Women's International Day

Today, at St. Michaels's Church, we celebrated International Women's Day. Since our priest, Fr. Sam, had to be at another church, he turned this service over to the women. He helped, of course, in the planning to keep us within the parameters of acceptablility.
The Vice-Principal of St. Michael's School, Archanna Dey, was the leader.She put in manyy hours trying to get everything just right, including as many women as she could in the service.
She also wanted a "special song" to be sung by small group of women, mostly teachers from the school. She adapted the song People Over the World to make it Women Over the World.
Fr. Sam got out one of the hymnals friends from St. Mary's had sent to us, and together we searched for some appropriate hymns to include in the worship service,
trying them out on the new keyboard, a gift from the UK. It was fun playing around with the different tones, tempos, and styles available on this little Yamaha. Then Archanna asks me to pick out the tune for Women Over the World. This, I cannot do. I can play the right hand, the melody, and only about two octaves to the right of Middle C, so we enlist the help of the music teacher at St. Michael's, the go-to-guy when we want music, real music at the church. He jots down the notes and then Archanna asks me to play the keyboard with the "choir!" Are your hysterics over? Have you picked yourselves up off the floor yet?
Those of you who know me and have been to my home, know that I love music and that I have all kinds of instruments: a piano, guitar,dulcimer, several recorders, a tambourine, and even a little African harp like thing, but I can't play any of them.
But being a Franciscan, I have to rise to the challenge and like I said, there is tempo, style, and voice on the keyboard menu, so all I really have to do is play the melody with my right hand and let technology do the rest.
So I practice alone and with the "choir" but there is never one complete run-through of this song. Archanna has added an extra part which is a verse a half note higher and will be sung just before the ending to end the song. There are five members of this group and so five different variations on the theme. Each time we start out, I am never sure where we are going with this song, but I finally realize that I can just hold a key down (organ mode) and let them go off in whatever direction they want and it's okay.
The music teacher has agreed to play All Creatures of Our God and King and Seek Ye First the Kingdom of God. I know, it's Lent and we shouldn't be singing Alleuias, but cut us some slack, OK?
Now the music teacher has a really good ear and claims all he needs is the key and he can take it from there, no notes necessary. Before the service, I hand him the hymnal already turned to All Creatures, but he just wags his head and says no problem.
No Problem IF everyone knows the tune, that is. We don't.
Archanna has also requested that those of us in the service wear saris and bangles (bracelets). I had to arrive early so someone could wrap me up in my sari and Archanna loaned me lots of bangles to wear.
So we are all set to process in our saris and bangles and we even have a girl Crucifer. Normally we don't have a Crucifer at all.
Archanna nods to the organist who gives us only chords. Archanna has a lovely voice, but in her nervousness starts us out about an octave lower, forgets the tune completely after the first two lines, and no one knows where in the world we are including the organist, but we process anyway. Thank God for short runways. That misery ended quickly.
Soon it was time for the "special song" and my debut as the only right-handed keyboardist with a two octave range in the world. I traded places with the real musician, click on the buttons I need and I am ready, but the organist thinks I have forgotten how to do this, so he helps me out by undoing the settings. The girls are still getting situated so I have time to reset. We begin. It's not bad, but when we get to the place where the added segment should be, Archanna decides, on the spot, not to do it thinking the women have forgotten how it goes and moves the final line of the song. Quickly I catch on and catch up. Then it's over. Alleluia! sorry.
Seek Ye First went much better because Mr Keyboardist played the melody along with his beloved chords. Guess he caught on from the processional hymn.
The rest of the service went well with Rita Dutta, the bishop's wife, delivering a short homiliy about the International Women's Conference she and Bishop Dutta had attended at the UN in New York the week before.
We processed out to Showers of Blessings, yes that's right, and it was a rousing processional.
What did you do for International Women's Day?

something light, something dark

Now that you have Christmas packed away and Valentine's Day all wrapped up for another year and are swimming through waves of bunny rabbits and Easter chicks, I want to tell you about Christmas in India.

It was different, but not so different. The big shops in Durgapur were packed mainly because they were having a "buy one get one absolutely free" sale. This message blared through the sound system over and over again. No soft Christmas music playing in the background to entice you to dig dipper into your wallet and buy that gift for Auntie.

At St. Michael's, there was the usual round of Christmas caroling throughout the neighborhoods and there was a big Christmas get together with all the churches in the diocese. We even had a service of Lessons and Carols.

Of course there were the programs: school programs, Sunday School programs, and Diocesean Children's Project Programs. I saw Nativity Pageants performed by Christians and Hindus and being totally objective here, I have to say our slum children's Nativity Tableaux was the best. Our costumes were really nice, sarees for the kings, dhotis for the shepherds, and cute little white dresses with shiny wings for the angels.

Not many people decorate their homes for the season. No tree, but since there are no live Christmas trees here, I guess that's to be expected. There are artificial trees, not made to look real, but made to look artificial, mainly a pole with tinseled branches widely spaced and standing no more than 3 or 4 feet tall. My own little faker was about 12" tall but the branches, also widely spaced, sort of had a fir look to them. It was easy to decorate with one little silver strand which had ornaments spaced along it. I cut out wrapped packages from an old Christmas card and stuck them under my tree. My grandchildren sent me a better tree all decorated which held the place of honor on my table the rest of the Christmas season. Putting Christmas away was very easy.

Since there were no Christmas trees, there were no wrapped packages under the tree. There was nothing to shake, no packages to count, and no piles to measure. the Indians may be onto something here. Usually the family just takes the kids shopping and lets them pick out a thing or two and that is pretty much it.

The only Christmas Eve service at St. Michael's was the midnight one, so I arranged to stay at the center so I could attend. It was a candlelight service, but there was no musical accompaniment, and there were very few of us in the congregation, maybe six. Since most people walk, cycle or ride motorbikes getting out at such a late hour just isn't done.
Fr. Sam was all alone at the altar, preparing the table, juggling a candle, and leading the singing of Oh Holy Night hoping we wouldn't fade away in the middle of it when he had to stop singing for a moment. Well, when he stopped, we all stopped, a nice little pause in the middle of the liturgy. Having the entire service in candlelight was clearly not a good idea, but we sang Silent Night and Once in Royal David's City, so it was okay.
The next morning, 7:30am, the service was not much better, but at least there was an altar helper and a keyboardist. Then at 8:30, there was the Bengali service and I stayed for that one mainly because it was packed with people spilling out into the yard and little children seated on the floor in a space up front. We ended the service with Angels We Have Heard on High, so my three favorite carols were sung and that was enough for me.
The church was gaily decorated with balloons, crepe paper streamers, and other brightly colored lanterns hanging from the ceiling of the church. I'm sure the Indians would think our "greening" of the church pretty drab in comparison.
So guess what! It happened anyway. Christmas happened without the hype and the hoopla, without my packages arriving on time for my family to open them together, without Christmas carols weaving in and out of the daily routine. But what struck me the most about Christmas here is that everybody celebrated it. The Hindu children in my building had a Christmas party, complete with Santa and a little tree, on the roof to which I was invited. A Hindu teacher from the school played the keyboard at the Bengali service on Christmas Day, and as I said, just about all the Nativity plays were performed by Hindus.
When the Hindu Poojas were in full swing last fall, everyone celebrated with them. Yes, there are some fundamentalist here in India, like everywhere, but so far they haven't shattered the spirit of tolerance and respect for other faiths. Here, everyone was wished a Merry Christmas, not a Happy Winter Solstice, and in Oct. we were wished a Happy Diwali.
It this little corner of the world, it almost seemed like Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Men.

From the Dark Side:
I've been giving some thought to death lately; the different kinds of death one might experience, the violent ones, the tragic ones, the war ones, the old age ones, and the peaceful ones.
Eventhough St. Francis welcomes Sister Death in his Canticle to the Sun, death, for most of us I think is not an easy thing to contemplate.
Sometimes we are able to say "He died in peace," or " She lived a full and happy life," and if the loved one had been battling cancer or AIDS, or Alzheimer's we can say "At last the suffering is over."
In America, death takes its toll on the highway wiping out the lives of both young and old; such a senseless way to die.
Our decadent life style takes more lives, heart disease, diabetes, cancer, obesity; again, such a senseless way to die.
Since I've been in India, Iv'e been exposed to another kind of death, death by poverty, starvation, neglect, ignorance, such a senseless way to die.
This kind of death is ugly. Here, death has dominion.
I am fully aware that death is part of the cycle of life and that we need it to close one generation and make room for another, but does it have to be by poverty, starvation, neglect, ignorance?
As most of you know from my e-mail about the woman in bed#28, I witnessed the dying of a woman who was all alone in this world. Imagine that! No one caring about her, no one assisting her out of this life to whatever lay ahead for her, no one to tell her good-by or that she was loved. That kind of lonely, cold, despairing death makes me shiver.
How did that happen? How did she get in that situation? Where was her family?
Then there was Punima, 13 years old; a beautiful young girl who, escaping an attacker, jumped from a second story window. She broke her leg in the fall and ended up in the government run hospital. She was discharged at some point, her leg still in a cast, but readmitted sometime later. Her leg was still in the same cast and because she had been bed-ridden the whole time she was at her home, bedsores appeared over most of her buttocks; deep penetrating sores eating through her flesh and tissue all the way to the bone and into the bone. Neglect and ignorance landed this child with her severly infected body back in the hospital. I could do nothing for Shakil in bed #28 but keep her cleaned and fed until the day she died, but I was able to talk to the Misssionaries of Charity about Punima, and they decided to get her discharged into their care. Punima would die, but she would die knowing that there were others who cared about her.
These kinds of death are happening all over India on a daily basis. They are happening in countries in Africa where AIDS has a mighty grip on the population.
Maybe you're thinking it's a population problem and a little family planning would solve everything. That usually seems to be the first response whenever the subject of povery arises, but I think that's a "cop-out" kind of answer, one that frees us from the responsibility of looking deeper into the root causes of poverty. By looking deep, we might just discover that we are playing a big role in the plight of these people, our neighbors on the other side of the world.
There is always talk about addressing the issue of poverty with all its ramifications, and in Sept., 2000, something concrete was born- The Millenium Development Goals. These eight goals were drawn from the Millenium Declaration that was adopted by 189 nations and signed by 147 heads of state and governments during the UN Millenium Summit. Since then, many churches have adopted the MDGs as part of their own declaration to fight poverty; The Episcopal Church in N. America is one of them.
The MDGs address the issues of extreme poverty and hunger, lack of education, gender equality & women's empowerment, child mortality, maternal health, HIV/AIDS, and environmental stability and global parnerships. Couched in all of these are some serious questions about excessive life-styles and how these life-styles exacerbate the issues at hand. This is where thinking DEEP comes into play. It's realizing we are connected to each other, Shakila in bed 28, Punima, and scores of other men, women, and children who, in one way or another reap what we sow.
Their pain is our pain.
Their misery is our misery.
Their despair is our despair.
"How is this possible!" You might exclaim.
Just think about it.
Where do you shop?
What do you buy?
What do you drive?
Where did the resources used to build your nice, new, big home come from?
The farmers in Ethiopia hit by draught due to extreme climate changes don't drive SUVs, we do.
Agri-business coffee growers have forced many family coffee growers in Central and South America to abandon their farms and look for employment elsewhere, perhaps across our borders. Still not buying Fair Trade Coffee?
The MDGs are a great step in the right direction and only a pittance is required to help with the funding, 0.7% of your yearly income. Even I can afford that.
But to stop the cycle of poverty and all that goes with it, we must be willing to make the necessary changes, real changes, life-style changes, and yes, it will hurt, but it will also liberate. Until we do, death will continue to have dominion in the impoverished countries of the world.

fitting in

When I arrived in Durgapur, I was ready to meet the challenge of "fitting in." I was going to live simply; I am. I was going to learn the language; I'm trying. I was going to dress in the Indian way; I am with some modifications, and I was going to eat their hot, spicy food even if smoke was pouring out of my ears and my nose was running; I have done this, and I have eaten with my right hand, literally hand, on many occasions.
Most of the people at the school and the Center have been very warm and welcoming, hospitable and supportive, but there was one maintenance person working at the center, a young man, who clearly was not happy with my presence at the school for the children from the slums. He never spoke to me, in fact I wondered if he could even talk, and he wore a frown in my presence. I started feeling a bit nervous whenever he and I were at the Center at the same time which was every day, so I started avoiding him as best I could.
Then two things happened at about the same time. One was the garden project which he became very interested in and kept close tabs on as the space was cleared, the soil cultivated, and the seeds planted. The other was the painting project. I had decided to paint the ABCs on one wall of each classroom with pictures, like I did in Jordan (my world project?) He also became very interested in this.
When I was drawing the letters on the wall, he was still glaring and growling, but when I began to paint, he started coming into the classroom to watch. Then when I began the picture part of the project, he really took notice. He would come in and sit at one of the desks and watch. After several pictures were on the wall, he gave me the Indian head wag of approval and the Indian OK sign. He even managed a smile.
Slowly, as his trust in me grew and vice-versa, I found myself teasing with him a bit. Now when he sees me coming, he knows exactly which rooms to open, and if he needs to leave before I am finished, he leaves the keys with me with strict instructions about which rooms to lock and where to leave the keys. His name is Ragabir and he has become a favorite of mine, and I think he likes me a little as well. Fitting in!
Missionary aka celebrity. I didn't know that was part of the job description, but lately I have been honored by different groups, being invited to be the Chief Guest at this function or that. this means I get to sit in the best seat and hand out prizes or gifts. sometimes it means saying a "few words." The Indians are quite good at this kind of surprise. "And now, Ms. Lynn, would you say a few words to the group. This is not what I do best, but I started trying to be a bit prepared for such occasions. So at our Christmas program after all the teachers were introduced and on the stage, the bishop hands me the mike and asks me to say a few words. This was an audience of parents from the villages and a few other guests from St. Michael's and St. Peter's. The lights were very bright and I couldn't see any of their faces. I did not like that at all, but the show must go on, right? I began by greeting them with Nomashkar, which they loved, and then I asked them how they were in Bengali, lots of clapping and cheering for that effort. I have to tell you this was kind of an inside joke as the children quiz me continually every day on these two phrases: kaemon achen and palo achi, How are you and I am fine. After that it didn't really matter what I said and after the program, the parents were eager to meet me and shake my hand. Fitting in!
At another program where I was an important guest and got to say a few words, I was able to use the Muslim greeting Asalamualikum. The parents and the children who were mostly Muslim returned the greeting with wa alikum asalam amidst cheers, laughter and clapping. I spent a lot of that day greeting different parents as the children dragged me from one family to another. Fitting in!
One afternoon I was painting, as usual, and one of the guys came into the room with an old pound cake still in its package and asked me if I wanted it. I told him no that he could have it if he wanted it. He went back to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later and invited me to tea. So there I was hanging out in the kitchen with three maintenance guys drinking tea and eating stale and a bit frozen ( the kitchen fridge tends to do that) pound cake. Fitting in!
The last little cultural tip to fitting in is the dance. Now I love to dance. I've never been any good at it, but it's just something I like to do and the Indian dances are great fun. One day before the Christmas break, we decided to have a little party of our own, just the teachers and the kids here at the Center. This is where the stale pound cake came from. The CD player was dragged out onto the veranda and turned up full blast and the dancing began. We were all dancing and having a great time of it. I had to go into the computer room for something and there was Rogabir, all alone and dancing. and smiling. Fitting in!
Being a missionary is a lot more than arriving in a country with a bag of band aids, some kind words, and a big smile. It's also allowing the people who live in the place the time to warm up to you and to trust you in their own way and in their own time.
You never know exactly what will make a difference but you do know when it happes just from the response.
It's quite a cool feeling, this "fitting in."

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.