The Last Days.

Nat on the playground with Shanthi's kids.

Waiting for the Chennai Experess in the Bangalore Station.

Eating apples on the train.

A restuarant with free napkins! This means toilet paper for us!

Coconut milk... not as good as it looks.

Getting elephant blessings... obviously an enlightening experience.

With the temple elephant.

Nat buying jasmine for her hair.

Nat and I are back in Bellingham, safe, clean, happy, and unbelievably jet-lagged. We had a good train trip over to Chennai, and a great last day in Pondicherry with Tami. Walked through the Sri Aurobindo ashram barefoot, got blessed by an elephant, drank milk from coconuts, strolled along the beach, bought fresh jasmine, listened to all the tourists speaking beautiful French, visited a Hindu temple of the monkey god Hanuman, bought saris, got henna on our hands, and drank unbelievably strong coffee that kept us awake till 3am the next morning. The flight home was long but smooth and 2 very relieved parents were awaiting us at baggage claim 2 in the chilly SeaTac airport.

Being home feels extremely quiet and very clean, which says a lot about India considering the normal state of the Day house. We are thoroughly enjoying every non-spicy meal, clean blanket, hot shower, and uninterrupted phone conversation, and simultaneously missing the sunshine, mango lassi, and constant hugs from little brown arms.

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.