more stories

The Post Office
Ah yes, the post office. That wonderful bureaucratic establishment that is supposed to help us stay connected to our loved ones and friends. Let me tell you about our little post office here in Bidhannager. It is a branch office, so it is small although doesn't seem to be understaffed.
The first time I went to the PO, which is within easy walking distance of my flat, I merely wanted to mail some thank-you notes. That posed only a small problem, particularly with the cost of the stamps. The stamp man sold me the stamps, I applied them to the notes and dropped them in the box outside the office. A couple of days later, a staff person from the Center brings me one of the notes and tells me there isn't enough postage on it. Another trip to the PO fixed that problem, and I hope you received your note.
The next time I visited the PO, I wanted to mail a package. UH OH, a package! That's a little more complicated. First, I had to go behind the wire cage where the business of posting takes place. I sat awhile, and then the man who had sold me the stamps on the previous visit, tried to tell me the package wasn't ready to be mailed. There was a loose piece of tape dangling from one end, but I intended to buy packaging tape and fix that. That wasn't the problem. "No tape." he tells me. I must tell you that I had already asked at the Center about mailing a parcel and knew something had to be done, but no one seemed able to tell me exactly what. After a time, the PO man took me to the bank, yes the bank, and he handed my parcel to a man there who looked at it wonderingly. Finally he weighed it and told me the cost. I paid him, and then we went back to the regular PO. I kept fretting about the loose tape, so the man took some glue and glued the loose end down. "This package isn't going anywhere," I'm thinking. The man dropped the parcel in a bin and assured me in so much body language that it was okay. So I left. Actually, the parcel arrived and in time for the birthdays it was meant for.
Now I have Christmas parcels to mail. I know I must do something, but I still don't know what.
I ask my friend, Ms. K. what time the PO closes since everything closes at 2:00, but I'm hoping the PO is different. She only answers by giving me numbers: 2, 4 hours, 6 hours. I have no idea what she's talking about. I decide to take a chance since this is Friday and time is swiftly fleeing.
I load up the packages on the back of my bike and set off walking my bike to the PO. I get there just a little after two and notice that it is open. Oh good! I unload the boxes and walk into the PO not even stopping at the window but go right around to the business area and plop my parcels onto the desk. My "friend" is there and another postal worker who looks at me and my parcels in a funny way. "I want to mail these parcels." "You can't," he says. "Why not?" I ask. "Because they are not wrapped properly." "How should they be wrapped?" "In cloth." I sort of knew this.
"Where do I get the cloth?" No answer. I volunteer some shops, but still no answer. Finally he says the bedding shop. Then he says, "You must have someone make the bag, and you must buy the seal." I notice from a package sitting nearby, properly wrapped, that there is some brown gunky stuff stuck here and there on the parcel. "Where do I get that and what do I ask for?" No help. Am I getting a little frustrated at this point? You'd better believe it. Then he says, even if I had the parcels wrapped, I couldn't mail them because we are closed. I said, "Your doors open." "We're open for internal business only. Come back tomorrow between 10 and 2 and you can mail your packages."
I lug the packages back out to my bike, load them up and walk home. I carry the things up three flights of stairs and shove them into my house and head to the Center.
I vent my frustration on the bishop who chuckles a bit and says, "Lynn, let us mail your parcels for you. Do not use the PO here. We will take them to Calcutta where everything you need is at the PO. A man sits outside the PO with the cloth, sews the bags, seals the bags, and addresses them. Then we take the parcels into the PO and they are mailed." I ventured to tell him I had tried once before to get them to mail a package, but wasn't heard, probably just as well.
So on Monday my packages went to Calcutta. They won't arrive on time, but maybe in time for my family to get them when they congregate after Christmas Day.

The Gardening Project
Our beans came in but in small numbers, so I had to figure out how to distribut them to the children. There was no way really unless each family got one bean, so I decided to do Stone Soup thing in the village closest to the Center.
First I went to the market to get some chicken bones which is what the villagers use to jazz up their rice and dal. I asked the shopkeeper for some bones, and he said "Prawns, yes prawns" and whips out a small package of frozen shrimp. I point to my bones and say "Not prawns, bones." I hold up my skin, and say "skin." "Oh, skinless," and he goes to the freezer to get a package of skinless chicken. I give up and say "wings." Okay, now he know and he gets me a package of wings.
Off I go to the village with the wings and a little bag of beans. This is my first time to go the village by myself and I'm excited about it. When I arrive, the children run out and greet me. I tell them what I want to do. First we need a big pot, a dekshee. Someone runs to get a pot which is actually a water jug. Now we need a place to work. I keep trying to set things on an outdoor platform with cooking utensils on it. "No miss, no, not there." "Where, then?" "Here, here."
There is a larger platform nearby so I set the chicken on it and the beans and the pot. "Now we need a potato. Does anyone have a potato?" Eyes light up and one child says, "I do." He runs to get the potato. We end up with two potatoes, two onions, some rice and some dal. The kids get busy and wash the chicken, peel the potatoes, snap and string the beans, and chop the onion.
"MMMm, where will we cook this soup?" A moment of silence comes and then a little boy says, "Come to my house." We head for his house. I must tell you that we have a gathering of other children and the parents who have not found work this day, all watching and giggling. The door is very low and I have to duck to go inside. Inside it is dark, but the stove is there on the ground. Are you thinking gas? It's more like an outdoor camp stove except there is no wire rack to set the pot on. The kids build the fire and smoke is pouring out of the house, and their eyes are watering, but we are having fun. We cook the chicken, then veggies, then the rice and dal. I have to leave, but did sample a bit of the rice, pretty good.
In the afternoon, the children come running to the Center telling me that the soup was very good.
I hope before too long, we'll have more beans and another pot of stone soup at the other villages.
Pics of this event will follow later. The bishop wants his computer.
Shanti
Lynn

just stories

Well, it's Christmas here in Durgapur; I don't know what happened to Advent. I want to share a few stories with you, some Christmassy, some not.
Story 1
Awhile back, one of our kids was missing a lot of school. We learned that he was sick, so I suggested to Ms.Kobiraj (my friend that we go to the village and visit him. She was a bit reluctant, said it was getting dark. I thought that strange since this woman treks about at night all the time and without a torch. She agreed and we started out after school which was about 6:00 PM. We were on the shoulder of the highway and very close to the village entrance when I noticed in the distance an elephant. AN ELEPHANT! I trotted on ahead in a modified jog leaving Ms K. in the dust in the hopes of getting close enough to snap a few photos. Seeing an elephant ambling down the highway was exciting for the villages as well, and they had congregated along the shoulder, laughing, squealing and pointing. The handlers of the elephant saw me and turned the big guy around. "Mmmm, a chance to make some money here." They let me take photos, of course with them in the picture, and then they wanted some rupees, lots of rupees. "Where is Ms. K.", I'm wondering. She soon joins the crowd of giggling children and adults and when she learns what is happening, she lights into the handlers telling them if I gave them money for their idol, the elephant, for this was at the tail end of a Hindu Puja and the elephant is revered greatly during this time, I would be in big trouble with my God. That seemed to work, and we turned into the village to complete our mission. The elephant turned in as well, and at first I thought they were going to try once more to squeeze some money out of me. Fortunately, they were just looking for a place to stay the night.

Story 2
O Little Town of Durgapur
On Saturday, the children had their Christmas Program here at the center. For s couple of weeks, we have been getting ready for this program. The dancers have been dancing, the dramatists have been rehearsing, and I have been making angels with some of the kids and angel wings. It's been very busy.
Finally the big day arrives and I'm curious as to how all this will work out. The children arrive at the center about 3:00 in the afternoon and we start getting them ready. The angels are dressed, their star headbands are in place and their wings are attached. The kings are robed in sarees (sarees make great kings' robes), the shepherds are dressed, and the dancers are in their dancing skirts. This looks pretty good, I'm thinking.
Christians here in India know all about the Hindu Festivals and Hindus know all about Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Gabriel and the rest of the cast. These kids are Hindu. I'm thinking how authentic these characters look with their dark skin and brightly colored costumes.
It's time for the pageant to start. It's all done in Bengali. There is a narrator and the cast acts out the script. These kids are great. Gabriel announces, the angels dance, Mary and Joseph take their place on the stage, the shepherds come, the kings come and before long, all are rejoicing at the news of the birth of Jesus. All but Mary and Joseph break out and dance. It is quite an amazing scene. In my memory, I don't remember a Nativity Story quite like this one. I must tell you about our Jesus. Our Jesus was a teenage doll with blond hair in a purple evening dress with a purple veil. Can you beat that? Fortunately, no one got to see her as she was nestled in some straw in a pretty ratty manger/box.
We also had a Santa Claus, who remains a mystery to me. He was great, very funny, and delighted the children with his antics. He was a dancing Santa. Indians love to dance, as you may have gathered.

The children are arriving, and I'm not finished, but will post these two stories anyway.
Peace to you this Christmas season and peace to the people in the Middle East where Bethlehem is walled in and not such a joyous place to be. I am putting a piece of barbed wire around my little Creche to remind me of the suffering of the people in that holy place.

tid-bits and other silliness

The Bike
As most of you know, I bought a bicycle to make getting around easier. It's been a mixed blessing of sorts.
When I was young, I spent hours riding my bike and performing great circus acts on my two-wheeler. My poor mom had to stand in the yard and applaud as I rode back and forth in the street doing things like riding without hands, without hands and feet, and so on. Now that I am no longer young, I am still riding a bike, and I am lucky to stay on the thing. I have a bike in Blowing Rock, but riding here is a bit different. Here, the bike is in the mix of every other kind of transport and it is quite tricky getting down the lane without hitting anything or anybody (walkers, dogs, and cows). But with practice, some old tricks are coming back into my memory bank. I can now get on and off without looking too klutzy. My feet do not touch the ground, only the very tip of my toes, so I had to relearn how to get on scooter style and stop the same way. I can now hug the shoulder while motorcyles and cars zip by me. I can avoid potholes and sometimes speed bumps, and more importantly, I can weave in and out of cow dung. I can ride my bike to the market and haul stuff home on the back. Bikes here come with a flat rack on the back just for such things. Sometimes, my loads are not balanced and that presents a big problem which I usually have to stop and correct or else, wipe out. My bike also came with a bell. Now this bell, which I have used maybe twice, sounds more like the ice-cream truck's bell so no one is particularly afraid of it. Riding my bike in Durgapur is one of my greatest accomplishments and it's carbon neutral!
The Cow
One morning when I was on my way to the gate of my building, there was an ox standing there blocking my way. What to do? Well, I wished it good morning, patted it on the head, slowly opened the gate and slipped past her. She never moved or even said Mooo.
Dogs of Durgapur
The dogs of Durgapur and probably all of India look the same. They are lean, not so mean except with each other, and have a personality. They are short-haired with pointed ears. They walk with a confident spring to their step, nothing like our domesticated poochies. They act as if they could take over anytime they wanted to.
These dogs carry the scars of street animals. A lot of them get by on three legs and most all of them have patches of fur missing. Some of them have been in so many night fights, they have a twitch in their head, even when they are asleep.
They hang out where ever there are people. At the school, when the last bell rings and the kids dash out, the dogs dash in and begin prowling the halls and classrooms looking for any crumb or morsel left from snack time. They don't bark at pedestrians, cows, or bike riders, but one night when I was walking home from the center, I was carrying a flashlight, and of course, the light was moving along with my gait which aroused the dogs at the corner tea shack. They rushed out at me, barking and howling. I guess they thought I was the moon. Some men at the shack shooed them away and I quickly doused my light. I think I learned a good lesson there.
The Clever Little Girl
The first time I went to the City Center to buy household things, a little girl accosted me and tried to sell me some incense, which I later bought. I met this little girl again when I was by myself at The Big Bazaar. She greeted me like a long lost friend, helped to the excess baggage check in counter, waited in line with me until the store opened and escorted me straight to the children's clothing department. Okay, so I bought her some jeans and a shirt. She seemed thrilled, and so I was hoping these were not going to end up on the black market somewhere. I also gave her my free gift for spending so much money, ice cream bowls. She was delighted.
I met her again this past Sunday. This time I was with my friend Lorraine when my little friend pops up inside The Big Bazaar. We were already in the check out line so no new clothes today, but some wash cloths. She claimed she wore the new clothes. She also said she attended school. I doubt both, but I like this kid and I'm sure I'll be seeing her again.
Hope these stories give you a little more of a glimpse into life in India.
The pics are of a couple of children who attend the school at the center.

Ma Durga and her kids come to town

Namoshkar!
This is a story about a festival, a Puja in Bengali, that is huge. Weeks before the day arrives men are constructing structures using long bamboo poles and rope. These structures, Pandals, are going up in all the neighborhoods in whatever open field is available. I watch these events take place and listen to the talk surrounding Ma Durga's arrival. There are sales at The Big Bazaar, people are shopping for new clothes and toys and food. There is a great deal of excitement. School is back in session for one week after the exam break, but it might as well be closed because no learning is going on. Everyone is waiting for the Puja to start.
Ma Durga is the goddess of power and strength. She was created to slay the evil demon, which she does. She is married to the god Shiva and they have four children, two boys and two girls. The children are famous gods/goddesses in their own right; Ganeesh is the god of business, Laxmi, the goddess of wealth, Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge and Karti, the warrior god. Ganeesh has the head of an elephant because when he was little, his head was severed and his father replaced it with the head of an elephant.
The Pandals are being built for these gods where they will stay for the first week of the Puja. Once the structures are built, they are then covered with cloth, some white, some gold. The cloth is pulled tightly around the bamboo so it doesn't look like cloth but like a regular kind of house covering. There are also decorative symbols all over the Pandal. These are amazing architectural wonders considering the structures.
Finally the night arrives and everyone is ready: the vendors, the worshippers, the Gurus, the drummers, and the spectators. Let the party begin! And begin it does. Each Pandal site has an entertainment stage complete with loud speakers that carry the sound from one right into my kitchen window, and the sound from another right into my bedroom window. I can hear the singers and the music where ever I go in my flat. The activities begin around 6:00 and go on until 11 or 12. People are everywhere as they make their way from one Pandal to another comparing one to the other noting which one has the best decorations. There are also fireworks and explosions off and on throughout the week.
The "idols" are on a stage with Ma Durga in the center flanked by Ganeesh and Laxmi on her left (stage) and Saraswati and Kartik on her right. During the day, worshippers come to venerate these "idols", stroking them, bowing to them, kneeling before them in prayer, feeding them, offering other sacrifices. Money touches Laxmi, textbooks touch Saraswati. Each god/dess has an animal with it. Ganeesh, the business god, has a rat. I'll let you play with that one. Laxmi has an owl, Durga, a lion, Saraswati, a swan, and Kartik, a peacock. No one seems to know what these animals represent.
At one of the Pandals, the censing ritual is in progress and I am mesmerized by the drums, the censor with his bell in his left hand ringing continuously and the incense bowl with fire in his right hand. He moves in a rhythmic motion from one god to the next censing each one. I am thinking somewhat mischievously what our priest would look like censing the altar in this fashion. This censor is dressed in a white dhoti, white tunic type shirt and there is a head-covering of some sort. There are drummers off the stage and to the left keeping the beat. Then the censor turns to the crowd and many rush forward to pass their hands over the flame, then with their hands warm from the fire, they stroke their faces and the faces of their children. The ritual begins again and goes on and on into the night.
One of the Pandals in my area is different from the others in that on the stage with Durga, et al the backdrop is a three-dimensional scene showing life in the city: police brutality, giving money to the beggars, lots of traffic, an ice-cream vendor, and other city sights, tall buildings, signs, etc. I don't quite know what to make of it and asking is useless. But Durga surely is not the center of attention here. She's in her spot, but she is small as are her kids.
Sunday is the last day of the Puja. It's the night when Durga and her family leave the Pandal and head back to their mountain home. The activities begin in late afternoon. I decide to attend the Pandal in my neighborhood. It's a lot smaller but nice and earlier in the day, I chat with some of the worshippers, eat a little food offered to the gods and basically feel welcomed here.
When I arrive at the Pandal, mostly men and boys are there. There are a few last minuted worshippers on stage and someone has passed out incense bowls which begin filling the area with holy smoke. This is also the time when women take a red spice and smear it on their heads, their arms, and their hands. I get drawn into this activity and have the spice smeared on my forhead. Again, I do not know the significance. The yound girls are trying to smear the spice on the foreheads of the young boys so there is a lot of chasing and giggling going on. The crowd gets larger and the worshippers are shooed off the stage. The first truck backs into the Pandal and Durga begins her journey home. She is heavy and it takes a lot of men to move her onto the truck. All the while the drummers are keeping the beat on special drums used only at this festival, the incense is flowing, and many are dancing a circle dance similar to the dance the Arabs do at weddings and other celebrations.
Once the "idols" are in the trucks and secured, the parade formation begins. First there is a rickshaw van hauling a light, loudspeaker, and two keyboards, then there are more drummers with different drums and a keyboardist, then Durga's truck, then another van with the generator, another truck with Saraswati and Kartik, then three more rickshaw vans carrying green neon lights. All of these vehicles are connected with a rope. Off we go into the night for a parade around the block. I think they are headed to the lake for the final plunge, so I turn off onto a street I know and head back to my house. A few moments later, I hear the parade coming down my street. I watch them pass from the balcony. The drummers are still beating the drums but the dancers have slowed to a stroll. I guess they will remove the ropes and the vans and let the trucks take the family to the lake where they will be slipped into the water so they can get back home. Water is the way they get there. Later on, perhaps the next day, the family is fished from the lake, cleaned up, and packed away until next year's Puja. The Puja continues for the rest of the week and then on Thursday, Laxmi has her own special day. I wonder what that will be like...
This whole experience has been very interesting to me as I compare our rituals to the Hindus'. In some ways they are so similar; that's why I put quotes around IDOLS.
When I mentioned to a group of kids I was talking with that the DurgaPuja was like Christmas, they laughed and said, "Oh yes, we celebrate Christmas, too." The Indians love a party, no matter who is throwing it.

bits and pieces

Today was a St. Michael's School day for me, a Thursday, and usually presents a pretty challenging morning; today was no different. The teachers are very nice and friendly and the children are nice and friendly, in small groups or one-on-one, but Wed. was a holiday, and more holidays are coming next week, so these children are in the holiday spirit. Need I say more?
I will anyway. Planning for these classes is difficult because I am never sure what the teacher will be doing. I have a syllabus, but they are jumping around a bit in the syllabus. I planned for the arithmetic class, kinders, a matching number and number word activity (1-150), but when I walked into the room, I notice that times tables are on the board. Times tables in kindergarten? Yes indeed. The teacher, glad to have an opportunity to slip out, said, "Oh no problem, do whatever you want to do."
She gets the kids under control and I wonder how long that will last. Surprisingly the activity goes pretty well, but toward the end, the kids are getting restless and so we finish up. I sit down and the rest of the time is spent with 5 year olds going a little crazy while the teacher checks language books. I spen my time quizzing the little group who had gathered around me on nursery rhymes which they know by heart plus actions and number facts, which they also know. There are 60+ kids in this class. I'm always amazed at what they know.
After lunch, a nap, and a shower, I head to my favorite place, the center. The garden space is almost cleared. The clearing is being done by two young boys, teens I'd guess, with some very primitive tools: short handled diggers, machete, and things that look like hoes, only the tool part is bigger and the handle shorter. Oh my aching back.
I make arrangements to take four of the boys to the market to buy the tools we will need for tilling the soil. We're getting ready to gather when someone reminds me that the market is closed from 1:00 to 5:00, so we will go after school. In the meantime, I take the 5th-7th graders out to the space and they draw it in their notebooks. Then we measure the space so we can find the area. Even as we are engaged in this activity, Mrs. Dutta, Bunti (staff), and Bashu (staff) decide the space should be larger. So there is more measuring and staking. I take the kids back in and with the help of Ms. Lorraine, head teacher, the children do the math. I have to insist that the children do the math as Ms. Lorraine would like to do the math on the board for the children. She sees the value in this and lets them.
Now it is 5:00 and we can get ready to go to the market. There are five boys, Bunti, Bashu, and me. It is already getting dark and the walk is a lot farther than I thought. We have to walk all the way through the market which is bustling with holiday shoppers and dodge all the vehicles in our path, but finally we arrive at the hardware shop. We're not talking Home Depot here, we're talking small, barely room for the group of us, but we squeeze in and begin our business. I want the boys to do the shopping. It's hard to keep the adults in the background, but they fade back staying just close enough to assist when necessary. Each boy makes a purchase, getting the needed money from the bank, me, paying for the items and checking for the correct change. The shopkeeper is patient, even smiling, while we go through this process. I hand the receipt over to the boy I think is most responsible and tell him he will need to bring it to school on Friday. He says, "Thank you."
Then we're ready to weave our way back to the center, in the dark, and with our purchases which the boys are carrying.
When we arrive, the boys are glad to drop their loads and flex their muscles.
It's been a lot of fun, and I hope there are many more afternoons like this one to come.

Beginning

Dear Friends, Many people have asked me why in the world I would want to leave my nice little cottage in my nice little village of Blowing Rock, NC to go live in Durgapur, India for a year. The answer for me is simple: I want to live in a poor area of the world and work with the people who live there in the hopes of making their lives better in some small way. Through a series of events, I have been invited to serve as a "missionary" to the Diocese of Durgapur in West Bengal, India. I don't mean to make it sound so simple. There was a process to go through. There was an application to Anglican Global Relations which is part of the National Episcopal Church in America and housed at 815 2nd Ave., Manhatten, New York. There was a Discernment Retreat in Delray Beach, FL with several other folks who were also interested in serving as missionaries. There was an invitation to come to NY for orientation and training which also included lots of reading about what it means to be a missionary in the 21st century. Most of the people in the group, youngsters and oldsters,like me, had lots of doubts and concerns about being missionaries. From our history books, we remembered all too well the negative aspects of missionary work, and we wanted no part of that. One of the books we had to read was Titus Presler's Horizons of Mission (part of the church's teaching series) which helped all of us to approach mission work in a whole new light, that of building relationships, working with the people where they were, not trying to "civilize" them or convert them, but to spread Jesus' love to all, no strings attached. I will be teaching English to Hindu children who live in the slums. Their school was built by the Diocese of Durgapur with donations from several sources, one being the Diocese of WNC of which I am a part. Our Dioceses share a companion relationship, and while there have been delegations from WNC that have visitied Durgapur, I am the first person to actually go and live there and work in the program. I spent over two years in Jordan serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in a remote Muslim village, teaching English to little girls at the Girls' Basic School. I also worked with the women in the village, trying to set up a sewing center for them, and with the Higer Council on Youth acquiring funds from USAID/PC to construct a playing field for all the children of the village. This kind of work is in my blood, so upon returning to the states last summer (06), I began investigating other possibilities. It was during a visit by Bishop Dutta and his wife and several others from the Diocese of Durgapur to WNC that I approached the Bishop and asked if he would like a volunteer to help in the school for the slum children. He said yes, and so the process began. I will be leaving the states on Sept 3 and will arrive in Kolkata on the 5th via Gatwick, London, Dubai, and then Kolkata. I will live in an apartment provided by the diocese. I will have language training in Bengali when I arrive. That's the scariest part for me. I am nervous, of course, but my excitement far outweighs my nervousness. I hope I can live up to whatever expectations the Bishop, his wife, Rita, and the teachers at the school have for me This is not a funded position, so I am also in the process of collecting donations so I can eat while I am there and have money to help fund projects for the school and the children who attend the school. If you'd like to be part of this mission with me, you can make donations to: St.Mary of the Hills Episcopal Church PO Box 14 Blowing Rock, NC 28505 On the memo line designate the money for Mission India. I will keep you updated on this blog. Blogging is very new to me, and I hope to get the hang of it soon. I will have access to a computer, but not on a daily basis, so don't expect minute by minute updates, not that you'd want that. Whether you send money or not, I hope you will keep me in your prayers and will support me through e-mails and comments on this blog. Peace, Lynn