Anytime's a Great Time to Pick Your Nose in India!

I think I read somewhere before coming here that Indians are often a bit less bashful than Westerners when it comes to bodily functions.

This is a massive understatement.

For whatever reason, the people here - men, women, and children alike - feel absolutely no shame belching, scratching, horking, and nose-picking in front of the rest of the world.

Case in point: While sitting in on some patient examinations at ACCEPT last week, the doctor (please note: the DOCTOR) stopped mid-sentence, horked loudly, got up, walked to the sink, spat out an enormous amount of what I can only assume was phlegm, cleared her throat, walked back to her seat, and continued the conversation with the patient.

Immediately after this, the nurse in the next room - a very cute, petite, young gal - let out one of the loudest and longest belches I have ever heard in my entire life.

This is in a HOSPITAL, so you can only imagine what it's like outside. On my way down from Pune on the train, I observed this guy digging so deep for something in his nose I thought he might injure himself. He - of course - maintained eye contact with me during the entire 5-minute ordeal.

For clarification's sake, this post is not written out of criticism but admiration, more than anything. Why our culture has made such a big deal out of publicly dealing with basic bodily functions is beyond me. We could simplify things so much by just getting things done whenever and wherever.

On a completely random note, the other day I met a guy whose name was Sayedmahaboob. The end.

Currently fighting sleep to go pick up Nat from the airport at 11pm. We have one day left in Bangalore, then spend Tuesday on the Chennai Express for our last 3 days in Madras...

Accept.

I've spent most of this week at ACCEPT, an AIDS treatment facility for low or no-income families and individuals here in Bangalore. It has been amazing. It's a relief to know there are not just functioning but warm, open-armed places like this available to the people here, after spending the last month seeing so much need.

In the mornings I was able to shadow the amazing doctor as she met with patients (no privacy protection here!). Among a huge variety of people..

A gorgeous young HIV+ mother currently living at ACCEPT, getting treatment and waiting to find out if her 9-month old daughter is positive or negative. (This can only be determined after 18 months.) They were concerned about a rash on the baby's stomach, until the mother explained it is actually scarring from a ritual in her village, where they 'brand' newborn babies with burning corn husks..

A middle-aged couple, the husband being HIV+ and the wife negative. The husband is too sick to work, and the wife has a job rolling incense sticks, getting paid 15 rupees (30 cents) for every 1,000 she makes..

A transgendered woman suffering not just from AIDS but also Hep B, liver failure, and major water retention. One of her transgendered friends committed suicide last week after discovering she was HIV+..

On a lighter note, there was a man in the later stages of AIDS who was sent to the hospital yesterday for a chest scan to see if he had TB. The hospital staff got his forms mixed up and gave him an ultrasound by accident. He was describing how he was very confused when they started squirting cold gel on his stomach, but thought maybe it was some new, different sort of scan... the doctor had quite a laugh.

After patient visits, there's time for sitting in the wards, helping in the kitchen, or walking around with some of the less mobile.

At 2pm, the kids in ACCEPT's Children Home (nearly all 17 of them total orphans and HIV+) get back from school and we do homework, play games like "Where's the Penny?" (or rupee, in this case), "What Time Is It, Mr. Fox?" (simplified to "TIME!!" for the sake of limited English skills), eat bananas, drink chai, and talk about Spiderman, Batman, and Superman.



On the Jungle Gym.

Boys in the Cupboard.

With Rani in the Women's Ward.

The Lovely Ankita.

Raul & Mani on the Swings.

This is a precious tough little guy named Ramesh. He was found wandering the streets last week and is supposedly 3 years old, though his body is about the size of a 1-year old, thanks to severe malnutrition. He was taken to the hospital today with a 104 fever and is battling a major ear infection.

Sweet Smile.

An Actual Phone Conversation I Had With a Rickshaw Driver Yesterday.

Me: Hello! I'm calling to see if you can pick me up from the house, or if I should walk to the gate?

Rickshaw Driver: Yes, Madam!

Me: 'Yes' you're coming to the house? Or 'yes' I should walk to the gate?

RD: It's okay, Madam!

Me: No, no, I'm asking a QUESTION. Do you want me to walk to the GATE, or will you drive to the HOUSE?

RD: Alright, Madam, no problem!

Me: Umm, GATE, or HOUSE?????

RD: Okay, Madam!


I remember taking a class at uni called Cross Cultural Communication, and not once do I remember any lectures on what to do in this situation.

Some Shots of Time in Pune.

Colgate Toothpowder: Super Rakshak!

The girls making chapati on the kitchen floor.

Me and Shradha, who is deaf and HIV+. This girl is my Linda of India. You can visibly see how the disease has sucked life out of her personality, energy, appetite, everything. But she is still so sweet with the other kids. My favourite thing was watching her share her food with them, and seeing how they all looked out for her and used their own made-up sign language to communicate with her.

Payal & Ankita, on the trampoline at sunset.

Kalpesh, my birthday buddy. June 22nd, baby!

Shradha & Ankita finishing their rice and curry.

HIGHLY INFLAMMABLE.

(a sign I saw today, posted on the back of a petrol truck.)

Still alive and finally healthy India!

Last Thursday, we all parted ways in Goa -- Matilda to Mumbai to head back to Oz, Nat to the hippy town of Hampi, and yours truly to Pune. This involved a rickshaw to point A, a 12-hour bus ride to point B, and a taxi trip out to Santvana Children's Home, in the slums of Pune. Thanks to the rickshaw and taxi never showing up, I enjoyed lots of quality bonding time with my 30 lb backpack.. walking 3 kms to get a rickshaw, and roaming the streets of downtown Pune at 5am trying to find a cab. Good times!

Long story short, I got to Santvana to discover something much different than expected; 27 very precious kids that I got to spend lots of great cuddle time with, but an extremely aloof 'doctor' who made it very clear I wasn't needed or welcome. Two nights sleeping in a storage closet and being blatantly ignored by all the adults and I decided it was time to leave.

Which brings us to a fun little thing called, 'Being Waitlisted on a Train in India'. By booking your ticket only 3 days in advance, particularly on sleeper trains, they will give you a ticket and allow you on the train, but you have no coach, bunk, or seat assignment. You could end up sleeping on your bags next to the bathroom, in the hallway, between a family of 20, or hanging halfway out the door of the train. Ultimately, you're at the mercy of your fellow passengers who have actual seat numbers on their tickets.

Enter Biju. I get on the train and find a well-dressed guy to ask about my waiting list status. It sounds incredibly prejudiced but I've found that usually the better dressed someone is, the more educated/helpful/fluent in English they are. This guy tells me just to look for open seats (the train is already overflowing) or wait for the conductor (who usually does a ticket check sometime in the first 5 hours of the trip). As I walk away eyeing a tempting spot on the floor outside the latrine, he calls me back and tells me to take his bunk for now. WHAT? Is it possible I just found the one nice, friendly, polite, non-sleazy male in India?! And on a 20-hour train ride to Bangalore?! Such luck! God absolutely organized that one. Biju was a total gentleman and 3 hours into the trip we were sharing his bunk, eating spicy bajas with curry, and talking about life goals and his girlfriend whom he is still madly in love with after 3 years together. She works at a bank in Mumbai while he has a software job in Bangalore, and this weekend he spent 42 hours on a train just to spend 4 HOURS with his girl. Awesome.

If someone were only in India for one day and wanted a true taste of the country, I would tell them to spend it on a train. It's like one huge family reunion with grandmas cuddled up snoring in their saris, babies bouncing on the seats, kids running up to shake your hands, men belching and horking loogies out the window, and all the mamas laughing loudly into the wee hours. Add bizarre smells coming through the windows and bathroom vents, and the sounds of at least 5 different languages being spoken, while men bump down the aisles with huge trays of food and pots of liquid yelling "chai chai chai! soup soup soup! bajas bajas bajas!'"

Sleeping was easier than expected such crunched quarters, until an old woman started running through the train wailing loudly at 4am. Biju didn't speak her language but found out from someone who did that her husband had gotten off at one of the stops while she was sleeping. What?!

I got into Bangalore at 11am this morning and am back in the lovely home of Shanthi and family. We visited ACCEPT today (www.acceptindia.org) where I'm hoping to volunteer the rest of this week. Amazing place.

Pictures of Pune on the way!
Love to you all.

2 Heartwarming Tales about India.

Tale 1.

Matilda woke up at 5am yesterday morning with an excruciating earache. We waited until it got light out to look for help, but discovered the hospital didn't open until 9am, and the doc doesn't usually grace patients with his presence until 10am. Somehow, someone got us an early appointment at a local doctor's house, and M and I hopped in a rickshaw to his place. The rickshaw driver knocked on his door for 5 minutes before his wife yelled down that he was coming. 5 more minutes later, a large old Indian man came out, with a stained white shirt on and a towel around his waist. He sat Matilda down in his stuffy waiting room, asked her what the problem was, and took a large red industrial flashlight and shone it into her ear, making grunting noises. He put it back on the table, it fell off, he watched it roll under the table, sighed, and wrote Matilda a perscription for 3 medications. When I asked him if she could possibly take the same antibiotics I'm on, he glanced at the bottle and said "No no, dat stuff is not fo head infection, it fo intestine worms." I thought about saying "Well then, apparently my Dad's 8 years in vet school make him a big idiot compared to you.." or "Funny that they seem to be working for me.." but decided he was in a bad enough mood already. Perhaps because his left thumb appeared to be simultaneously scabbing, peeling, and trying to fall off all at the same time, which I noticed as he awkwardly scribbled out the perscription. He charged Matilda 100 rupees ($2 us) for the 2-minute visit and told us to pick up the meds at the chemist's down the road.

Moral of this story: Never take for granted a doctor with an actual otoscope.


Tale 2.
While M took her drugs and tried to sleep off the infection, Nat and I went to read on the beach. 5 minutes later, I watch as 2 Indian men -- one in his swimsuit (we'll call him Sleazebag 1), the other in regular clothes, holding a camera phone (aka SB 2) -- walk casually down the beach. A European girl in a bikini strolls towards the water and SB 1 stands just in front of her, posing for SB 2. At the last minute, SB 1 moves to one side and SB 2 cops a very obvious shot of European girl in bikini. They continue their nonchalant walk down the beach, where they meet up with a few other camera-phone-armed men and compare pictures. Over the next 2 hours, we watched as countless men -- big groups of young ones, two or three old ones together, in business suits and boxers and casual clothes -- all armed with camera phones, roamed the beaches looking for the next cheap shot. Some walked right next to chairs of sunbathers, pretending to chat on the phone while taking multiple pictures. I was wearing a high cut tank top and a long skirt and STILL got circled by the vultures. Nat and I glared at them till our eyes got tired, to no avail. We quickly discovered that the sand may be white and the sea may be warm, but as long as their are shoulder and knees bared, Indian men make the beach a sleaze-fest. And we were not so sad that Nat forgot her swimsuit at home.

Moral of this story: Suddenly burkas seem a lot more appealing. Apparently the only known way to get an Indian male to stop gaping at you is to dress like a colourless, shapeless blob.

Here and There.

Beautiful Beach Children.

Pink Nail Polish!

Sidewalk drawings for India Republic Day.

Comparing mozzie bites in the Bangalore Airport.

Hello, Arabian Sea.

Getting cuddles & lice from PL kids.

Hindu Temple.. one of hundreds in Salem.

My favourite.

Sun.

Boys.

Bobbleheads & Sweet Jesus.

I've just been kindly informed by the internet cafe owner that uploading pictures is not allowed here. Which is good, because even if I'd tried, all the USB ports on this particular computer are bashed in.. what?!

Time for some bits of Indian randomness we've noticed. For instance, 3 roadside shops called, respectively, Kidney Stone Centre, Hoome Appliances, and Handwriting Improvement Centre. It may be a 3rd world country but you can't say India doesn't have selection.

All the vehicles here have SOUND HORN written on the bumper, because this is how everyone communicates while driving (which is always done completely recklessly). Whenever you're approaching or passing a car, you honk at least 10 times so they know where you are. Meaning big city traffic jams can be defeaning. There are also the cliche religious or friendly slogans on the back windows of cars -- two I found particularly amusing were Sweet JESUS and Gracious CHRIST, which I can just hear someone yelling to themselves in the middle of traffic. I even saw a How am I driving? sticker here, which is so completely pointless and hilarious.

In Chennai, we saw a girl, in a sari, on a motorcycle, in afternoon traffic, wearing a welding mask.

One of the oddest things here is that people don't nod or shake their heads -- they bobble them, from side to side. It might mean yes, or maybe no.. you'll only really know if they answer you verbally. You can walk up to someone and start speaking, and before even 3 words are out, you'll see their head start bobbling. It's so bizarre, and gets old quite fast.

In Goa we are enjoying the semi-civilized treatment from men, but are trying to get used to walking down the road without stepping on some stray dog or a huge crow that's been hit by a car and has its eyes eaten out by flies. On the way to brekkie we passed a 2-year old girl sitting in the sand, ripping the head off a small fish so she could eat it.

During brekkie, I witnessed a Mum slapping her baby to make it cry before she went to beg from fat, red sunbathers on the beach. A crying baby gets more money than a happy one, and ones with obvious wounds or missing limbs get even more. Sometimes it's really difficult to see the 'good' side of India; it feels like humanity at its worst. On the flip side, it's also the sad effects of tourism that are so rampant in any poor country.

I guess I will be posting pictures tomorrow, from a different cafe.

India + Sinusitus = The Trip of a Lifetime.

I'm pretty sure travel magazines make lists of the worst places in the world to get sick, and I'm pretty sure India is 100% slam bam #1 on that list. But we just HAD to verify that for ourselves. I'm also pretty sure that when people hear you're sick in India, they insantly think "food poisoning". Ooooh no. No no, that would be too simple, too quick, too low-maitenance. Let's have a plateful of the worst throat/head/sinus infection you've ever had in your LIFE. It began Monday and the haze is just now beginning to clear, thanks to antibiotics. There really is nothing comparable to feeling like death warmed over when it's 90 degrees outside, you're being eaten up by mosquitos, you've run out of bottled water, and Sudafed has ceased to have any affect on you whatsoever. Nat remains unscathed while Matilda battles through the thick of it.

According to my extremely hazy memory, we left the orphanage Wednesday, after meeting the lovely group of British boys volunteering there and watching a fireworks show with the kids for India's Republic Day. We took the train to Bangalore (aka, all 3 of us sat on one seat with 3 Indian men opposite us, boring holes into our brains with their zombie eyes), stayed the night with our friend Shanthi, and took a flight to Goa the next morning. Considering tickets were $31 US, we couldn't complain, but during the descent my sinuses felt like I was getting knives through my eye sockets..

Whining aside, Goa is a pretty ideal place to be sick. The Arabian Sea is shockingly clean in comparison to the rest of India, and the amount of Westerners here helps us feel a bit more at home. Yesterday we stayed at a place populated strictly by pudgy, elderly British couples in their 70's , most of whom live here for the winter. Today, Nat and I scoured 7km of beach and found us a cleaner place closer to the water and a slightly younger, more diverse population.

Hope to get some pictures up tomorrow.

Did I mention Goa is the malaria capital of India?

Observations.

The Kids.
Every single one calls you Aunty and wants to hold your hand. They'll ask what your name is, tell you theirs, then come back 5 minutes later after you've met 4938 other kids and ask you if you remember their name (which is something simple like Gotanimaderpradeshia). In Africa, I went by Andy a lot because it was easier for the kids to pronounce. They all think it is very funny here that my name is basically the same as Aunty. Common questions include, what is your fathers name, what is your village name (America usually suffices), how old are you, why aren't you married yet, and is Natalie really your sister?

The Women.
Always stunningly gorgeous, draped in bright colours with gold bangles and nose rings and earrings and hair pieces. Always composed, even wrapped in 3 yards of sari fabric, in 90-degree weather, walking barefoot, with 20 pounds of corn balanced on their head, 3 kids running in circles around them, horns sounding everywhere, and motorcycles flying past at 65mph. We are put to shame every time we walk outside.

The Men.
Excell at shameless nose-picking, staring, belching, staring, horking, staring, and having a hand down their pants at any given moment. And staring. I have endured it in a few countries now, but the Indian degree of staring is beyond anything I've ever experienced. You walk by a crowd of 5 grown men and they immediately stop talking, turn around, and just GAPE at you until you are out of sight. You actually start wondering if you forgot to put a shirt on that morning, or if there's a huge hole in your pants. I was so baffled by it yesterday I yelled "HELLOOOOO?" to a group of them and they all started giggling like schoolgirls. It's ridiculous. Wearing a chudidar seems to help a bit, but they still act just as stunned about your choice to actually WALK down the STREET... oh, the scandal.

The overall feel from people here is different than warm South American cultures, or even Africa where they so willingly assume you are superior to them because of skin colour. Here, everyone would still prefer to be white, but they are not as adoring of Western culture, and will not hesitate to give you dirty looks if your knee is showing.

Salem... Not the One in Oregon.

குட் மோர்னிங் ... apparently 'good morning' in Tamil, which we recently discovered has over 250 letters in its alphabet. It's proving slightly more difficult to learn then Spanish, French, or Swahili.

On Wednesday we found Matilda's white face in a sea of dark ones at Chennai's central station; SO good to be around her again. Thursday we took the train 5 hours southwest to ICMC in Salem. We're staying in a huge 6-story cement building with amazing views, smells, and sounds from every direction. ICMC, run by former orphan Dr. Jay, cares for over 1500 orphans; 200 of them live across the street in 2 girls and boys hostels, and the remaining are an hour away at "Promised Land" in the foothills of the Yercaud mountains. We went out last night for a visit and were greeted by 1300 kids, all lined up in the courtyard, sitting cross-legged, clapping for us. It was insane.

Here at the base in town, we are mostly on our own so we've been walking around town getting stared at, playing games with the kids nearby, and visiting the elementary school.

Some pictures to save me a couple thousand words..

Matilda buying bananas.

Note the ravanous monkeys overhead.

Meat on the street.

After studying this for 5 minutes,

we still have no idea what it is. Dog..?

For Isaac and Leah: the local ice cream shop.

Their motto is "Each is one type ya!"

Anyone want a local STD?? (phone shop)

The drains running down each side of the street.

Who knows what horrific bacteria lurks in these murky waters..

For Maren: the enormous base dog, Brownie.

The boys hostel across the street.

Matilda, Nat, and some of the Promised Land kids.

The PL kitchen, where they cook for 1,300 kids..

The rice fields at PL during sunset.

Madras/Chennai.

Some pictures of our 3 days in Chennai:










High-rises next to ruins.










I think this shot speaks for itself..










Nat & I on the Indian Ocean.
A month ago I was on the other side of it..

Yes, the sun in India really is orange.


Anyone for some prowns? Maybe a bread omlet?

Children's masks at the beach.

Near our hotel.

From a rooftop.

Here Goes Nothing!

Those are my general feelings after being told numerous times how inexplicably crowded and dirty India is, and how we will inevitably spend the majority of our visit suffering the effects of severe food poisoning from one bodily orifice or the other.

That said, Natalie and I are still somehow quite enthusiastic about leaving. Having been home from Africa for 3 weeks, I'm ready to get back into a simpler, dustier, warmer culture again. Also, spending a mere 24 hours on Air France planes to get to the other side of the world feels like a small price to pay after nearly 40 hours trying to return from Kenya.

We fly into Chennai, where we meet up with my dear Aussie/Finnish friend Matilda, and hope to travel on to Salem, Bangalore, Goa, Pune, Hyderabad, and Pondicherry within the month.

We have at least one contact and a potential volunteer opportunity in each city.

More from the other side of the world!