Posted on February 20, 2017 under Monday Morning Musings with 3 comments

Tearing a strip off a politician

“Sweet surrender, is all I have to give”

Sweet Surrender – Sarah McLachlan

It’s official. I’ve thrown in the towel. I have completely and utterly surrendered to India. It has been building up for months. We have butted heads. Every now and then, I think I’m getting the better of her but she is a force to be reckoned with. India controls me. She’s the boss.

In this space, I have written repeatedly about this great country and how it is vastly different from the country I call home. It is a country full of contradictions. While I can’t promise that I won’t speak on this subject again, I think it’s time to let go and talk about politics or cricket from now on. By the way, the sports pages in The Hindu is all cricket all of the time. Occasionally they mention Lebron James or Tiger Woods’ back spasms in tiny print on the back page, but the rest of the 4 pages is devoted to cricket. I sat down one evening and watched a small portion of a match while three Indians eagerly tried to explain the subtleties of the sport. I was none the wiser when I left.

But I won’t surrender until I tell you about a short road trip I took last week with two of the Sisters and my friends from Ireland who run the B@B. We were on a fact finding mission looking at some new technologies and small business opportunities for the Sisters to help fund their charitable works. On the drive up, we saw one of the largest land based windmill farms in the world. We looked at solar power as an electrical source for the convent and solar powered fish drying technology.

Because it was a two day jaunt, we stayed overnight in Madurai at a retreat centre operated by Catholic priests. It is a magnificent facility… world class really. This is in stark contrast to the poverty that we see on a regular basis and one of the things that some of us find troubling and perplexing. I decided to delicately broach the subject with one of the priests. The money for the retreat facility did not come from parishioners. Private foreign donors not only built the place but also subsidize the operation. Groups come from all over Asia and Europe to reflect and spend time in a peaceful environment. They pay to attend.

So, where does the money go? A few hundred yards away is a private Catholic boys’ school. But this is no ordinary private school. The students are poor… very poor, in fact. All of their educational costs are paid by the retreat house and the benefactors.The fathers of these children are quarry workers. You can see the quarry far off in the hills behind the retreat centre. These men spend 10-12 hours a day breaking rock with a hammer and chisel. They get paid about 100 rupees a day. That’s roughly $2.00 Canadian. The day we were there the temperature rose to 33. Father told me that this was one of the cooler times of the year. Think about this.

The moral of that little saga: don’t judge a book by its cover.

After a reasonable sleep, I got up at 5:00 to go for a walk. I have been managing to average about 12K a day since I came to India. I wandered down the hall to the front door of the building but it was locked. I checked out several other doors in different parts of the building with similar results. I was beginning to wonder if some cult had captured us. I waited patiently (!) until 6:00 when an attendant finally freed me from my imprisonment. I later discovered that there is a pack of 13 very large , very angry, very dangerous dogs that frequent the retreat house between the hours of 10:00 p.m. and 6:00 in the morning ( my guess is that they are not seeking spiritual guidance but rather human flesh ). Guests are locked in in order to keep body and soul together.

After my walk, I jumped into the shower and jumped right back out. Ice cold water. I know that hot water is a luxury in many parts of the country but I figured that the retreat facility would have lots. Oh well, no big deal as I am used to this.

As I was publishing a story that day, I decided to charge up both my laptop and iphone which were perilously low on power. A minute after I plugged them in, the power went out and stayed out all morning.

 After breakfast, we hung out waiting for two businessmen to show up to give us the specifications for the solar panels. We were originally supposed to meet at 9:00 a.m. so that we could get back on the road for home. They notified us the night before that they had to change this to 11:00 a.m. Well, 11:00 came and went. Ditto for 12:00. At 1:00 we decided to have lunch. Our group ( mostly me ! ) were getting very antsy. Around 2:00 we decided to hit the road. At that moment, one of the businessmen arrived on the scene, terribly apologetic. He and his partner ( travelling separately ) got caught in a protest in the city and traffic stopped dead for hours. It was far too late to start the meeting. My “patience meter” was running a bit thin.

We had to go under an overpass to get on to the divided highway. Cars were zipping along. It is common to see cows just about anywhere but until this moment, I had never seen one under an overpass. He was grazing on some posters. Just about every poster in India is about politics. I reckoned that this cow was chewing the arse off some politician.

It felt good to be out on the divided highway. We were cruising along nicely when up ahead we saw some cows on the road occupying the passing lane. Par for the course. There was a young man who seemed to be tending them. He had his bicycle parked cross ways on the dotted line. Cars were going by at 100 km. an hour. Just sayin’.

Moments later we encountered a bus sharing our side of the highway. Problem is he was going the wrong way on the divided highway. This too,  is as common as cows. After a while, none of this seems odd.

India. I am yours. You are the boss.

That evening, I sat with Ashwin watching Tamil children’s videos. When he fell asleep in my arms, all of the small irritants of the day vanished and reminded me what’s really important.

I was deeply saddened along with many others to hear of the passing of Stuart McLean. I had my 15 minutes of fame in 2002 when Stuart did a story about me. I also had supper with him one evening in Port Hawkesbury along with my niece, Audrey Hibbs. I am preparing a tribute to Stuart which will appear on my website in a few days time.

And , speaking of stories, I have one coming up tomorrow about electricity or, more accurately, the lack of it.  It’s called, “ At My Watts End.”

Have a great week.

P.S. In case you missed it, I posted this video a few days ago with an update on the water taps at the leprosy community. Check it out. https://youtu.be/IpauIlDlFXU

 

Posted on February 16, 2017 under Faces in the Crowd with no comments yet

 

“ I am not angry at God or anyone else for being afflicted with leprosy.”

Meet John Ponnya.

John was born in Tirunelveli, India and he and his three brothers and three sisters were brought up on a farm. As the eldest of the siblings, it fell to him to work on the farm. Going to school was not an option. His father was a rice farmer and things were not easy. He became an important part of the farm operation as he learned how to drive at an early age.

Around the time he was thirty, he started experiencing health problems and inexplicably lost a finger. After several trips to the doctor, it was discovered that John had contracted leprosy, a dreaded disease. He was immediately abandoned and asked to leave the house. He was devastated and felt like an outcast, a feeling that he carries with him to this day.

Leprosy is a contagious disease that affects the skin, mucous membranes, and nerves, causing discoloration and lumps on the skin and, in severe cases, disfigurement and deformities.

And so began a life of wandering, searching for a place to call home.  He moved to Kerala where he had no choice but to beg as those affected by leprosy were shunned, making employment all but impossible. His travels took him to Alappi, followed by Trivandrum and then Marthandam. Very often, he and others affected by leprosy ended up sleeping on railway platforms, catching the attention of local police. All the while, his leprosy progressed in severity making life all that more difficult.

It was in Nagercoil, where he shared a railway platform with many others, that a life changing event was about to unfold. One member of the group, a proclaimed leader of sorts, petitioned the government ( unsuccessfully ) for some kind of shelter for the group who simply could not find or afford a home. A local priest,  recognized their plight. He had a friend in the neighboring town of Kanyakumari. Her name was Sister Stella, a member of the Daughter’s of Mary at Stella Maris Convent, a Roman Catholic congregation committed to the plight of the poor and disadvantaged.

Sister Stella , the superior and Sister Archana Das were the driving forces behind this initiative.

The Sisters owned a parcel of land adjacent to their convent and offered the land as a place to start a small community for people with leprosy. Small thatched homes were constructed later with the hands of local youths and the Sisters themselves. These were replaced years later by concrete structures supplied by the government. John and his wife, Ayasha have lived there for the past twenty two years. They raised four children , two of whom  are deceased.

Ayasha operates a small convenience store which serves only the residents of the immediate community.

“ My dream is for the business to grow to a point where I don’t have to beg any more.”

Despite a life time of challenges, John is remarkably upbeat. He has a gleam in his eyes and laughs easily. His faith is unshakeable and he knows that some day his suffering will end and that the good Lord will be there to accept him when that time comes.

John did not choose leprosy. Leprosy chose John. He has done his best.

 

The leprosy community is badly in need of water taps. There are 60 homes and only 10 outdoor water taps to supply all the water required for cooking, cleaning and bathing. We are conducting a fundraising campaign to raise the money required to install 50 new taps. The taps are $100 each. To donate please go to:

Supporting The Daughters of Mary in India

Posted on February 13, 2017 under Monday Morning Musings with 3 comments

The Candidates at Sunset Point. Kanyakumari, India.

Confounding India.

The story that I posted on Saturday elicited a few interesting comments. A few people (?!) are seriously questioning my sanity. If you were too busy shovelling snow back home or removing sand from between your toes in Florida, take a minute and read, “ A Fine Grind,” an account of my first bus trip in India. As I have said countless times in my reporting, over the past 3.5 months, if you are a person who doesn’t like change or uncertainty, India is probably not the place for you. But if you are adaptable and have a very good sense of humour, you will manage very well over here and learn a lot about a fascinating country. You’ll also learn a lot about yourself.

Sitting outside the office at the B@B is like a meeting of the United Nations. We have the opportunity to chat with people from all over the globe. Many of them had travelled to India several times and find something new with every trip. And just about every one of them says the same thing. There are a few times when everyone of them ( myself included )  neared the breaking point. You have one of those days when there are transportation glitches, power outages and poor internet connections… and probably another fistful of irritants. You’re ready to get the next train out of town and head straight for the airport… if the train is on time and hasn’t been suddenly cancelled! You’re standing on a street corner of a busy city, helplessly lost and you get ten different sets of directions to where you’re supposed to be going. Your inner thermostat is nearly off the chart and you’re thinking, “ get me out of here.”

And then something magical happens.

This past Saturday was a busy day and it was filled with some of the aforementioned “irritants.” Sometimes they accumulate over a few days, or a few hours. I wasn’t particularly stressed. The common refrain among foreigners is , “ it’s just India.”

So, I’m sitting on the patio of the B@B and an auto rickshaw pulls up. With considerable difficulty, the driver assists a man out and on to the ground onto a small wooden platform that serves as his mode of getting around, as his legs are atrophied and many of his fingers are missing. I immediately recognize John, one of our neighbors from the leprosy community next door. Now, John has a reason to complain as he didn’t go looking for leprosy in his youth. It found him and changed the course of his life. He is not bitter. Far from it. You’ll read his story this coming Thursday. He has stopped by, not to complain about  the lack of water taps in the colony. He has come by for a few minutes to thank me for listening to his story ( when I did the interview ) and to tell me ( through a translator )  that he loved me. All this, with the biggest smile on his face. You feel a bit ashamed for complaining about poor internet.

I dusted off my BEd. last week and returned to the classroom to teach English as a second language to 14 young women who are in the early stages of preparing for a life of vocations. Prior to their arrival, I had been told that they knew no English and that I would really be starting from ground zero. And so, I planned accordingly and consulted with some ESL instructors who graciously gave me several lesson plans starting with the alphabet, days of the week and numbers.

Anyone who has taught elementary school , especially the kindergartens and grade ones, will totally understand what’s coming next. Eons ago, I remember substitute teaching for a classroom of grade ones, something I had never done before. I prepared a week of lesson plans. Before lunch time on the first day, the children had completed every single task , every handout, every picture to color and were looking for more… by noon… on the first day. I remember going to the staff room at lunch time with a slight look of panic on my face, wondering what in the hell I was going to do for the rest of the day, let alone the rest of the week!

My first clue that the information given to me about the girls’ English proficiency was inaccurate happened at 6:00 a.m. on Day 1. Mass. It was an English mass and they were easily able to read every word of the liturgy. I had a flashback to the grade one class. I thought to myself, “ maybe they just memorized this at the convent and really didn’t understand a word that they were parroting.”  Wrong.

I had an interpreter with me when class began at 10:00 that morning. I started by introducing myself, giving some family and work background. I paused to let the translator explain. She looked at me and said, “They understand every word you’re saying.” I turned on the air conditioning to hide the perspiration forming on my brow. The week of lesson plans sitting on my computer’s desktop waiting to go up on the big screen, were completely useless. As fervently religious as the young charges in front of me appeared to be,  no one prayed harder for divine intervention at that point in time than me.

I dusted off another old skill: stick handling ( from my Junior Bulldogs days ). I stick handled my way through the rest of the day and then spent the evening ( and a restless sleep ) trying to develop a curriculum for “Intermediate ESL students.”

It’s just India!

Have a great week.