After making my way through the bottleneck of people, I sit down in seat 14F; right next to the window.  As we prepare for take off from the Delhi airport, my view is immediately filled with the image of a man wearing a light blue T-shirt and jeans.  He’s probably in his 20’s and his beard and hair could stand a trim.  He’s reclining in the bright green grass with his cell phone in one hand.  Behind him is a picture of an out of focus tent and below him are the words is written:

Pay bills

transfer money and

recharge prepaid

from your mobile

SMS Airtel

 The advertisement has been printed on an extension of the disposable covering for the head rest infront of me and everyone else sitting on the plane.  It doesn’t matter where I look; the ad is either flooding my visions or nudging into my periphery.  My only escape is to close my eyes, but I don’t mind because my day began at 2:30am and I need some rest. 

 Less than two minutes later the Jet Lite stewardess wakes me, “Mam.”  She hands me a scratch and win voucher along with a brochure of items I can bid for.  All three of us won a prize, Dr. Ebenezer won a set of pearls, Mrs. Ebenezer won a man’s watch and I won the choice of a watch, pearls, or a Reebok gym bag.   

Our flight arrives safely in Kerala and passengers push their way to through to get off the plane first.  We take our time, moving a little more slowly than the rest.  As we leave the airport there is a crowd gathered at the Jet Lite counter eager to collect their prizes.  After exiting we are almost immediately greeted by the taxi and we set off for a few more hours of travel until we reach Chengarah.   

As soon as we leave the airport, my vision is once again packed with advertisements.  Billboards, appearing bigger than I have ever seen, line the sides of the roads.  Each image promises me a better life.  Sexy people are positioned in trendy spaces and blue skies back drop pristine buildings.  This greatly contrasts the street that is a bed to many beggars, shabby buildings where business takes place and the monsoon sky looming above.  It has three pictures.  In the middle a heavy-set Indian woman wearing a white saree and a red bindi on her forehead, holds a red lettered sign that says “SAVE A CHILD IN NEED”.  On both sides of her is a picture of a physically deformed child and below her is further contact info.  The sight of this billboard automatically puts off my mood.  I selfishly think, “There is enough suffering on the street.  Do we have to post it on a billboard too?”  The presentation doesn’t make me feel inspired to give.  Instead, it makes me feel accused of not caring for these neglected children.  I refuse to dwell on this thought, instead I tell myself I am thankful someone is working to help these children, and I’m glad they are challenging others to get involved.

 More billboards keep coming and another one catches my eye.  It’s a double-wide fuchsia  colored sign, “WORLD OF HAPPINESS”.  Pink silhouettes carrying white shopping bags are randomly placed on the board.  Shoot, if happiness was something you could buy, why aren’t all Americans happy?   

Instead of seeing these signs of false needs fulfilled, I would rather see billboards with hopeful pictures of a restored world.  In other words real needs fulfilled with advertisements offering constructive ways to attain such pictures.  Now I realize this may not be the best idea and if it’s taken to an extreme it could turn into brainwashing.  After all, who would determine what a societal need is? 

For now, I’ll just close my eyes and imagine what a world fully reconciled to God looks like.  The only image coming to mind is the view o the Himalayan foothills seen from the Dorcas Center.

July 1-5

A group of Australians came to stay at the Ebenezers for three days and a couple Americans stayed at the guestroom at the Center for a week.  I had a good time getting to know both groups in between office work.  It was refreshing to talk with people my age who I could relate to without the language barrier.

 July 6-11

 I spent the week visiting the women who live and work up at the CHAAYA Café in Mussoorie.  Mussoorie is further up the mountain that Rajpur.  It is a place is known for it’s language classes, and many language students would come to the Cafe.  Two students were telling me that Berkley University sends people to Mussoorie to learn Hindi.  Classes are about $6 per session plus a book fee.  The program is designed so that a student will take three sessions a day for 6 days a week.  That adds up, but the cost of the class is rather inexpensive compared to American College courses that run $700-$1000 per credit.

 July 12-18 

Back to Rajpur.  On Sunday I went to the English church service where I met some people my age who had studied at the Seminary.   We all ate lunch together and had a good time.  It felt nice to joke around with someone my own age who understands enough English to pick up on sarcasm.  Starting Sunday night I spent the week staying in the Center’s guest room.  This allowed more time for me to interact with the girls who live here.  We worked on English and managed to get in a keyboard teaching session.

 July 19-25

 Dr. and Mrs. Ebenezer brought me along on their trip to Kerala.  Mrs. Ebenezer’s mother passed away in June 2007 and it was time for a memorial service, as common practice, at the church.  On Sunday evening many family members and friends gathered at the Anglican church her mother grew up in.  For the rest of the week we ate and ate and ate at Mrs. Ebenezer’s sister’s house.  I was absorbed into the family almost upon immediate contact.   Her sister is married and has two children, their daughter just finished her masters and their son is in 12^th grade.  The whole family was extremely hospitable, and despite their busy schedules they were never too busy to spend time with us.  They all live lifestyles of serving with a generous heart. They are very committed to the Anglican faith.  Every night we would sing a hymn, read multiple portions of scripture and then kneel to pray together.  I really enjoyed my time spent in Kerala.  I was glad to see the Ebenezers get a break from their hectic schedules as well.

 July 25-31

Back in Rajpur.  I’m staying at the Center working as a waitress for the first time in my life.  It’s a bit harder than I expected to handle multiple orders and customers.  A yoga class started up the hill so we are getting more business after a month of almost no sales.  Most of the yoga clientele that come to our Café are European and American.  I’ve had some interesting conversations and met some nice people. 

 One thing I’ve noticed is most of them appear to have a strong desire to do good in the world.  Each day they practice yoga exercises and then they have a couple hours of yoga philosophy instruction.

I apologize that it has taken me so long to update this blog.  I’ve been in Dehradun for 16 days now. It’s hard for me to describe all that I’m experiencing here in words.  I’m on a steep learning curve with so many faces, places, and names to remember.  Working here at the Dorcas Center with Mrs. Ebenezer has been great.  The Ebenezer’s have taken me in like I’m one of their children.  I’ve been at a loss for what I should call them because Mr. and Mrs. Ebenezer feels too formal, but Annamma and Matthew doesn’t convey enough respect. 

I’ve been getting to know the women at the Center, but we can only speak to each other so much with me not knowing Hindi and only some knowing intermediate English.  Their stories of transformation are amazing.  When you meet these women you would never know they have been abused.   They don’t have that jaded, bitter air anyone would understandably have after experiencing such suffering.  A number of them came to Dorcas married to abusive, alcoholic husbands, but after years of prayer their husbands have come to faith, stopped drinking, and stopped abusing them.  Their families are not perfect, but they have experienced restoration I stopped believing in a long time ago.  My education has taught me to give up on hopes of such redemption and put more faith in restraining orders.  I’m not saying restraining orders are bad, but I’ve really lost sight of the power Christ has to redeem in abusive situations.  Even though we can’t verbally express much, these women have shown me love, and they take care of me.  I’m growing attached to them.  I don’t have enough time here for them to teach me all there is to learn.  Every one of them has been trained in cooking, baking, and tailoring.  I have little experience with Indian cooking, and my tailoring skills don’t reach beyond mending a hole in my pants.  Then of course, there is an entire language with a different script for me to learn from them.

Every day has been busy here.  There is constantly work to be done.  Everything seems to take longer to be completed her e than it does back home.  The slogan of efficiency never caught on here.  It gets frustrating sometimes, but when business is run more by private owners than huge corporations that’s how things work.  In the United States we have the option to never interact with anyone.  We can pay our bills, order food, and buy anything we need from our computer.  As a result of this we often have to make an effort to live in community.  Things don’t work that way here.  People know the grocer they buy jackfruit from, the shopkeeper they buy fabric from, the man they buy cereal from, and if they don’t know them they’re still called Auntie or Uncle.  The way business works here is like any anti-Walmart- college-student –who-has-been-protesting-big-business’ dream.

I almost forgot to mention that I drove.  Three years ago, when I first came to India, I was sitting in the back seat of a bus thanking God I didn’t have to drive.  Last week I drove a four speed manual car through the chaotic traffic, driving on the right side of the left side of the road for about an hour.  At least it felt like an hour.  I’m not going to lie, by the time we arrived at our destination my heart was racing, but hopefully I’ll get to a point where it feels natural to drive.

Hopefully I won’t wait too long before the next blog entry.   Feel free to send me e-mails. I like to know what’s going on at home too!

I apologize that it has taken me so long to update this blog.  I’ve been in Dehradun for 16 days now. It’s hard for me to describe all that I’m experiencing here in words.  I’m on a steep learning curve with so many faces, places, and names to remember.  Working here at the Dorcas Center with Mrs. Ebenezer has been great.  The Ebenezer’s have taken me in like I’m one of their children.  I’ve been at a loss for what I should call them because Mr. and Mrs. Ebenezer feels too formal, but Annamma and Matthew doesn’t convey enough respect. 

I’ve been getting to know the women at the Center, but we can only speak to each other so much with me not knowing Hindi and only some knowing intermediate English.  Their stories of transformation are amazing.  When you meet these women you would never know they have been abused.   They don’t have that jaded, bitter air anyone would understandably have after experiencing such suffering.  A number of them came to Dorcas married to abusive, alcoholic husbands, but after years of prayer their husbands have come to faith, stopped drinking, and stopped abusing them.  Their families are not perfect, but they have experienced restoration I stopped believing in a long time ago.  My education has taught me to give up on hopes of such redemption and put more faith in restraining orders.  I’m not saying restraining orders are bad, but I’ve really lost sight of the power Christ has to redeem in abusive situations.  Even though we can’t verbally express much, these women have shown me love, and they take care of me.  I’m growing attached to them.  I don’t have enough time here for them to teach me all there is to learn.  Every one of them has been trained in cooking, baking, and tailoring.  I have little experience with Indian cooking, and my tailoring skills don’t reach beyond mending a hole in my pants.  Then of course, there is an entire language with a different script for me to learn from them.

Every day has been busy here.  There is constantly work to be done.  Everything seems to take longer to be completed her e than it does back home.  The slogan of efficiency never caught on here.  It gets frustrating sometimes, but when business is run more by private owners than huge corporations that’s how things work.  In the United States we have the option to never interact with anyone.  We can pay our bills, order food, and buy anything we need from our computer.  As a result of this we often have to make an effort to live in community.  Things don’t work that way here.  People know the grocer they buy jackfruit from, the shopkeeper they buy fabric from, the man they buy cereal from, and if they don’t know them they’re still called Auntie or Uncle.  The way business works here is like any anti-Walmart- college-student –who-has-been-protesting-big-business’ dream.

I almost forgot to mention that I drove.  Three years ago, when I first came to India, I was sitting in the back seat of a bus thanking God I didn’t have to drive.  Last week I drove a four speed manual car through the chaotic traffic, driving on the right side of the left side of the road for about an hour.  At least it felt like an hour.  I’m not going to lie, by the time we arrived at our destination my heart was racing, but hopefully I’ll get to a point where it feels natural to drive.

Hopefully I won’t wait too long before the next blog entry.   Feel free to send me e-mails. I like to know what’s going on at home too!

Imagine you are walking on the streets of downtown Philadelphia.  It’s trash day with a heat index of 100 degrees and high humidity.  When you look around the street you see people of all classes.  You turn to your left and there is a horse drawn carriage passing by that recently dropped a fresh pile.  Be careful you almost stepped in it.  You turn to your right and the vendors are cooking up fresh gyros and cheese steaks.  The smells of freshly cooked food, rotting waste, and excretion all mix together.  Shops and advertisements are flashed in front of eyes.  There is more sensory stimuli than you can process.   

Keep the images described above in your mind.  Now take the three black trash bags from the curb and open them.  Scatter the trash.  Instead of a clearly defined sidewalk and curb, imagine gutters lining the storefronts and slabs of concrete that serve as a bridge from the street to the store.  Those gutters are full of raw sewage and rainwater.  See the people walking?  Replace about 80% of the western-style women’s fashion you would see in Philadelphia, with salwar kameez suits and sarees.  The women create a beautiful sea of bright colors.  Smell the Indian spices wafting in the air.  To your right are fruit vendors.  It’s summer time now, so the mango is ripe.  When you look out into traffic imagine a milieu of motorcycles, cows, vikrams, auto-rickshaws, pedestrians walking too close for comfort to the cars, and sometimes you’ll see a bull-drawn cart.  Now the traffic looks utterly chaotic to the foreigner, but it ebbs and flows.  The Indian driver is on his toes ready to react and give with the traffic.  You can have more confidence that an Indian driver won’t hit you than you can trust a New Yorker will stop for a pedestrian walking in-front of a green light.  You must still be cautious. 

Remember the horse droppings you almost stepped in?  Erase the horse and the carriage and replace that with a cow.  Make sure you pay attention to each step you take.  If you’re not careful you’ll step in cow shit.  Now pardon my French, but I only use this word to underscore the vulgarity of the cow.  The idea of living in a place where animals are given the same rights as people may sound romantic, but it’s far from rainbows and butterflies when it becomes reality.  Stubbing your toe has a whole new meaning if you get dung in it.  Driving also has had an added challenge.  The cows aren’t as sharp as that Indian driver.  They move slowly and act like the gods they are treated to be.

Now you have walked down a street in India, and you never even crossed the ocean.