -- Joanna Newsome

I haven't written for a while.... so I guess I'll write something now. Anything....
hmmm.... I guess I haven't told you all about my DHL experience.

Ok... so a couple weeks ago, my dad sent me a package thru a company called DHL which is kinda like FedEx. He was sending me my laptop with my Hindi rosetta stone and some clothes. DHL's motto is something like "Duty free door to door delivery", which I thought an impressive promise, seeing how everything in India seems to be covered in manure. I later found out that "Duty" was actually tax on imported items....or something.

So I get a call.... it was a man with a strong Indian accent that I couldn't decipher (and I'm pretty good with the accents now). It took me 10 minutes to figure out who was calling, another 5 minutes to figure out that DHL was not an Internet provider, and another 10 minutes spelling out my Email so he could write me whatever the [Hades] he was trying to tell me. I never received an E-mail, but I did receive another phone call from a nice enough gal with a very understandable accent. She told me that I had to come down to customs to open my package and something regarding "Duty fee". This sounds simple enough, but by metro and taxi it took two hours to get there.

Once I arrived at (the opposite, and desolate side of) the airport I could tell I was going to have trouble finding a ride home, since I was on the opposite side of a very large airport and there were no taxis to be seen. It was 9:00 when I arrived. long story short, I was there for another NINE HOURS before I went home. luckily there were 5 other equally frustrated people that were called in for the same thing and waited the same hours before going home. One of them I was very thankful for, as she turned out to be my advocate/translator to the DHL bureaucratic slaves who spoke "no English, Hindi only".

In that nine hours we were switched from room to room to warehouse to room to warehouse to office to room to warehouse. It was chaos. No one knew what the other was doing. The warehouse where I knew my possessions lay in captivity anxious for their owner, reminded me of that place from Indiana Jones where they ended up putting the Arc of the Covenant (never to be seen again... I might add).... except not nearly as organized. I swear to you that I saw a man drive a fork lift at least 30 mph right past me, narrowly avoiding impailing a co-worker while holding a giant box that read "Fragile" and "This side up^" upsid down as it peeled around the corner.

After a long time they finally brought out my box and opened it right in the middle of the warehouse. They didn't even look at anything, but I did and was pleased to see that my computer had survived the forklift ride from hell that I was sure I'm sure it had experienced. One of my only comforts while in that giant warehouse of emotion was texting april. I told her that the only way I could make since of all of this chaos, was that in my two year absence from India, a race of advanced primates had taken over India's biggest courier services and bureaucratic systems. to this she replied "Get your filthy hands off of me, you damned dirty apes!". That phrase stuck with me and became somewhat of a mantra for the rest of my hours in DHL.

My advocate translated to me that they might want as much as $100 dollars from me (which I didn't have) for "Duty fee" on my "duty free" package. This kind of pissed me off. I felt like they were robbing me with a fountain pin. She told me to refuse to pay whatever they asked.

After opening my box, they ignored me a matter of hours. It was so frustrating to be reunited with my things and be so close to the door, but still have to wait to be robbed. In this time I actually tried to steal the package three separate times. The first try I carried the whole open package right past the security guards and pretended like I had authority to do so... and I made it surprisingly far before being stopped by an armed guard. The second attempt was very similar but I didn't get nearly as far. The third attempt would have been successful if I had ran: I realized that everything in the package could fit inside the laptop bag, which was much more of a discrete container than a giant box (this box was way to big for the items it contained). I put everything in the bag and just waltzed out the door. I made it 10 feet past the guards before one of the workers started shouting for me to come back and the guards took my stuff again and put it in the box.

After refusing to pay the duty fee, they realized that the box was "duty free" and said I could go home. "Does this mean I can take the box?".... "No. We will send it to your address" was the translation I had from my advocate. I told her to tell the man that "I'm not going to let your irresponsible, incompetent, joke of a company touch my personal belongings anymore. I'm taking the package home". I'm not sure if all that was translated. He finally gave me permission, but he didn't say it with confidence or authority. I have a feeling I wasn't actually allowed to do it, but I made such a stink about it that I think he feared me a little. I then went back to the warehouse and made a fourth attempt and making off with my belongings; I was once again met by shouts "Stop! no! Down!" but I just kept walking with the box and shouting that I had permission. when someone touched my box, I muttered quite inaudibly "get your filthy hands off my box you dammed dirty apes!".... and that was apparently enough to get me out the door. it was 6:30pm when I left. (I should mention that I am in no way implying that Indian people are apelike.... I am just fairly convinced that DHL is run by primates)

I ended up walking a half mile with my package (the guy said i couldn't leave the box there for some reason) before I found a taxi. When I found one, it was a pre-paid taxi, and maybe the most honest and pleasant man I have met in Delhi. We picked up his wife from her work at the other side of the airport before he turned on the meter. He stopped at a gas station and told me he would be a while in the gas line and said I could go in and buy a drink if I wished. This convenient store was ironically called "In & Out". I didn't realized that in the 9 hours I was in DHL I had nothing to drink and nothing was offered to me. Without realizing it, I bought 2 liters of water and 5 liters of soft drinks and brought it up to the counter. In my head, it was a perfectly sensible thing to do, and I had every intention of drinking the 7 liters in the car. It wasn't until I brought them up to the counter and paid for them that I realized how ridiculous it was for me to buy that much. The man at the counter said "Are you going to drink all of these now? are these all for you?! hahaha!" and I laughed back and replied "Seven liters? are you kidding me? of course not!!"

by the time I made it home it was 8:00pm. I left had left that morning at 7:00 pm. Do the math. It took me 13 hours for me to get my package. the worst part was that it was one of my last precious days left with April that I had to waste on a company that was payed to deliver door to door. I don't take much comfort in the fact that there are much much greater injustices in Delhi.

8/6/10 Touching on our Agra trip. Playgerized

song being listened to --- "Make sure everyone has enough/and then we'll see the kingdom!" -- Psalters, dumpster divers

To maintain honesty and clairity, I should mention that this was not taken out of a journal entry, but an E-mail I sent alex. I may have changed a few things around, but it's basically copy and pasted.

Totally off subject... but today we went to Taj Mahal. To tell you the truth, there is nothing I'd rather do less in India than see big rich buildings which were created behind the plow-horses of War and Slavery. What really touched me today was the blue sky in agra. I havn't seen blue sky with white clouds since have been in delhi. All day I felt closer to God.

We went to this other place before Taj, and it was this palace built on a hill just outside of agra. as I rode in the auto I passed all this poverty and despair ... but as I kept riding furthur up this hill... it all started disapearing. Once inside the palace, there was a great view of the valley below, and what really struck me is that you couldn't tell that there was anything wrong in that valley. That really spoke to me... it's no wonder that Kings, Presidents, and the Pentagon officials are so far removed from their people, from the cruelty of war... the injustice of slavery. As long as a King stays in his palace, he dosen't have to see the consequences of his actions... he doesn't have to feel human pangs of guilt or sympathy. It's kind of the same reason it's so easy for us to buy clothes when we know they could be made in sweatshops.... or buy produce when we know that we could be fueling a tribal war. Idk.... I'm just rambling.... their is no real point to this chunk of writting =)

[Tonight as I was waiting for the train back to Delhi with April] I was feeling overwelmed again; partially because I havn't slept in 2 days... but also because the train stations are sites of the most depressing displays of poverty in India. There were kids all around, and an old lady begging... and there were just so many people. I had run out of money except for 40 rupees (less than a dollar) and I had no food in my bag.. and when I went to give someone my extra shirt, I realized i had left it at home.

Giving can be really tricky in India: if you give money to kids it's likely they will never see a penny of it (because they report back to their boss/slave driver). You also don't want to give if there are to many needy people around because you can be mobbed, which can leave you or the children in need injured or worse. but I was just fed up with it... the being helpless/powerless. I was gunna just buy this on little old lady a bag of peanuts and that was that!

Sure enough, (even though I did it as descretely as possible), I got surrounded by a fairly large group of beggars (actually it was only about 8.... I guess it seems like a large group with all their hands in your face) and they all wanted something. I was thinking "oh crap.. I can't even give them ANYTHING even if I wanted to". but I looked at the stand I was standing at... and I saw bags of chips for 5 ruppees each (a really good price... even for India).... and as you may have figured out, at 5 ruppees a bag, I could buy 8 bags for 40 rupees.... which was the exact ammount of money I had! It felt like the fishes and loves were multiplying before my eyes! but of course, after I gave them each a bag they didn't beleive me when I told them I literally had no money left to my name.... so they follwed me to my bench where april was. April didn't have anything to give them... and we told her not to because we were already making a scene, and it was sure to turn into a mobbing as soon as the other begging people got wind of us.... but one of the begging girls kept pointing at april's hair... at her bobby pins. April took like 10 out of her purse and distributed them among the children and they all giggled and ran off to put up their dirty hair out of their eyes and they had this look like they got the greatest thing in the world. I know we didn't do much, but it felt right. I felt peace about it. I know I can't solve the worlds problems, but I can do something.... anything that I can, you never know how much a simple thing like bobby pins or 40 rupees can be just what someone needs.

My lesson I learned was (very appropriately) a quote from Gandhi I've already heard a billion times, "Whatever you do may seem insignificant to you, but it is most important that you do it."

12ish? 7/28/10?

Song being listened to: "This land is your land"....a thought provoking song when listened to in India (more on that in my next post... probably... maybe not... I'll consider it)

Today was the day I finally moved out of the living room and into the largest room in Andi's apartment. This large room which was supposed to be my room from the star was covered in dust in a coat so think that it looked as if it had seen 20 years of Sahara sand storms since it's last cleaning (though it had actually been a couple of months). We have been trying to get the hostel's cleaning lady to do it since we got here 10 days ago ,but she never shows up.

April and I decided today on our day off would be the best time to take a crack at cleaning it ourselves. We made ourselves what I would like to call an "Indian mop": a squeegee with a cloth tided around it. With this tool of tomfoolery, we mopped for 3 hours producing bucket after bucket of soiled water dark enough to be mistaken for used motor oil.

After we cleaned I reluctantly moved my items into this room and arranged my bed. I say "reluctantly" not because the room was still dirty or uncomfortable, we did a thorough cleaning job and the room looked grand: I say reluctantly because it was so comfortable on the living room floor with my mat and books. It was almost the same exact arrangement as I had at home.

Months ago I decided to get rid of everything that I really didn't want or use in my room; which included most things that were cluttering it, including my bed. The two things that I kept dear to me were my mat and my books. I'd never felt so at home in my own room; now I feel at home wherever I can sleep on the floor and read a book.... which was the arrangement in Andi's living room (half of my bag I packed for India was filled with books.... a little over 20... almost 5 of which I've already read while I've been here and will send back with April along with any others I finish before she leaves).

But I am now sitting in my cot (as opposed to the floor) and feel at home in a different way. With so many unused cots and mats surrounding me, I feel nostalgic dejavu of my room I occupied with some friends at St. Stephens for 3 months: a room I named "Madeline" because it reminded me of that cartoon of the French girl in the catholic orphanage.... or something. I think I'm going to call this room "New Madeline"...... no. Scratch that. I think I'm going to call it.... "Matilda"