Chai Chats with the Eichers

Blackend

2012-01-21T23:00:00.001+05:30

Mr. Rushdie has decided not to attend a literary festival in Jaipur. A group of Muslim organisations (led by an influential seminary) have protested this planned visit to India. Rushdie has stated that he is not coming because of threats to his life. The elections are around the corner and so our political parties are keeping mum.

What prompts me to write about Rushdie?

Not because I take much joy in his writing these days. One a lack of time and access to his books. Another because after he left India I found his books becoming ever more inflated with himself.

But recently I thought about the man again.

A picture was splashed around the papers.

A protester against Rushdie's planned visit to India was polishing shoes.

That's right. Polishing shoes. While wearing a Rushdie mask.

Around him were other eager faces.

What does this tell us about those who protest against Rushdie?

It tells us that they are deeply entrenched in the casteist mentality that still holds so much of our country down.

What if anything is shameful about polishing boots?

Nothing.

Unless you feel that touching leather is defiling.

Unless you feel that people who touch shoes are unclean.

Unless you see certain jobs as shameful and demeaning.

So shameful that you can have a person aping Rushdie to try and shame him somehow.

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Its so strange to see people who claim that all are brothers - falling for the old, old casteist stories. Their actions speak louder than their words. We see it in many of our churches as well. We are all brothers - except when it comes time to marry. Well - then we want someone from 'our community.'

There is something very primeval about our desire to put ourselves up (and others down) by the attributes of skin colour and the many many subtle signals of racialism. Asha and Enoch asked me this evening why we don't see "Tintin in Congo" in the stores or in libraries. I had to tell them that many of the images in that comic are pretty crude and racially demeaning. A friend of mine who is experiencing S. Africa for the first time saw a picture of Asha on facebook. He made a comment: "coloured :)" Being from the N.East of India he doesn't fit into the S. Africa categories of Black/White/Coloured.

Our friends who are trying to shame Rushdie - show how shameful their own mentality is.

At least we can see the absurdity of it all by taking a look at the image. That is - I hope we can see the absurdity of it...

Cry the beloved country.

11

2012-01-16T23:32:00.000+05:30

This year's cake - a violin very much like the one Asha plays

Our princess keeps growing up. Today she completed 11 spins around our nearest star.

Wasn't it just yesterday that we heard the sweetest sound? That small muffled cry which announced that Asha Esther Alice Eicher was born.

Its cause to celebrate. And celebrate we did.

Yesterday afternoon there was a party for Asha's friends.

It was grand to have the house full of excited, chattering girls.

There were 2 boys (Enoch making up 50% of that contingent) but they were largely relegated to the background.

Games were eagerly lapped up by Asha's friends from school, the housing complex and church.

Asha and Enoch gave a mini-concert - to the rapturous applause of young and old. They were a bit shy at first - but really ended up belting out the tunes.

The cake this year was a violin. Appropriate for our little musician.

The shaping was done by 'Opa' Eicher (my father) - with the icing made by 'Oma' (my mother). Yours truly baked the cake and did the final icing.

Amidst oohs and aahs and a raucous 'Happy Birthday' song Asha blew out her 11 candles and shared the cake with one and all.

Then we called on Opa to pray and bless Asha and all and sundry.

As usual - he rose to the occasion.

What a blessing to have a Godly granddad. This prayer being only the latest of so many prayers that he and Oma have prayed over the years for all of us - and Asha in particular.

We tend to be very close to the people whose births we were part of. Oma and Opa were with us 11 years ago at the Nav Jeevan Hospital in Satbarwa, Jharkhand when Asha was born. They have been with us each of the last few years on the 16th of January.

The celebrations continued well after our appointed pick up time - as Asha's friends lingered on - unwilling to leave. Two special friends - Nikita and Jasper - with whom Asha and Enoch have done so much over the years - were with us along with their parents John and Nalini and grandparents too!

What a blessing to have 3 symmetrical generations of 2 families join together!

The fabulous four were very much in their element. It took quite some doing to pry them apart when Nikita and Jasper had to go home.

And all of this celebration on the day before Asha's real birthday...

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We traditionally celebrate birthdays early in the morning.

Today was different. Asha had a school programme where she was giving the introductory speech - so she had to be in school at 6.30 AM. Our family celebrations were postponed for the evening.

After Enoch got back from school at 6.15 PM - and Asha woke up from her long afternoon nap we were ready. Gifts were hunted from where they had been hidden through the room. And then the unwrapping began.

The last gift was the largest.

Layer after layer was unwrapped.

Until finally a small plastic key chain was found. With a small key on it.

A small key - for a big new bike!

The bike was parked outside our front door.

Asha was thrilled to bits.

Miracle upon miracle. We had somehow managed to keep the whole thing as a secret (very hard in a family who loves to tell 'good news' to each other).

Dad and Mum had purchased the bike last week - and we had kept it at JSK till this evening when I brought it over after Enoch came home from school.

Asha was just beside herself with joy.

Its wonderful to see how radiant she and Enoch are.

We start into Asha's 12 year with so much hope - exactly what her name means! She is a real blessing to us - and so many others. Asha was a real balm to her Oma during these past few weeks when Oma was not feeling well. Her songs and high spirits have lifted ours time and time again. We recognise the total grace of God in all of this.

Did the celebrations end here? They could well have - but we had one final fling. A family outing to Pizza Hut with the elder Eichers treating us all!

a journey of a 1000 steps... starts by getting into the lift!

This outing had also almost miraculously been kept as a surprise for Asha and Enoch - and they were thrilled to know that we were about set out for pizza.

Enoch showed signs of future prowess in materials science by seeing how far the hot cheese woud stretch. He achieved impressive results as can be seen on the right!

More than the food - of course - was the joy of all being together. Tomorrow afternoon Mum and Dad (our beloved Oma and Opa) head up north to spend some days with Stefan and Neeru and their lovely and growing family - and then head up to Mussoorie (which seems to be under a foot of snow).

We will of course miss them much - but are so grateful for these days that they have poured themselves into us. Tonight was a way of putting a capstone on a wonderful 3.5 weeks that Mum and Dad have spent with us!

We love celebrating birthdays - and in our family it hardly gets bigger than this! In our family prayers we just had to say a big 'Thank You God' for all your goodness - esp. in being able to care for Asha!

smile - we use colgate toothpaste! Andi, Sheba, Asha and Enoch Eicher

Words from the past

2012-01-12T22:46:00.003+05:30

I heard her voice. Through her son.

She has been dead for many years now. But she spoke.

Her son, my father, was reading. Reading words from a folder of typed pages that are the memoirs of my grandmother Alice Cravath Eicher.

What a life she lived. Her father was a self-taught engineer working for a railroad company in upstate New York. He was a Bible believer who took his little family to find a group of fellow-believers wherever he was posted. Alice and her sister Marion trudged along through a series of struggling little churches - often in someone's home - or in a rented store-front - while her 'normal friends' went to fine well-defined sanctuaries on Sunday mornings. A hundred years later Alice's grand-son does the same... The little fellowships that young Alice was part of became what is now called the Christian and Missionary Alliance. They wanted to live out the love of Christ - and they wanted everyone to know. Everyone. Their neighbours across the street - and across the seas.

I marvel at this fact - that through hearing Dad read out-loud - the life of my grandmother comes to life. What a blessing to have her words. To listen in and live out her student life and courtship with Elmore Eicher. To taste her excitement when as missionary candidates they were told by the mission that they were assigned to India. To hear her tell about her Indian-born husband's exhilaration when he returned back to his beloved India. The first scent of India wafted up on board the ship - long before she could make out any visual sense of the city of Bombay which was where they were to embark.

Alice writes about her tear-soaked pillow when it was clear that she still had not learned Marathi well enough to go on tour with her husband Elmore (my grandfather). As a young newly arrived wife she had the prospect of lonely days ahead of her - but managed to persuade the mission to let her at least learn the language at a girls hostel - closer to where her husband was.

The words take me to a time well before today. To a remarkable young woman stepping out with faith. I am amazed at how elegantly my grandmother has edited the story of her life. You sense a contentment - and a quiet joy that pervades Alice's story. There are tough times - some that she highlights - others that only merit a sentence - but go deeper.

She makes a short mention that she had to have an operation before she left the US. It was to remove an ovarian cyst. No children for this young missionary couple. None, that was, until my father was adopted by them.

We have not come that far yet. Dad was reading for us last night. Tonight Enoch had an early night and we did not want to read without him. Dad has already in the reading been teary. And why not. He has in his hands a legacy of love. We are so blessed to have had ones like Alice who have gone ahead of us. Their lives have burned their love into my father - who has done the same into us. Now it is our turn to do so for the next generation.

I am looking forward to hearing more about Alice.

Night

2012-01-10T21:30:00.005+05:30

Sheba is walking through the darkness, past the street-lit corner and over to the Jeevan Sahara Kendra Community Care Centre. She is doing a night call. We live about 4 mins walk from our main place of service.

Its 9.30 PM. The kids are in bed. My Dad is doing the dishes. Mum is winding down for the day after having made supper for us. Our parents have been here for the past 3 weeks now - and Mum is just now coming out of a long period of exhaustion.

We have 2 patients admitted at JSK tonight.

A man - who we will call Talex - was admitted yesterday evening. He is painfully thin and was on a drip for most of today. His young wife is by his side - hoping that he will pull through. Sheba is not sure - but we treated and prayed. This evening he was conscious and grateful.

And then there is Tripti. Tripti has been with us for 3 weeks so far. She is a young widow. About 23 years old. Her mother is only 42. Tripti lost her husband - and has lost her mind. She spends most of her waking hours crying out loudly. She has lost most of her movement on her left side. Her brain is affected by an opportunistic infection - probably TB. It looks like Tripti's HIV has directly affected her brain as well. The halls of our centre echo with her cries. It chills to the bone.

Tripti is on various strong anti-psychotics. Nothing seems to affect her. Her eyes are open and she speaks - but then keeps losing it. Through all of this Tripti's mother nurses her. She rubs her feet. Holds Tripti's hands from clutching and pulling her own hair.

They have no other option. The family will be hounded out of the neighbourhood if they try and go home. The govt. hospital discharged her. No private hospital will take her. And we cannot turn her out either.

Tripti seemed to be improving - her cries were less frequent a few days ago - she seemed alert and able to communicate. But now She seems to be deteriorating again.

Sheba has gone to see how our nurse - Sunita - is doing. And to check up on Talex and Tripti.

This evening another family called up. They had taken their daughter to a hospice but were refused admission. Could they come to JSK. We told them to come tomorrow.

One of our long-term home-based care patients died at 5 this evening.

Mrs. Candy has been with us for years. We knew she was dying for months. Her heart condition was just not improving. We had admitted her to a govt. hospital for urgent cardiac care 2 days ago. They discharged her today.

Mrs. Candy was a widow. Her late teen daughter was abandoned by the man she had eloped with. Mrs. Candy looked after her daughter's daughter when she could.

She won't do that anymore.

Today was Mrs. Candy's home-going.

Our JSK home-based care team swung into action. One staff member went to a far off suburb where Mrs. Candy's young son is studying at a hostel. Another two went to the home. A local church volunteer (who is positive herself) was already with Mrs. Candy. We contacted the fellowship where Mrs. Candy was worshipping for the past few years. They have ordered the coffin and are arranging for a morning funeral. The local doctor refused to make a death certificate - claiming that he had not been treating her (probably wanting to be slipped a Rs. 500 note).

There are tears. But there is also the knowlege that Mrs. Candy is finally free. Really, totally, completely free from so many horrors that she saw and experienced in her life.

She had often stood up in Positive Friends support group meetings and spoken about how grateful she was. For life. That her son was studying. She wanted him to become a pastor. Once she said: "I know that with Jesus I am getting better. And even if I die, I will live with Him forever."

Eternity started for Mrs. Candy at 5 PM this afternoon.

And so the night continues to spin. Sheba seeing the patients at JSK and ministering to them as we come to 10 PM. Our home-based care team in a tiny shack in Kalwa, helping out with Mrs. Candy's children. The great noisy bright city grinding away all around us. Unknown people across our city, nation, world lifting up their hands in prayer for us.

108

2012-01-05T23:28:00.004+05:30

When did you come to India he asked.

We were travelling by car to Kalyan. He is an insurance professional attached to a bank (his branch manager - a dear friend of mine was driving).

"His father was born here" said my manager friend - giving one part of the story.

"Actually my grandfather was born in Bombay" I replied. "Our family came here 107 years ago."

And then I realised that we have tripped into 2012.

"Make that 108 years ago" I said "my great-grandfather landed in Bombay in January 1904."

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And so the new year is well and truly upon us. God is very good. We are plunged into life and are swirling around as we have been for the last few months. Since my work and home computers remain infected with the undetectable google-crashing virus - I have sneaked this post off from my father's comp.

More later. Much more. We have a lot to tell. Blessings from the Eichers to all our dear friends as we see 2012 blossom in front of us.

Radio silence

2011-12-18T16:31:00.003+05:30

A lot has happened in the last 2 weeks.

But for some reason the computer at work and the laptop that I sometimes bring home (in the absence of the deceased Macbook) both 'blow up'(read crash the firefox or chrome or ie browsers) everytime I try to do something with blogger or gmail. For some unknown reason I am able to 'work' again at it today so I am counting my blessings.

I shall be (D.v.) going back in time and posting about some of the amazing things that have happened over the past 2 weeks...

Stay posted! I hope we will be able to post this... here goes!

Countdown

2011-12-02T23:59:00.001+05:30

It is late at night - but we are awake. Awake but separated by 1890 kms.

Sheba is awake doing her last night call in oby-gynae at the Duncan Hospital in Raxual.

I am awake taking a last look at the computer before I hit the hay. Our kids are asleep in the bed behind me.

We are about to make the distance shorter. Sheba will finish her night call (which will inevitably have at least 3 deliveries and perhaps a C-section to do). Then she will pick up her luggage (packed already) and leave the hospital at 8 AM tomorrow morning. At 8.50 her train is due to leave the station.

Its been a long 5 weeks. The longest we have been apart since we said 'I do' to each other on the 15th of Dec. 1999. The longest time that the kids have been away from Mummy. We have been counting the days. Our generous lego calendar tells us that we have 4 more days till Sheba returns.

We are amazingly proud of Sheba. She has poured herself into the work and has been a real blessings. Being on night calls every third night means that she has delivered a lot of babies. One night alone she did 3 ceaserian sections - alone. We are eager to see how she can put the management of very sick patients that she has been doing in Raxual - along with Dr. Philip Finney and the team - into practice among our very sick patients here at JSK.

And so tomorrow - which cannot come too soon - the train will start shrinking the 1890 kms as Sheba is pulled steadily towards Delhi. By Wednesday morning that distance will shrink to 0 kms - infact we will be 0 cms apart. Speed the day.

Another WAD...

2011-11-29T22:58:00.001+05:30

India woke up to AIDS in 1986 when the first cases were reported from Chennai.

Well. That's when the first cases were detected.

Have we ever really woken up?

We are now a quarter of a century down the road. We are glad that our HIV prevalence rate (0.31% of adult population) is lower than that of the US. At least according to official estimates by our National AIDS Control Organisation.

The government has - perhaps gleefully - announced that the rates of new HIV infections have decreased by 50% over the past decade.

Good. But there are still new people getting infected. And we still have a lot of people who have been infected and still don't even know their true status. And the overall quality of the data - and availability remains abysmal. How we wish we could have a summary like the CDC puts out for HIV in the US.

"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing" someone said. Quite.

That we are a quarter century into HIV in India and still do not have the most basic understanding of the disease is sad. Especially when it is a reporter for a national newspaper.

Yesterday a prominent Mumbai paper put out a howler of an article whose headline breathlessly announces that "Aids cases fall by 88.64% in Mumbai." Just seeing someone quote a double decimal point shows that here is a person who does not understand statistics. No govt. figures are going to be accurate even for a single decimal point - let alone the false sense of precision that a double one gives.

The article goes on to claim that "percentage of HIV positive cases fell from 10.56 of the Aids cases reported in 2007 to 5.84% till October in 2011" This is pure gibberish. Every person with AIDS is HIV positive. The reporter seems to have gotten even the most basic distinction of what HIV is and what AIDS is on its head.

My favorite part of the article was this statement: "The number of deaths also came down from 233 in 2007 to 15 so far this year" Wow. According to this reporters understanding - the govt. figures show that only 15 people died of AIDS this year in Mumbai. 15 deaths out of 16 million inhabitants. That means that you probably have a better chance of having your ear bitten off by a rat than dying of HIV in Mumbai town.

If this were only true. Only 15 deaths. My word - wouldn't that be just great! We could shut down Jeevan Sahara and do something else. Maybe start helping people not fall while taking showers. I am sure that more than 15 people in Mumbai have died while slipping in the bathroom this month - let alone this year.

Sadly it isn't. We know.

We have seen friends with HIV who were alive as of 1.1.2011 - and who are not as of 29.11.2011. I will use some of their real names just to prove it. I am using their first names because they are so common. They could be anyone - but these were real flesh-and-blood people: Irfan. Pushpa. Deepali. Sonali. Anant. Sudhakar. Villas. And the list goes on. These are people we have touched. We have loved. And who today are dead. Dead because of a virus called HIV that knocks out our beautiful God-given immune system.

Off the top of my head I have just named half of the people who supposedly - according to the govt. stats - have died in Mumbai this year of AIDS.

And so we lurch towards another Dec. 1st. Its World AIDS Day and we will continue to do what we have been doing for this past decade. Loving people with HIV. Telling others about it. Praying. Caring and sharing. Whatever the so-called statistics tell us - we know from our experience on the ground - that there is still so much to be done.

We will see an AIDS-free generation someday - but its not just round the corner. In the mean time we have our hands on the plow. And our hearts talking to God.

A mini concert

2011-11-28T03:46:00.001+05:30

Asha and Enoch love to sing and play. One of the joys we have is seeing them develop their musical skills.

They both have excellent teachers - Elaine Thomas is guiding Asha with the violin and Trevor Ross helps Enoch with the keyboard. Both teachers see the music the kids are making as not just a set of notes and skills - but as an expression of praise to God himself.

Here is a small snippet of one of the songs they are playing these days.

If you come home - it may take a few minutes for Asha and Enoch to warm up to you. But should they get the violin and keyboard out - then you are in for a treat of at least 3 songs of not more.

What a difference from my musically challenged childhood. My mother - bless her heart - tried so hard to coax something musical out of me. We went through the piano, recorder and finally guitar. Mum tried to teach me the first - and got me to go for recorder lessons and finally paid good money for guitar tutoring. But of no avail. I was too lazy and uninterested. How different this next gen is. Yes, we do need the occasional ''strong suggestion" to have our twosome practice their instruments - but both teachers are happy (and both parents thrilled) with what we have going.

Cyrus and I

2011-11-27T21:56:00.001+05:30

Late one night last week I saw a small article on the BBC website stating that the Tata's had chosen the successor to Ratan Tata - a man widely credited for moving the mammoth Tata Group from being a big old-money industrial house in India to becoming a major world player. The Tatas are now the UK's largest industrial employer and own well-known automobile brands like Jaguar and Rover, as well as Tetley Tea, and Corus steel. That is in addition to their own home-grown but world-class Tata brands of Tata Consultancy Services as well and the whole stable of industries in India and other parts of the world.

Curious to see who the new person was I clicked and found myself looking at a familiar name. Cyrus Mistry.

A few years ago I received an email from an Irish journalist asking if I had gone to school with Cyrus Pallonji Mistry - the son of Irish-Indian real estate tycoon Pallonji Mistry and what my memories of him were. I was not familiar with the middle name and anyway did not want to answer the enterprising hack - so I sent a short email response declining comment.


Cyrus P. Mistry - director designate for Tata Sons

Seeing the name again was a real surprise. I was staggered to think that my classmate from 5th standard at the Cathedral and John Connon School in Mumbai is now about to take over one of the biggest business houses.

Till now I had thought that only one of my classmates was from an industrialist family - Tanya Godrej - the daughter of Adi and Parmeshwar Godrej. And it was It was many years later that I even realised that - reading about her wedding in the papers and putting two and two together.

I had actually thought of Cyrus a few times in the last few years. Not because I knew anything about his family (which a cursory reading of the papers shows that they have been a major part of the Tata group for decades). But because of his name - Cyrus.

In the Bible studies that I lead on many a Friday night we have spent some time recently looking at the history of the Jews in their Babylonian exile. One of the most remarkable emporers is the great Persio-Mede emperor Cyrus the Great. Fulfilling the seemingly improbable prophecy of Jeremiah - the Emporer Cyrus (whose empire stretched well into Hindusthan - making him king of our people too - or at least part of our ancestors) decreed that all the Jews who wished to could return to their ancient city of Jerusalem and rebuild the temple there.

The Bible records this in the 2nd Chronicles chapter 35 and verses 22 and 23:

In the first year of Cyrus king of Persia, in order to fulfill the word of the LORD spoken by Jeremiah, the LORD moved the heart of Cyrus king of Persia to make a proclamation throughout his realm and also to put it in writing:

This is what Cyrus king of Persia says: “‘The LORD, the God of heaven, has given me all the kingdoms of the earth and he has appointed me to build a temple for him at Jerusalem in Judah. Any of his people among you may go up, and may the LORD their God be with them.’”

Reading the name of Cyrus in the Bible reminded my of my own Cyrus. The Cyrus Mistry who studied together with me in 5th standard. His name a direct tribute to the great Persion King who ruled most of the world at the time. A king who was a Zorastrian by religion - a faith which continues to be followed by the Parsee community which my classmate Cyrus - and for that matter the Tatas and Godrejs are followers of.

The Cyrus of my mental image was a skinny boy with specks. Of course most of us boys were small and skinny then. Yours truly was the third smallest in the class for what seemed ages. As 5th standard boys we spent much of our time wrestling and getting our white uniforms completely brown / grey with dirt - and splattered with the blue ink-trails of our beloved Chinese fountain pens. Actually the only clear memory I have of Cyrus was talking to him one afternoon in a craft lesson which we had in a room that was not our normal classroom. Other than that only faded photos remain on my part to link us together.

When I told my daughter Asha about Cyrus she said I should call him up - or at least send him an email. I can just imagine his inbox at the moment - he must be getting 500 or so emails a day! Everyone who never noticed him will be hounding him now - seeking favours - trying to get onto his contact list. I don't think I will add to that. But just to for the record - I am really proud that Cyrus is taking up this amazing responsibility. My earnest prayer to Jesus is that Cyrus will be diligent in leading the Tata group and that as the result of his leadership his employees will be blessed and our nation strengthened.

Thinking back I am so grateful for the amazing schools I have had the privilege of attending. Cathedral and John Connon from first to 1/2 of sixth standard. The Deutsche Schule Bombay from 6th to 10th. And then of course Woodstock School for my 11th and 12th. Each school was not only a place where excellent teachers poured themselves into us - but also where I was blessed to study with some wonderful boys and girls.

The genius of wearing uniforms at Cathedral (despite the pain it caused my mother to clean the mess I brought back on me everyday) was that no matter what our house-hold income was - at school we all wore the same clothes so I never realised just how great our income disparities were. Further - we were all taught the same way. My classmates whose parents were captains in industry did not get more attention than those of us whose parents were not. Our dear 5th standard teacher Mrs. Mahableshwarwallah - herself a Parsee like Cyrus and Tanya are - direct descendants of those Zorastrians who left Persia and received shelter in India generations ago - poured herself into us.

I wonder what her thoughts would be if she were to see where we have all ended up today.

Cyrus Mistry - fifth from the left of the second row standing. Tanya Godrej - second from the right in the first row standing. Your 'umble Chai Chat wallah - Andreas Eicher - first row seating extreme right.

Blue blistering barnacles

2011-11-26T18:56:00.001+05:30

I grew up in a pretty sober home. We didn't have a TV. Movies were rare. Books were plentiful.

Along the way a special group of comics crept in. I don't exactly remember when I read the first. But I think it may have been The Calculus Affair. I must have been about 8 at the time.

Over our growing up years the various characters in Tintin's world became our friends. The 22 volumes that were available to us (the early crudely-drawn Tintin in the Land of the Soviets and Herge's final unfinished Tintin and Alpha Art remain unread). But the rest of the books - with the irascible Captain Haddock and the bumbling Thomson and Thompson (with the silent p) and Professor Calculus and Bianca Castefoire.. all are part of who we grew up as.

The next gen of Eichers have taken up the same love for Herge's ligne claire drawings. One of the high-lights of our annual pilgrimage to Shanti Kunj are the endless hours lying in bed reading and rereading Tintin comics. The fascination continues here in Thane town. Our two Tintin volumes that we have (Tintin in Tibet, Land of Black Gold) are endlessly re-read. One year we made Enoch's birthday cake as Tintin.

It was thus with a little trepidation that we embarked upon the highlight of the week - going to see Spielberg's big-budget Hollywood adaptation of The Secret of the Unicorn. I asked my good friend Vasu Vittal what he thought - he told me to be prepared for Hollywood. I did.

The film was a pure adrenaline rush. Tintin on speed. Tintin in the most lush jaw-droppingly beautiful locales. Wow. The battle scene between Sir Francis Haddock's Unicorn and Red Rackham's raider stupendous. The desert scenes achingly beautiful. The clarity of the lostness of being adrift at sea. Every image yearned to be seen again and pondered over. Like a comic book.

Having gone in with low expectations - and not expecting every bit of the beloved books to be reproduced the kids and I had a non-stop whooping and laughter marathon. Our very dear (and for security purposes nameless) friends had drove all the way from Mumbai-town to give us this treat - and we all enjoyed every bit of it. Not for me the fulminations of Tintin purists.

I will take my Thomson and Thompson as they come. In ligne claire and in Hollywood too.

A stray line I read a few weeks ago suddenly made sense. The author said that the genius of a comic strip is that our minds have to fill in the blanks of what happens between the images. This does not happen in a film. Everything is there. The challenge for the comic creator is to show enough and get your mind to fill in the rest.

Just like no set of Narnia films will ever do justice to the simplicity and the spriteness of Lewis' works - no set of Hollywood behemoths (and likeable ones at that) will push Herge's volumes into the trash. For one thing - the totally painstaking research that went into all but the very first volumes will continue to shine forward. A recent article shows how Herge meticulously drew the various cars of the day into his stories. And then there is the slapstick and the adventure and the quirks of characters that draw you through. And did I speak about the colours...

Our kids will in all probability be having to pry their own brood away from the ye olde Eicher Tintin volumes sometime in the distant future...

So I say 'blue blistering barnacles' to all who dislike the film. Give Spielberg his due. And keep reading Herge. After all - as Cuthbert Calculus said at the end of the orginal Secret of the Unicorn: "All's well that ends well!"

Lionel - Part 2

2011-11-26T15:00:00.001+05:30

Lionel was admitted at one of the large municipal hospitals in Mumbai.

He was HIV positive. He needed orthopaedic surgery.

Lionel's boss who runs a well-known nursing home first promised him that he would do the operation. But then he backed out. He filed and accident report and sent Lionel to the govt. hospital.

It was almost a death sentence.

Lionel was taken to the hospital. And dumped.

No one came to help him. He was alone.

The doctors didn't touch him. The nurses treated him like dirt. Ward boys? Forget it. Lionel said the doctors acted like small time mafiosi.

Lionel was eventually shunted out onto a balcony. Alone.

There he lay in pain. Unable to move. No one fed him. His hair grew. He weakened.

Somewhere in his misery he prayed. He had never been the praying type. But in his weakness and misery he called out to Jesus.

Over a thousand kms away things started to move. Lionel's mother realised her son was missing. She tried to contact people and got no info. She finally called a relative who lives in Thane and asked her to see if she could track down Lionel.

It was this lady who found Lionel. She brought one of her nephews with her and they searched for Lionel in the govt. Hospitals. Then they found Lionel. He was emaciated. He had not passed stool for 2 weeks.

Lionel's relatives were shocked to see him. Shocked at the knowlege that he was HIV positive. But even more dismayed by the near death situation they found him in.

Together they started to look after Lionel. Gave him a bath and a shave. Fed him. Talked to him. Heard his story. He had never met them when he came to Mumbai. But now they were there for him.

I got a call from one of them a few days after they found him. They were looking for options. A place where Lionel could get his surgery done. A place where he could recuperate.

We talked to Lionel's cousin and told him that it was not just a matter of getting a surgery done - Lionel also needs a place to recuperate. A place to live and make a new life. Lionel needed a home.

Lionel's relatives swung into action. They took him to the Kalwa hospital where they were told he could have his operation. After they actually brought him to the hospital they were told that it would not be done. The reason is always the HIV. Surgeons - especially orthopaedic surgeons - just do not want to operate on people with HIV. An the way hospitals are - hearing from one person does not guarantee a procedure will really be done.

But Lionel's relatives did not give up. They had not only found Lionel - a man who had never had the time of day for them in all the years he had lived in the Mumbai area. But now they also have a new relationship with him as fellow worshippers of Jesus. When they first met him they asked Lionel if he had ever prayed to Jesus. He told them that this was all he could do when he was lying helpless on that balcony.

Lionel's relatives worked and prayed. And a week later managed to get his operation done a the KEM hospital. After a few days the hospital wanted to discharge him. He needed to go back home South - but no trains were available immediately.

We agreed to have him stay at the JSK centre.

He said that the time he spent with us was like being in heaven. The care he got from our nurses. The love and prayer from the JSK staff and visitors.

Finally it was time for him to go South. Sheba and I had already left - so we did not seem him off - but we know that there were tears.

Lionel's story is not over yet.

He is alive. He still has HIV. He still has to fully recover from his injury.

We believe his post-op healing is taking place.

But the home front remains grim.

His father refuses to speak with him. He had called Lionel's relatives and told him not to bring Lionel home. Part of the matter seems to be Lionel's father's own alcoholism and the deep unforgiving spirit he has.

Lionel's wife and child are still estranged. He is still not sure what his next steps should be. He calls up our staff and talks to them and has said he would like to come back and work again at the nursing home here.

Lionel is an unfinished book. The next chapter is still being written.

Lionel - part 1

2011-11-26T01:04:00.001+05:30

"You really must write a book about your experiences"

The young pastor I was talking to yesterday leaned forward to me. "I will translate it into Kannada"

We were sitting in his living room. His paintings adorned the walls - Jesus sitting on the floor with his disciples - a rangoli infront of him as he divided the chappatis. The pastor's wife sat next to him on their couch and was beaming as they had just told me that they were expecting their first child.

"I do write" I replied. "I write some of them on the blog"

"We have so many stories that unless we write them down - we forget them"

We have many stories because the lives of the people we meet at Jeevan Sahara are all so completely different. And so intense. And they just keep coming. The people - and with them their stories. Our hard drives quickly fill up. This blog is one way of trying to remember.

I realise - however - that when I write the words so often barely do justice to the experiences of our HIV positive friends. Each life is so layered and varied - and many a time I write something only to realise that I didn't fully get the picture (its always good when Sheba read blog and corrects me). But at the same time - I marvel at the miracle of language - of how a few words are able to capture significant - if not exhaustive - parts of our friends lives.

----------------------------------------

Here is a story.

Lionel is a man in his mid 30s.

His parents are wealthy land owners in the South. They had a daughter. Then another. Then a third.

The prayed for a son.

They got one in Lionel.

Lionel was not a good son.

After some time he left home and struck out for Mumbai. He trained as an X-ray technician and married a nurse - his state is famous for nurses - and the moved to Thane.

Lionel had another mistress though - the bottle.

Lionel wanted to go abroad (his state is famous fr the number of people who migrate for work). As part of the medical he had an HIV test done. He ended up HIV positive. It was a terrible shock. After some time his wife could not handle it anymore - and took their son away. Leaving Lionel to his bottle.

Homeless Lionel managed to persuade the owner of the nursing home he worked at to let him have a small corner to live in - in return for doing odd jobs and working as the care-taker.

This arrangement went on for some time.

Then one day Lionel climbed up to check on the water tank. It seemed to be overflowing - so Lionel climbed up - and then slipped and fell down. Lionel broke his upper femur. The nursing home director told him not to worry - that they would take care of eveything.

They did not.

After 10 days, the director said that he could not do anything anymore since Lionel had HIV and that Lionel will have to go to a govt. hospital for treatment. A form was given to Lonel to sign - and then Lionel was taken to a large municipal hospital in Mumbai.

This is where the real drama began for Lionel....

(gentle reader - there will be more tomorrow about Lionel's next steps)

Contentment

2011-11-24T00:45:00.001+05:30

Out here in India that rumblings of the 1% and the 99% are faintly heard. The morning papers have a slow drip of info about them. I wonder how many papers in the west have stories about the street struggles we have here. Its not only pepper spray - people often lose life and limb to the brutalities of security forces of various stripes.

We live in a sea of poverty and basically close our eyes daily to the desperate struggle people have around us to survive.

Here is a short note (clearly for a western audience) but one that we have to admit fits us to:

To the last line you can add that if you are reading this message on the Chai Chats site - then you have another feather in your cap - many who can read do not have access to the internet. Slap another 1.5 billion or so to that number...

We have so much to be grateful for.

The Good Book says is succinctly. Godliness with contentment is great gain. I Timothy 6.6

13 days

2011-11-23T18:32:00.001+05:30

I came home at noon to a teary boy.

He had not eaten breakfast.

Tomorrow marks 3 weeks since Sheba went North and we went South. We all miss her very much. Enoch is now vocalising what is in his heart.

Yesterday night at the dinner table he asked "Mummy's not eating with us?"

Today the tears started to trickle.

"I want to see Mummy. And I want to see her right now"

Enoch and I went into the next room for some Lego therapy. We made a calendar which we will now use to count down the days. Tomorrow we will cross out the 13 by sticking a big old lego cross ontop of it. Then we will have only 12 days left till we see Mummy.

The heart yearns.

Enoch enjoying a delicious rice and chicken curry lunch today! His morning 'fast' made him quite hungry at lunch! We are being wonderfully blessed by having Ammamma cook for us during these days.

A day

2011-11-23T00:01:00.001+05:30

End of a day.

Got up at six-something. Late. Got a mini-brekkie for Asha. Got her tiffin ready. She ironed her clothes and combed her beautiful hair. The girl is growing up.

We were out of the door at 6.40. Enoch was with us. He loves dropping Asha off at school. Scooter on the blink so we hoofed it over to Vasant Vihar High School. There was actually the faintest bit of coolness in the air. Saw more than the odd sweater on folks. Was still wearing my t-shirt and shorts I had slept in during the night when Enoch and I walked back home.

Boiled milk. Had a cuppa. Quick look at the word. Too quick. Had a shower.A conversation on the phone with my darling. Counting the days - just over 2 weeks now till Sheba returns home. Kiss to Enoch. Walk over to work. In the door just after 8.

Emails and FB. Trying to figure out the day. Its going to be a logistic one. A foreign visitor pops in the door. Forgot her. Yes its Tuesday - and I had said she could come over and see the project. Dr. Marise is there so I will ask her to give the visitor an understanding of our work.

In staff prayer at 9. Translate Sandhya's sharing from the word for our visitor. Hand her over to Dr. Marise and do a quick strategy with Moses, Manoj and Santosh - to get the materials out for Mumbai AIDS Sunday. We pack and repack. Count and get the letters in order. Its past 11 before they are out the door. Way late but thats how it is. Things take time.

A frustrating fight with the ancient printer. Turn off the computer repeatedly to try and flush the phantom print commands out of the system.

The policeman who came with his brother to see us yesterday is back. This time to show his brother to Dr. Marise. I introduce them. The brother is from the southern border of Maharasthra. He has come to Thane because he has HIV. He has tried suicide at least once. Yesterday - when talking to him I told him that his name in Hindi meant 'priceless' - and that's what he is - so valuable in the sight of God and all of us. We prayed together before he left.

A young man comes by. He has had HIV since birth. He is 22 now. An orphan. Living in a half-way home and working at a call centre. His carers have asked him to be checked up. Marise stops by and tells me that he has not been looking after himself at all and has oral candiasis and swollen lymph nodes. Not a good sign at all. He sounds like he is deep denial - probably just so tired of HIV - having had it life-long. A young life already dripping with weariness. We link him up with Giri who takes him to the Civil Hospital to get registered for ART and to get a CD4 test.

Its time to grab lunch. Some photocopies need to be done. More books to be packed for distribution. I get Agnes and others to help out. Stop off and drop off the photocopies so that I can pick them up later.

Up to lunch. Enoch wanted to watch a Tintin cartoon. Then I see what Amma has made. Chicken biryani. The smell is heavenly. We can't sit in another room and wolf down a meal like this. I talk quietly to Enoch and we decide to shelve the 'Cigars of Pharaoh' for later. He's a great kid. Lunch is terrific. His shirt is ironed - I make his tiffin and then we are out. Walking over to school in the heat of the sun. A huge road-roller patching the road outside our complex. Road work seems to take place most often at the hottest part of the day.

We reach school well in time. We have counted 'Nano' cars on the way and talked about lego. The line of boys is still waiting outside the gate. A quick prayer and Enoch joins them. They soon file off to join the girls who were already allowed in.

I wait as the stream of older kids starts to flow from around the corner. After umpteen kids- there comes our firstborn. Asha looks happy. We walk back home. I drop her at the corner - once we have crossed the crazy intersection near Lok Upvan (where we live now). I pick up the photocopies. They have been neatly rolled up in so many slim cylinders.

A walk over to the Jeevan Sahara Kendra again. Our black beauty's zip is well missed by my feet today. But then again a bit of walking never did any harm.

The afternoon is a blur.

At one point three ladies come into my office. Since it is the size of a biggish shoe-box - we need a bit of squeezing. I quickly find out that the two better dressed professional ladies have brought another lady who is small and thin - for help with understanding what to do with her HIV.

We go over to Sheba's office. I wish she were here. Its 3.20 pm and Dr. Marise has left for the day. I ask Agnes to join us. We talk. Laxmi (not her real name) lost her husband 10 years ago. She looks thin and has been ill. A small file of medical records shows her CD4 count is low. 334. It should be between 900 - 1200. She has a daughter. I start to explain that she has come to a place where we care for her. She starts to cry. Her employers are embarrassed and try to shush her. I want her to be able to cry and try to tell Laxmi that. Its hard to talk to her with such an audience around. I ask Agnes to talk with Laxmi while I help the helpers.

They are both interested and want to help. We talk about HIV and what the options are at this point. I let them know that Laxmi can live long if she fights the disease and is consistent and if we pray. We discuss food. Medications. What to do next. They look visibly relieved. We set an appointment for one them to come with Laxmi to see Dr. Marise on Fri morning. I go back to my office. Agnes is still talking with Laxmi in another room. I ask the helpers to sit for a while.

Agnes arrives breathless at my office a few minutes later. 'Please come brother' Laxmi had cried a lot and told her story. At the end, Agnes asked her she would like prayer. Laxmi said yes and asked for prayer for her daughter. Agnes closed her eyes and prayed. When she looked up mid-prayer, Laxmi had loosed her hair and was jerking her head around strangely. Not a pretty sight. Daniel and I were called in. We prayed and Laxmi calmed down. The helpers outside asked what was the matter. I said it happens with some folks.

In the meanwhile phone calls. Emails. An ache for Sheba. A phone call from the mechanic telling me the scooter will be repaired for a cost only slightly less than the moon. I tell him I will meet him at 6. A quick bill payment of the electric bill on the way, and I am at the grimy motorbike repair wallah just before time. He is out somewhere. His trusty lieutenant briefs me. The scooter is scattered about in so many pieces. What can I say? No, I don't want if fixed. The sum boggles me, but I grimly nod my head and ask the chap to go on with what 'has to be done.'

A stroll over to the school and its time to pick up Enoch. An sms from one of our just-left-from-JSK-after-7-months-here interns thanks me but informs me that the brain surgery that I thought had happened yesterday is still to come. Enoch comes bobbing along. He is most concerned that we get the Tintin flick under our belt.

We breeze in home. A quick hello to Amma and Appa and we repair to the computer to see the Cigars of Pharaoh. Good stuff. Amma brings in tea and her home-made 'diamond biscuits'. I watch the clock. Asha is downstairs playing with her friends and cycling. We see over half of the flick and then I have to be off again.

Appa and I head over to the bible study at Shanti's house. Asha meets us a we get into the lift. She has hurt her leg. We escort her to the door and then ride down the mechanical marvel. 6 floors everyday. Multiple times.

Miracle of miracles. We get an autorickshaw immediately. We arrive at Shanti's home to see that one lady has already come. More trickle in as we get the singing underway. Eventually we have 4 ladies. 8 kids. Plus the host. And a single man and a couple too boot. Appa shares from the word. He weaves his own stories in too. And what he has read in newspapers. He talks about Mary sitting at the feet of Jesus. Of how Jesus wants us to ask, seek and knock. But also how Jesus wants us to have clean hearts of repentance. How much we need to look into ourselves and talk to God about what we see. We end up praying for a woman whose husband beats here. Another who wants to have a small room of her own. Another who is troubled by horrible dreams. A young man whose brother is tying to juggle a job and college. We pray. Shanti serves us soup in cups afterwards. An auto back. We are home.

A few calls come in but supper is taken with Amma and Appa. The kids had eaten earlier. I tell of some of the days experience to Amma and Appa. Enoch listens open-mouthed to the story of Laxmi.

Family prayers and then bed. For Asha at least. I find myself stuck to the computer. Enoch joins me to watch the part of the flick I did not see earlier. Then he turns in too. And so I end the day in the silence of a fan whirring and two kids sleeping behind me. Somewhere over a 1000 kms away, Sheba is probably on night-call helping mothers birth babies in the obstetrics section of the Duncan Hospital. I read the news. Read some blogs and then write the words you - gentle reader - are reading now.

A quick nip to the fridge for me - and then it is off to bed - joining the rest of the house in tha charming mystery called sleep. Dogs broadcast themselves outside - while my eyelids prove the law of gravity.

A day. Its over. Almost.

Fearfully and wonderfully made

2011-11-22T22:57:00.001+05:30

Every child is a special child. Ask their father. Ask their mum.

Here is what our friend Raja has to say about his son in an email we recently received:

My name is Dr Raja who was at Burroughs Memorial Christian Hospital in Alipur, Assam. I am sending out a email to raise support for treatment of my adopted son at UNC Chapel Hill, USA.

Baby Adam is 8 weeks old and was born in a smallmission hospital deep in the heart of Northeastern India where Jessica and I were working . Adam was abandoned at birthdue to a rare genetic disorder that caused multiple birth defects (including anabsence of eyebrows, severe cleft palate and lip, absent fingers, andsignificant webbing on his legs). His life may have seemed hopeless in thosefirst few hours as he was left alone in a small infant bed. Many peoplediscussed what to make of him and his future.We named him Adam that He is in God's image since some people were telling that he is ugly and disfigured.

My wife Jessica and I felt particularly burdened to care for this child. As we went daily to wash him and care for his needs, we began to realize that babyAdam needed a family. Even if his life and condition were uncertain, he neededa home. He could certainly sense rejection and could certainly sense love. Hehad found a lot of rejection but what he needed was love. Adam was officially named . He was loved and visited by many.

We took to New Delhi to be seen at the All India Institute of Medical Science for further treatment but all the options seemed hopeless. Despitea healthy heart, brain, and other internal organs, operations did not seempossible. That is, until we heard from UNC (University of North Carolina Medical School ) Chapel Hill. A team of specialistswere committing their knowledge and skills to help repair Adam’s externaldefects. In this last few weeks, we have seen more miracles than ever before. We got Adam's passport in one day and US visa in one day....God has been so good to us.

Baby Adam is now in Chapel Hill, NC awaitingtreatment. Specialists have seen him and surgeries have been planned. We are now awaiting the necessary funds to completetreatment. Please join us in this journey. We are hoping to raise the $100,000by Nov 30^th in order to provide the 1st stage of surgeries that is needed for Adam . If you want to contribute please make checks payable to “The Baby Adam Fund” and send to The MedicalFoundation of North Carolina.

Adam was given general anesthesia for central venous line today and successfully recovered. Praise God. Ever since we have adopted Adam .There were lots of encouragements and some discouragements in this process specially within 7 months of marriage adopting a special need child..and so on. However , we feel that God has brought Adam to our life with a purpose and asking us to obedient in caring for Adam.

Please continue pray for Adam

Some of the updates are available in the following web links: http://www.babyadamsjourney.com/

http://palestiniancleftsociety.com/ http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/BabyAdamPaulraj

I will really appreciate if you can pass this information on.

Thanks .

In Him

Raja

Chapel Hill ,North Carolina.

Dr.Raja Paulraj
Consultant Psychiatrist
Herbertpur Christian Hospital
P.O. Herbertpur, Distt. Dehradun
Uttarakhand - 248 142India

Word from Bihar

2011-11-22T13:33:00.001+05:30

Let us give thanks for the mobile phone.

This small piece of plastic and metal - that has become a second heart for us. For which should leave the house without the reassuring weight of the mobile in my pocket - I inevitably notice within 15 minutes of being out the door. I think I have a greater chance of walking out without my trousers than sans mobile.

Over these weeks - whenever the fine talk-machine starts vibrating I look double quick to see whether the caller or message-sender is my beloved Sheba.

Here the kids and I are - near the Arabian sea - and there she is - off on the border with Nepal. Plunged in head-first in a large mission hospital where there are very few doctors at this point.

If Sheba had any thought that her time there would be mainly observational, that idea has quickly evaporated. She is up to her elbows in work.

In a hospital where 25 or so kids are born every day - there is a lot of birthing to be done! Sheba worked through the night yesterday. She was on-call - which basically meant that she was in the labour room or theatre the whole time. Talking to her this morning on the blessed mobile Sheba told me that she had lost count how many kids were born. Was it 10 or 11? Sheba had to do a difficult ceasarian section on a woman whose child had turned to a breach-presentation. She did it on her own. With the help of chief surgeon Jesus of course.

And so it goes. My darling off on the border of Nepal. Delivering kids. Doing lumbar punctures. Counselling women in depression. Being salt and light.

The word from Bihar comes via our little black and red hand-set. Crackling across the 1000+ kms that lie between us. Linking us in love and prayer.

Blessed are the mobile-makers.

Out on the streets

2011-11-19T12:02:00.001+05:30

At Jeevan Sahara Kendra we deal with many people who have HIV.

People's lives which are so devastated by the disease and the suffering linked with it.

How often we wish our Positive Friends could have prevented the disease instead of getting it.

By God's grace India remains relatively low in its HIV prevalence (the US has a higher rate per population than we do - at least if you believe both governments...). But we do not want to pat ourselves on the back. There are still too many new infections taking place.

Today 32 young people are out on the streets of Thane to try and stop the spread.

We have structured today's Youth Against AIDS Day of Outreach and Service - as a time when young people will get the word out about HIV prevention and testing.

This morning we gathered at JSK to set the stage.

Our JSK Staff demostrated the street play that the young people will be performing across Thane.

We then split into 5 groups and practiced it on the grounds of the JSK.

Its a small step forward. Putting our young people in a role of communicating a life-and-death message.

Something that most of u

The skit is simple. It shows our immune system as a guard who effortlessly keeps diseases like fevers, diarrhoeas, pneumonias and TB away from the body. But one night after the body went to a prostitute - a new disease has entered - HIV - which gradually erodes the power of the immune system. As they fight it out the immune system weakens and the body is now open to the attacks of the other diseases around it.

The pitch at the end is to protect - but we are not just interested in people knowing some facts. We want people to actually get tested. After the street play is over - the participants will give out pamphlets about our testing centre here - and talk with the people on the street about HIV.

Why testing? Because when a person gets tested for HIV they find out the truth. They see what their condition really is. If they are HIV positive, then we can immediately start treatment. If they are negative - then they have a new life ahead of them. A chance to change their behaviour. A chance to live in a different way.

As I type this - our 5 teams have fanned out to different parts of the city. We gathered around a large map of Thane and dedicated ourselves to helping others prevent HIV.

Its a new start. We hope that we will have people come here for testing. Today. Or some other day. But we trust that our work of getting the word out will touch lives and bear fruit. In changed lives.

Our youth are out on the streets. Doing something that will last.

Palliation

2011-11-18T23:40:00.001+05:30

Palliation. Not a nice word. The very wince of it seems to suggest defeat. Seems to say that whatever we did has not worked. For me the word reminds me of pallid - a husk of a word - giving-up stretched out as long as possible.

But for us palliation is a reality. And one that has its own joys despite the imminence of death.

We brought Mrs. Candy back day before yesterday.

Mrs. Candy has been on treatment for years. She had TB. Was treated. Poorly. Had to be retreated. At the end of her retreatment she was still coughing up TB bacilli.

With the help of another agency - we got Mrs. Candy on multi-drug resistant TB treatment. She took a mountain of medicines for 2 years.

She survived. Sort of. At the end of the time she was culture negative. But not well.

Her hard small body has been battered for many years. Besides her HIV - her late husband battered her. Beat her with his hands. Beat her heart by taking other women into his home while she was there.

When we first met her she was begging outside a local temple. Her son was almost feral.

These years have been hard ones for her. A woman for whom destitution is not an abstract noun - but a daily reality.

It has been hard at times to know how to relate to her. But through all of the ups and downs we have seen a smile and a depth of character that belie the chaos that most of her life seems to have been.

Last week she had a lot of swelling. It seems that her heart is giving out. Sheba is away so we had to take her to the civil hospital. After a short time there, we were told to vacate her.

The Civil Hospital was on strike and they said that she needed a sonography done for her heart. So they sent her to JJ hospital. When our staff arranged an ambulance and took her there - they found that it too was on strike. We were told that Sewri hospital would admit her.

After some cajoling they did. But they are a TB hospital. And so they insisted on restarting TB treatment.

This after she has already been through the most gruelling course of medications you can think of.

It was time to call it quits.

We talked to Mrs. Candy's daughter - who had finally shown up - and brought them back to the centre. Dr. Marise came over and explained things to Mrs. Candy. She has to be ready to die. We will be giving medications for her heart condition - but its unlikely to improve much.

We are switching to palliation.

How much longer Mrs. Candy will live is anyone's guess. Her son - once a vagabond - is now studying at a hostel run by a small Bible college. Mrs. Candy wants him to become a pastor. We will be bringing him to spend some time with his mother.

Our team will be visiting the family every other day.

Mrs. Candy says she is ready to die. She has seen life and she has met God personally. Her simple faith puts most of us to shame. Her sufferings and her complexities continue - but that bright flash of a smile that peeps out every now speaks of a different reality that she is experiencing in these last days.

Published

2011-11-17T12:10:00.001+05:30

At the beginning of every month Asha and Enoch eye the mail box expectantly.

When will this month's edition of Tinkle magazine come?

When the cherished white plastic cover is seen - the mag is quickly devoured by our eager readers. And read again and again over the next few weeks.

The past few months have seen our twosome looking especially eagerly at one section of the mag - the "Shout-out Soap-box" where children write about things that matter to them.

This week there were squeals of delight in the Eicher household - Asha's letter had been published in the November 2011 issue.

Written together with her friend Noopur - the letter had been sent eons ago - but now finally it appeared.

Asha's first taste of being published.

Mrs. Candy

2011-11-14T17:33:00.001+05:30

Mrs. Candy (pseudonym of course) is desperately ill.

We wish we could look after her here at the JSK Community Care Centre - but Sheba is away for a month in Raxaul and we do not have round-the-clock medical supervision.

So our staff admitted her in the main govt. hospital in Thane - the 'Civil Hospital.'

This afternoon we find out that they are on strike.

About what we don't know. And in a way we don't care. The horrible fact is that the govt. hospital is shutting down again.

Our staff have been told to take Mrs. Candy away.

Mrs. Candy is a widow. Her teenage daughter 'married' 2 years ago and has an infant in her arms.

What to do?

We are trying to organise an ambulance to take Mrs. Candy to the main govt. hospital in South Mumbai.

Peter and the staff are in crisis mode. Charting out the plan. Contacting the ambulance. But then they hit a roadblock.

Mrs. Candy's daughter 'Meena'.

Our staff have been trying to contact the girl - but Meena is nowhere to be found.

Without any family member we just cannot send Mrs. Candy to another hospital. Death is very close to all of our patients.

And so we have ratcheted down our response. We will wait till tomorrow. If Meena emerges - we will help get Mrs. Candy to JJ hospital.

If not? She will probably have to go home to her small shack.

Our staff will do the home-care that we have been doing for the past decade. Looking after those who do not exist in the eyes of others.

Caring for a dying woman in her tiny shack in Thane - perched at the edge of the great glittering city of Mumbai

Climbing in small dimensions

2011-11-14T00:13:00.001+05:30

When I was small I read a book called "The Borrowers" which told a fantastic tale about a tiny family that lived below the floorboards.

There is something totally compelling about having things lived out in a small scale. One of the joys of lego for Enoch is being able to build and play out adventures with the little figures.

I found the following shots in our camera - Enoch has taken them all.

The scene opens on Mount Trunk. Where the men are climbing up to get to the top of this massif.

Its a long way up and the climbers have to use ropes to make sure that they do not fall down.

Looking at the angle that Enoch took this shot, I could not help but remember my own small brush with mountaineering - many an eon ago.

The sheer thrill of climbing up - and the wonderful safety of a rope combine beautifully - in the small scale that he was playing with - and the in the large scale of his imagination.

The clinging on of another man with all his might as he looks over to the rope is another classic.

How long will he be able to hold on before a rope comes to his rescue to.

Is he trapped there - or just taking a rest while others use the rope to climb up to the top of Mount Trunk?

All of these questions can only be answered from inside the mind of Enoch as he plays with these little men.

What is clear - however - is that the top is place of rest.

Enoch has constructed a small camp site with little tents for each of the climbers - and a pretty blackened bonfire in the midde.

Successful climbers are probably swapping stories well past their bed-time....

.... which is true for your humble of this blog. The joy of sleep has been calling me for some time now - and in a few seconds I will be sprawled in the bed next to Enoch - and beside the small folding cot that Asha is using now that Amma and Appa are in the Kids' room.

Living Legends: Selvanayagam

2011-11-13T17:27:00.001+05:30

Of the many rich experiences we live through - a special joy is to be in the company of saints.

I am not talking about folks who moon around with ghostly halos glimmering over shaved pates.

I am talking about flesh and blood people whose tears have stained many a floor as the bitter challenges of life have hit them - but who have stood up after their time of prayer and carried on with the messy business of life.

I am talking about people whose ugliness has been evident to themselves - and who have cried out for forgiveness - and how move forward in newness of life. Only to be back on their knees when their closeness to God shows them again a new previously unseen stain.

Over the past 12 years it has been my joy to be blessed by Uncle and Auntie Selvanayagam. I met them for the first time at our marriage. By then they had already been impacting Sheba's life for over a decade.

When Sheba went to Cuttack, Orissa for her medical studies she was looking for a church home. She found it in the home of Uncle and Auntie Selavanayagam.

Literally.

The church met in their home. And after the Sunday service Sheba was always there for a meal. Out of their slim resources, the Selvanayagams were liberal with love. Many a time Sheba caught Auntie adding another morsel to her plate during Uncle's saying grace over the meal - a time while all eyes were supposed to be closed.

Sheba was informally adopted as the Selvanayagam's eldest daugther. Their three girls were literally small girls when Sheba and the other medical students of her time camped at the Selvanayagam's place time and time again. Amazingly, when we came to Mumbai - we found that all three of the girls - Prisci, Susie and Hepsi ended up marrying and living in the greater Mumbai area.

What makes Selvanayagam a saint?

It all starts out with him leaving Tamil Nadu for the Navy. A hard-bitten navy man, Selvanayagam was posted in 1974 to Pune to do pharmacy studies when he came across some street-preachers. Selvanayagam listened in and heard God speak to him through the messages. He confessed his sins and received forgiveness through Jesus Christ. Shortly afterwards he was baptised.

That began his life-long adventure of faith. He eventually left the navy. Together with his wife the moved to Orissa and nurtured others in the faith through their words and their love - lives that were seemlessly meshed together. Sheba was just one of many whom the Selvanayagams poured themselves into.

Over the years they have seen many tears as well. As a couple, and as individuals they have made mistakes.

But I saw them this morning, sitting together before dawn on the corner of our living-room couch. Two old grey souls reading the Bible together and praying. This is a life well lived.

The Selvanayagams do not have a bungalow down south waiting for them to retire to. Their only building project is in heaven. Where others have poured in years of work and funds into land and bricks and mortar - the Selvanayagams do not seem to have anything concrete. Other than the concrete love that they poured into others lives - like the young thin medical student who was born and brought up in Orissa and was making her first foray into the world outside her home - our dear Sheba.

Uncle Selvanayagam is also a cancer survivor. He was operated for cancer of the gall bladder - and is living in total remission!

And they are parents of a cancer survivor too! Many months of tears and prayers went up - but their daughter has survived and is working and a mother as well...

We are so happy that the Selvanayagams have not just remained in our past - but are very much in our present as well. Over the years they have become adopted grandparents to Asha and Enoch. Visits by 'Appachan' and 'Ammachi' (Malayalam for Grandpa and Grandma) are always a joy. Uncle has a calm and deep faith - and the lovely conversations we have about books and theology - and Auntie's bustling love us expressed mainly in smiles and gestures as she does not know English or Hindi - and Asha, Enoch and I do not know Malayalam or Oriya.

Being near the Bethany hospital where Uncle and Auntie are treated whenever they come to Mumbai to be with their daughters' families means that we Eichers get a lions' share of them.

Yesterday I got a call from Uncle telling that they had some checkups at Bethany. We are so glad to be able to host them as a family.

After spending the day in ministry with the local Brethren Fellowship - uncle and auntie returned in the evening and we had another pleasant time of fellowship together - with Amma and Appa with us as well. The only person missing - and we sorely miss her - is our dear Sheba who is currently in Raxual, Bihar.

How much longer will we be blessed with the joy of spending time with the Selvanayagams? We don't know - they certainly are not getting younger.

But we know that each visit is something special to savour.

This morning, as Uncle was preparing to go church - where he was due to speak - he confessed that he was filled with a sense of trembling. To be given the responsibility of sharing the word was no small thing. The immensity of being asked to speak on behalf of God was something that Uncle was acutely aware of.

Saints are saved sinners. Uncle and Auntie Selvanayagam have lived this out to the fullest over their 70+ years on this spinning blue planet. What a privilege to have them feed into our lives too!

Concert time

Loss

2011-11-11T08:35:00.001+05:30

The SMS came late in the night. I was asleep - having just come back from the South earlier in the day - and not having slept most of the night before in the train.

Beep beep beep.

I got up and looked.

It was from Daniel - one of our JSK staff. It was about Jamil (name changed)

Jamil has died. Please pray for his family.

My mind went back to the bony body. The one seeing eye that he used to look at me.

Our staff had cared for Jamil at his home. And also at the JSK centre when he was too sick to be cared for. HIV had decimated Jamil's imunity. His drinking had taken out much of his health. His TB had eaten away at his lungs. And on top of it all his mind was far from normal.

Through it all his widowed mother looked after him. Jamil had raged at her while he was admitted with us. What he told her at home we will never know.

But she kept loving him and looking after him.

This morning she is widowed and has lost her son as well.

I am the 3,602,056,764th

2011-11-08T02:15:00.002+05:30

According to a nifty BBC website - I am the 3,602,056,764th person alive of this planet.

Its been estimated (with some fanfare) that we now have 7 billion image-bearers of God on this dear earth (though the dear friends who tout the numbers usually do it in a more gloomy way).

Looking at my rank in the world - it would seem that just under half the world is older to me and the other half has been added since I was born. Sobering stuff to know that 3.5 odd souls are alive today

Among the many strong narratives that went on in the background of I had two which were apocalyptic.

The first was the great Malthusian dillema about our population increasing geometrically and food arithmetically. By the late 1970s all the food and oil etc were going to be used up.

Didn't quite happen.

We have added so many more people to this planet. But the standard line I heard growing up - we are poor in India because we have lots of people - isn't true at all. We are poor because our people do not have opportunities. Because of poor choices and bondages from within and without. Because laws serve the rich and crush the poor. And many other reasons - mostly to do with the stain of our rebellion against our good and loving Lord.

Food supplies actually increased over time. Though we do have lots more people. And numerically the poor are more than ever before - the overall increase in material well-being is undeniable.

The other apocalyptic event that was supposed to take place was the 2nd coming of Christ.

Some authors had figured it all out. EU was a 10 member conglomeration at that point. 10 horns on the beast. Various numbers were put into play. Various calculations and codes discovered. And then a date or two were proposed.

Hasn't happened yet. At least not in the way the literature that was floating around me in my 1970s boyhood seemed to predict.

So what do we make of the futurologists? What do we make of those who sift through the entrails of population numbers and cryptic bits of the book of Daniel?

I think that we are called to live humbly, to seek justice, and to enjoy the real presence of God Himself.

Just because some of the well-meaning predictions didn't quite end up the way they were pitched doesn't mean that the messengers should be shot.

I continue to be a closet environmentalist. Concerned about how we are tending the garden, how we are stewarding the resources that we have been entrusted. If anything - the aspirational and aquisitional materialism that is the new normal in our society has been fueling far more damage to our dear planet - than just the basic number of people per sq. km rubic.

A look at most of the 'western' world shows that having lots of people who are aging and want to be supported at high levels of comfort - and very few young people to work and produce - is a recipe for all kinds of problems. China's own strains from having fewer kids show themselves in other ways.

And as for Christ's return - even in the generation after His death and resurrection there were mumblings among His followers about the apparent delay. Addressing these comments the apostle Peter writes that: But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. (2 Peter3.8-9).

I trust - and try - to live each day as if it were my last. As if I am on the threshold of eternity (which we all are of course). To keep short accounts. To love and forgive. To make the most of what God has given me. To be ready for the joy of hearing 'well done, good and faithful servant.'

And of course for the last 12 years the walk has not been alone. I am so blessed to be on this pilgrimage with the the amazing 3,602,464,780th person in this world. My remarkable wife Sheba entered the world 2 days after I did (a mere 418,016 currently living people later)! Sheba has helped shape me is so many ways - though some of the (re)shaping has (and at times continues to be) pretty painful. Very much a work in process. As if to emphasize this - we have the breath-taking responsibility of bringing up the next generation - at least 2 of them! In 2001 we were joined by the 6,163,475,701st person and in 2003 the 6,322,282,619th person in the world was delivered into our family. The story continues!

And here is where our Lord takes us further. Among our 7 billion fellow earth-dwellers He knows each one of us by name. The work is on-going in each one of us. Only He knows the completion date.

A song from 'Bible Club' in High School echoes in my head (from Phil 1.6 and 2.13)

I am confident that He
Who began a good work in me
Will carry it through to completion
Until the day of Christ
So I'll work out my own salvation
With fear and trembling
For God is at work in me...

yours truly with no. 6,322,282,619 and no. 6,163,475,701

Post-cards from Vizag

2011-11-07T22:52:00.003+05:30

Lets start at the beginning. Well - lets put to clock back almost a week ago. Sometime in the swirling past.

Take a look at the eyes of the man in the photo above. Yes, you are seeing correctly. They are barely open. The result of a good two months or so without adequate Sabbath-rest. The last few weeks were ones of chronic exhaustion. Of a lingering headache that felt like a monkey biting my brain - or something like that. Needless to say - I was not always sweetness and light to my colleagues (and dearest family members too).

Thank God for kids. And kids holidays. Diwali hols are 3 weeks long. Its criminal to spend all that time in Thane. It forces you to move.

With Sheba heading over to Raxual - absolutely immersed in the work at the Duncan Hospital - it is my special privilege to bring Asha and Enoch down to Vishakapatnam to spend a week with their Amamma and Thatha - and then have the 5 of us head back to Thane for the rest of the month that Sheba is using to re-immerse herself in clinic medicine.

I needed a clinical rest. And by God's abundant grace - I am getting excellent doses of it.

Start with the sheer joy of train travel.

In which aircraft can you do something like this? We spent a lovely day moving ever southward and eastward as we swapped the Arabian Sea for the Bay of Bengal.

And for all the ugliness that you do see from the train window - esp. in our wretched cities - once you get into coastal Andhra Pradesh - your eyes are soothed with green balm like this:

Photo courtesy Asha Eicher... who took tons of shots of paddy fields and coconut trees as we whizzed towards Vishakapatnam (which the Brits called Vizag).

The one draw-back was a small miscalculation on the amount of food we were to take - and thus we succumbed to the promise of a 'chicken biryani' which clearly had seen its better days - probably many days previously judging by the taste and texture of the 'bird' and the rice around it.

Asha spend the first two days of our time in Vizag vomitting and on the pot - and Enoch joined as a member of the throw-up-club on our first full day here too.

But whose complaining?

Amma and Appa had swung into action and arranged a taxi to take us on a tour the day after we arrived.

We went out to the zoo - to see stately birds like this amazing specimen.

And many other beasts as well.

Coming from the potholed-roads of Thane - to be zipping along baby-bottom-smooth highways was a minor culture shock. "World Bank money" informs Appa knowlegably.

Sadly even the smoothest road doesn't seem to stop road sickness from the Eicher juniors. Thank God for plastic bags!

Next stop was to go up to the peak and look down. We chose to look away from Vizag town to the other side and were richly rewarded with this view:

Given the car-sickness of our juniour two-some we were home-ward bound at that point. But a glance down at the beach proved irresistable. We just had to spend some time in the water.

A few minutes later we were at the beach. Amma and Appa stayed and the taxi while our little trio of Eichers descended to the sea.

The sea water revived Asha and it was all I could do to extract her from the briney joy of jumping in the waves and making the obligatoyr sand castles.

The next day we were in church - and participated in an after-service love feast. Amma and Appa fellowship at the Bethany Prayer House - a Telegu speaking fellowship that meets in the austere style pioneered by Bro Bhakt Singh and his associates.

I was given the pleasant task of speaking. Twice. An hour for the main message in the morning. And then another hour + in the afternoon with the young people (and young at heart). It was a joy to share what God has been teaching us over the past few months.

In the evenings we have been devouring books together. I just love reading aloud to the kids. We were working through "The Secret of the Shadow" by the Miller brothers. After polishing off that meaty tale last night - we ploughed through an Enid Blighton "Famous Five" book today. Famous Five Run Away Together has been packaged in a new format (at least for me) - one where you get some chances to choose what the characters should do - and try to keep points for getting the least number of 'red herrings.' Good fun. And good medicine to be lying in bed, being pampered by Amma and Appa with delicious food and having the joy of reading with our wonderful 2!

And so to the current report on yours trully. The photo below seems to show almost the same level of tiredness in the eyes of yours trully - but I feel very much on the mend. A few nights of actual sleep have left me very much on the road to being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. These days are exactly what the doctor ordered.

But do say a prayer. No, say a bundle of prayers. For my beloved Doctor who called up earlier today to report she has already seen scores of patients, has successfully done a lumbar-puncture procedure on a patient and has absolutely plunged into a maelstrom of care that the currently-understaffed folks at the Duncan hospital are dishing out!

a prayer

2011-11-07T09:25:00.001+05:30

We walked in through the gate into the large low compound. Dark stone walls surrounded us as we moved through the spacious grassy main square.

We were a largish group - 20 odd people - like any other group who come to see the history and present service of the Pandita Ramabai Mukti Mission.

Our tour guide had already taken one large group around the premises in the morning. Now here we were in the heat of the afternoon - wanting to be taken around too. A short negotiation had just transpired. We agreed on being taken to the chapel and to where the blind ladies were - and finally a quick look at Ramabai's room. Nothing more - nothing less.

The huge wooden-floored chapel dwarfed our group of men and women. Teak from Burma. Ramabai's visions and prayers. We heard our guide speak of times past with the solid stones and soaring pillars around us.

I wondered if our guide knew that almost every person in our group was HIV positive.

We were with the 'married couples group' of our JSK Positive Friends Family Bible Camp. As we walked through the campus - the casual observer would never know what lurked in my friends bodies - or the terrible pain that each couple has experienced over the years.

And then the magical moment came.

We were ushered into a low barrack like room. 4 old ladies were squatting on the floor making chappatis - rolling out the perfect round shapes - tossing them onto hot skillets - putting them into waiting vessels.

Nothing strange. Being in rural Maharashtra the scene could be anywhere.

But for one fact.

Each of the ladies was blind. Blind from birth.

Our group was stunned.

We talked to these dear ladies and they blessed us with their kind words. One of our group asked if he could pray for them. His Marathi rung out over the kitchen as the blind saints flipped their chappatis - in the darkness of their mind - in the bright light of their spirit.

Then the oldest one asked if she could pray for us.

The wizened lady's voice - her hand upheld in blessing - was that of an angel.

Tears came freely from all of us.

As I look back - from the perspective of a month after that amazing camp we had in early October - this incident shines like a jewel.

Each person in our group has locked the gift of the prayer by the blind saint into their heart. In a life of HIV a light has shone. These are souvenirs worth far more than their weight in gold.

Eichers moving South and North...

2011-11-04T23:10:00.001+05:30

As the earth spins in silence the Eicher family finds itself in two very different places.

I am typing in the darkened home of Amma and Appa - Sheba's parents - in the small village of Tungalam (outside Vishakapatnam). All is quiet - the fans are whirring - everyone is blissfully asleep (except yours truly at the keyboard of course). Outside in the distance some local lads are bursting what must be their final crackers of the diwali season.

Sheba - on the other hand is in the upper berth of a train - next to a very voluble family - heading from Delhi to Raxual - a Bihari town of the border of India and Nepal.

What's going on?

pic from http://dgoodmanmd.blogspot.com/

Well - Sheba has an amazing opportunity to hone her skills at running an inpatient care centre - at a very busy place which does down-to-earth, intensive medical care - in the name and spirit of Jesus - the Duncan hospital in Raxual. Dr. Philip Finney and the team there very kindly offered to take Sheba on for special training and put her through an intensive month of the works - so that she can come back and set up things here at the Jeevan Sahara Kendra Community Care Centre. The Duncan Hospital is certainly a busy place. Every day 25-30 deliveries. There will be plenty of opportunities for Sheba to get right into intensive patient care across the spectrum. It has been a real step of faith for us to have Sheba take up this challenge - but we feel strongly that now is the time for her to plunge into it. And - yes - we need nurses - so meeting the nursing students there will not hurt either.

So that means that for a month we are going to miss my amazing wife, our wonderful mother, our tremendous JSK medical director, our tireless pray-er, our friend, our companion ... the list goes on.

John and Priya step into life together after
exchanging vows at Rathord Memorial Church

And where are we now? Asha and Enoch have a 3 week holiday which started 10 days ago. We as a full family were able to experience a day of the Jubilee Convocation of the Hebron Fellowship in Mumbai. We then attended the wedding of John and Priya Jebaseelan in Parel and then left straight from the marriage to go up to Khandala for our Church Family Bible Camp.

But there are still another 11 days to deal with. And so we decided that I will take the kids down to Vishakapatnam to be with Sheba's parents - and then come back to Thane with Amma and Appa in tow!

So on the 3rd of November our family took 2 very different trains. At noon Asha, Enoch and I got into the Vishakapatnam Superfast and whooshed down South - while later in the evening (after have seen 7 very complicated HIV patients that morning) Sheba got into the Rajdhani Express and was whisked off north to New Delhi.

It was quite odd not being together on a journey - but we managed through prayer - and through the comforts of text-messages and phone calls. With Sheba speeding north and us moving south. With us reading a book out loud and not having Sheba with us. With good nights in the train without Sheba's watchful eye during the night. With arriving at Amma and Appa's home without their daughter...

But then again we are so grateful for the love and bonds that have moved us forward. As we look back over the (almost) 12 years of marriage that Sheba and I have experienced - this time will become the very longest (by far) time that we have been away from each other.

Sheba is already on her second train trip - a 26 hour travel between Delhi and Raxaul. We are enjoying the luxury of being pampered by Amma and Appa here. She is due to arrive in Raxual tomorrow evening. Our travels tomorrow could hardly be more different. After a breakfast of idlis and coconut chutney, we are planning to hire a taxi for a day out which will probably include a visit to the zoo, a trip up to the top of the hill where you can see the whole town of Vishakapatnam - and perhaps a stroll down RK beach.

The last few weeks have been ones where time has been smooshed into some kind of a vortex. The next few days are chalked out for sleep and rest.... and maybe a few blog posts to catch us up on what all went on (before forgetfulness - and the next whoosh of activities move us forward!).

Deep breath. Thank God. Move forward. Thanks for your prayers.

Envelopes

2011-10-22T01:00:00.000+05:30

Three envelopes. White. Crisp. New.

Each of them with our JSK address and symbol printed in blue on the lower left hand corner.

He took them out of his pant pocket and looked at me with such gratitude

His three children had been tested for HIV.

The envelopes enclosed the test reports for his kids.

I didn't need to have them opened. I could read the result on his face.

All three are HIV negative.

"God has heard your prayers" He told me.

We had prayed earlier in the week. He was lying on the bed with a blood transfusion dripping into his veins.

Now we were in my office. Madan had come by to tell me the good news that his children were HIV negative and to thank God.

We face many ugly things every day. And we thank God for small miracles like this.

Madan and his wife have a long way to travel. They are both HIV positive and Madan has not been well at all. But he is back on his feet - and his pocket had three white envelopes which showed that his kids are HIV negative.

We rejoice at every scrap of good news. These are what hope is built on. They are post-cards of the Kingdom that is yearning to be fulfilled. And for which our hearts ache in anticipation.

Rest - with a bit of water mixed in

2011-10-21T13:39:00.001+05:30

Finding rest remains an elusive part of our lives.

In the last few months our visitors have usually asked us a question: when do you rest?

The answer is normally a silence. Or a muttering.

One family left behind a lovely gift - an envelop with the specific instructions to use the contents to get away and do something.

We did.

A morning bus n auto ride took us to the Gorai creek ferry warf. There we got on a motorised ferry that took us over the creek to a set of twin amusement parks.

Being there early in the morning gave us a run of the place.

Driving skills were honed.

As were flying skills!

Ride after ride.

Including some that were literally stomache churning.

The brave Eichers passed them all with delight.

But some folks didn't. We saw some of our fellow revelers providing some extra protein for the plants after some of the more vigorous rides.

I was amazed at Asha - who went along with me on a ride that had us spinning round and round - head over heels - for what seemed like an eternity. She weathered it like a pro - and even said that she wanted to do it again as I staggered out at the end.

The beauty of the day was to be together as the four of us. Together and enjoying it to the hilt.

But the highlight was yet to come.

Since we bought tickets to both the parks - we headed over to the other one just before noon.

This park had water. Lots of it.

We plunged in.

Swimming lessons for free! With your own personal trainer!

And pleasantly sore muscles the next day - ones that have not seen a workout for many a year!

The afternoon literally floated by.

Kids - big and small enjoyed the various water slides to the fullest.

The smiles say it all.

It was a day of rest.

A day to be together.

Something we need to do more of. Lots more!

3

2011-10-17T01:01:00.002+05:30

We said good bye to Sashmita Aind - one of our JSK nurses.

She had worked with us for 2 years - had put in sweat and tears - and had done a good job. Never complaining - we saw her go out to homes to meet people there - and look after the odd patient that we had in our in-patient centre.

She committed herself to work for 2 years with us. She did. Now she wants to get married - and so has left us to go home to Orissa - and prepare for the nuptials.

We had had a quiet 10 days at the JSK centre. No inpatients - despite utter chaos at the local govt. hospitals.

On the day Sashmita left us - we admitted 3 men to the centre. All very sick.

We have 2 nurses with us now. One of whom has a small child at home. And 1 nurse aide. It was a tremendous step of faith for Sheba to even admit one person. Let alone 3.

Two of them are really very sick.

One of them - we will call him Tahir - was comatose. Tahir had been in a govt. hospital for 2 weeks and nothing was done. Skin and bones. His wife and mother brought him in to JSK in a terrible state. I did not have much hope seeing the emaciated unconscious man. But we prayed. And Sheba and the team swung into action. Sheba asked Agnes to put in an NG tube. After a year of not doing so - Agnes did it successfully.

Today Tahir is talking. He has started eating. His wife is overjoyed. But he still has a long way to go- both physically and emotionally. We can see the cruel way that he has been treating his wife by his actions from the sick-bed. Its heartbreaking to see him recover only for so much ugliness to surface - yet at the same time, we know that there is so much hope for each person - and Tahir is no exception to that. Sheba was able to spend time counselling and praying with Tahir's wife too.

The other two men want to go home.

Jackie is very sick with TB. But this morning he was sitting outside the room with a smile on his face. He said that he will go home and that his 'friends' will come and look after him there. His mother was most upset at this. When Sheba asked who these friends were - Jackie told the names of our JSK staff. When Jackie's mother asked him to stay at least another day he became convulsed with anger. His gaunt frame shaking he told his mother that he would kill her. The poor lady went away and cried. Sheba talked with Jackie and tried to calm him down. She then talked with the mother and prayed with her. All this before she went to church this morning!

This evening the other man - who we will call Babu - was downstairs for our Sunday evening gospel time. He sat in the front row and listened while we sang and bro. Anil Sainani shared from the bible. Then when Sheba went up to do a final rounds for the day she found that Babu had put all his belongings on his bed. Why did you do this? She asked him. "I am going home now" he said.

Sheba had to explain that a hospital was not like a hotel - where you can come and go when you want. Babu still has a fever. She persuaded him to stay another day - and be examined for fever tomorrow.

This is the first time we have been looking after 3 very sick people at the same time. We go forward with much weakness - but also seeing miracles take place before our eyes. I am so proud of Sheba for the steps of faith she is taking us into.

----------------------

Our immediate wish-list:

At least 3 trained nurses with a desire to serve people with HIV in the name and manner of Jesus.
At least 1 doctor with the same desires

The bucket list.

2011-10-14T01:07:00.004+05:30

The picture says it all. I saw it in an article in the Sunday Express 'Eye' magazine.

The picture showed the corner of a desk. A small neat stack of books. An alarm clock. A kewpee style plastic doll. 5 photos – baby shots, faded pics of a holiday on a beach. A State Bank of India visiting card is jammed in too. An ugly plug point with the mandatory black cable snaking away. A small pen holder. Soap stone with inlaid ‘Taj Mahal’ kind of designs. Pens jostle with the flouresent yellow of sketch pens.

So far so normal. So far so small town.

But two things mark this corner of a desk from the sleepy town of Jamshedpur in Jharkhand from that of any other student desk.

First a picture. A dusky girl smiles out of it. Below in red letters – crowded together – it says ‘Justice for Malini Murmu.’

Malini Murmu. The tribal girl who hanged herself after 3 months of attending one of the best business schools in India. The papers are rife with stories about this young woman ending her life because of being publicly jilted by her boyfriend with this infamous Facebook update “Feeling super cool today. Dumped my new ex-girlfriend. Happy independence day.”

The ‘Justice for Malini’ picture speaks of a life cut short. A set of dreams abruptly ended.

The other thing is a list.

It’s the list of the dreams that the girl had.

A handwritten – mostly in capitals manifesto – where Malini spells out her hopes and aspirations.

“THINGS I WANT IN MY LIFE”

an IIM tag
a dream job
a mammoth bank account
a beautiful house
my own car (BMW/Audi/Ferrari/Porsche)
A guitar (and the perfect skill to play it)
A financially independent life
The perfect ‘diva’ avatar
Flawless skin and hair

& the most important of all

A life partner who make me feel ‘life’ couldn’t be better

(the perfect man for me)

The article in which I saw the picture of this list spends most of its time lamenting the ‘bright eager girl’ who was not here anymore.

What strikes me is the list itself. We have a generation who are aspirational. This is the young India of today. This kind of a list must be penned out and stuck up in thousands of study corners across our land. Its applauded. Greed is good. Move forward – dream big – don’t be satisfied with small stuff. Seek ‘better prospects.’

A newspaper article of a young business man quoted him with something to the effect of: “I read the Forbes list of richest men every night – as long as my name is not on it – I won’t be satisfied – and I go to sleep hungry for more.”

The more you look at Malini’s dream list – the sadder you feel. Starting with the ‘IIM tag’ – which she got – beating out thousands of others who wanted to get into the institute for a coveted MBA – almost every desire that Malini writes about can be commodified into rupees. And each and every wish on her list is solely around herself.

No mention of friends or family. No mention of society or country. Not a peep or a squeak about justice, truth, change. No whisper of immortality at all. All here and now – lots of toys and finally a boy. The ragged tragedy of Malini’s dream list is that amongst the sought-after riches is a spiritual poverty – her bucket list is finally pretty empty – stripped down to its basics all it contains is her.

Malini got the first point of her list – she joined 381 other students in her MBA batch at the Indian Institute of Management Bangalore. And it seems Malini thought she had the achieved the last point on her list too - ‘the perfect man for me’ – until he dumped her.

This is the acid test of our dreams. What happens when they don’t show up, or they start to melt? This is where just how brittle this girl’s dreams are – and along with her the dreams and aspirations of so many many other young men and women like Malini.

“Malini was an average student till about Class V” a teacher of hers is quoted as saying in the article“But after that she showed remarkable improvement. It was as if something possessed her” mused the teacher. Interesting that this man uses the word ‘possession.’

Remembering when Malini came back to thank him, this teacher says “That day I saw in her a confident, resolute girl who knew what she wanted.” Or did she really know what she wanted?

Be careful what you dream. You may just get it. And find how hollow your years have been in the pursuit of it.

A peasant carpenter, whose hands had shaped the universe, and whose knuckles still bore the calluses of shaping ploughs and door-frames told his motley crew that they should seek first the Kingdom – and all these things will be added.

I feel especially sad for Malini because I have met so many who have not followed their dreams in the way she wrote them down – and who are living full and rich lives that install pride in their children. We need to look no farther than my parents and Sheba’s parents to see lives well lived. Their lives have shaped ours – and they contributed to building the Kingdom whose foundations will not shake.

Bombay Burger

2011-10-13T13:11:00.003+05:30

Yesterday we feasted on Wada Pav.

An amazing woman - Asha David - had come to visit us. She used to work in our home for some time - but has been running a home for kids that others do not care for along with her husband for the last half decade.

Whenever Asha comes she wants to serve. Yesterday it was making Wada Pavs for us.

And Asha's service does not come in small quantities. She made 30 of the savory 'Bombay Burgers.'

The kids (and the kids' parents) were delighted. Wada pav for lunch. Wada pav for the kids' snack at school. Wada pav for supper. Even a few for today's breakfast - with the last one going into Enoch's school bag for his recess snack this afternoon.

Supper was a grand affair - with Asha David's gulab jamuns providing a chaser!

Asha David and her husband are performing the herculean task of looking after 30 kids. They survive on a wing and many prayers. Sheba spent time talking and praying with Asha. There were tears.

The world spins round the better for people like Asha and David. Forgotten, quiet heroes - being used by God to do amazing things that most of us in our comfort and apathy do not even consider.

Drops of Blood

2011-10-06T13:03:00.002+05:30

As I spoke I could see the drops of blood dripping.

Small, dark red drops. Falling slowly through the plastic tube.

I was beside a man lying in a bed in the corner room of our Jeevan Sahara Kendra Community Care Centre.

The man – who we will call Madan – was hooked up to a unit of blood. The drops that I saw through the tube were heading for his veins – and then into his heart and to the rest of his body through his arteries.

Madan is HIV positive. He has been getting treatment from the government ART (Anti-Retroviral Therapy) centre. One of these life-giving drugs has caused a severe anaemia.

Madan’s haemoglobin level was only 4. He said that he had difficulty breathing. He was weak and could not work in the small grocery shop he runs.

Madan came in touch with our JSK staff at the ART centre. He did not want us to come to his house since he did not want his mother to know about his condition. We asked him to bring his wife to talk with us. He did not.

Until this time.

As I was talking to Madan I could see the small cluster of the family that surrounded Madan. His brother sat with me on one bed – complete with the martial moustache, curled up and his silver earring that characterises men from the desert state of India. On the other bed – next to her father – sat Madan’s younger daughter. An older daughter sat on a chair. Out of my line of sight was Madan’s wife – her name meaning ‘happiness/good fortune’ and with their youngest – a boy on her lap.

I could have been sitting under a tree in Madan’s ancestral village – with him lying on a charpai - the traditional stringed cot that is the main article of furniture for so many a rural home.

Instead he is in our hospital. Agnes – our nurse in her white uniform – and Giri – our HIV counsellor complete the scene. The evening sun shines on the trees that block most of the neighbouring apartments. We are having an evening prayer with Madan and family.

I am talking about Jesus. About how men came with a man who was paralysed – and how they were so determined to have him healed that they broke the roof of the home Jesus was in to let him down.

And yet the first thing Jesus says to the man on seeing their faith is “Friend – your sins are forgiven.’

HIV is not the worst problem in the world. It’s a terrible challenge – one that has brought untold suffering. It’s the cause for Madan and his family to be here in our hospital room – getting the blood that will keep him going.

But below the disease is a condition that all our dark hearts hold – and most try to hide – a radical rejection of all that is good in God.

The words of Jesus ring across the centuries. “Friend…. forgiven.”

We prayed for Madan. For his healing. For the blood to help. For the new regime of drugs to kick in soon. For his worries to be stilled. For his family to be blessed. For him to taste the joy of hearing Jesus call him ‘friend.’

The drops of blood kept dripping into Madan as I left the room.

When you wish upon a star...

2011-10-05T18:19:00.002+05:30

The joys of googling….

You might find a comet (or at least an asteroid) with your name.

Well, maybe not your full name, but your last name at least…

So it was with yours truly on a sodden afternoon last month. I put in ‘Eicher’ and ‘Wikipedia’ and hey presto – asteroid Eicher appears!

A bit of searching around tells me that the asteroid was discovered by a Brian A Skiff – a chappie who by the looks of it has discovered like a whole barrel-full of celestial rocks.

The object that he named ‘Eicher’ was discovered on the 2^nd of June 1984.

1984. I was a ripe 15-year old then. We visited the US as a family that year. I managed to snag a learner’s licence from the driving authorities in Florida where my grandparents lived at that time. That ‘umble piece of plastic eventually morphed into my driver’s license here in good old Bharat – don’t ask me how.

But back to the asteroid. The bit of rock that orbits the sun which was given the proud name of Eicher can be seen at the NASA site: here Here is a picture of where it was on Sept. 15^th this year.

The orbiting rock was named after David J. Eicher – an avid astronomer who seems to have poured his life into encouraging others to peer into the night skies through the Deep Sky Magazine he founded as well as being the editor-in-chief of Astronomy Magazine.

A quick search (google of course) shows that D.J. Eicher seems to be a minor polymath and has published widely on the history of the US Civil War.

Somewhere between Mars and Jupital a celestial object - named 3167 Eicher - is orbiting around the sun.

The universe is full of wonders.

Psalms Red in Tooth and Claw

2011-09-28T10:42:00.004+05:30

We like our religion tame. Most of us do that is.

When they were with us 10 days ago (or was it 100 years ago?) Alistair and Merryn Appleby left us with a lovely gift - a CD called Shelter by the Sons of Korah.

The opening track really gripped me.

A dark throbbing set of sounds, with various indic instruments blended in reminded me almost instantly of the opening to Apocalypse Now when Jim Morrison crooned 'This is the end, my friend' as the green jungles erupted in flames from the US choppers.

'Contend with those
who contend against me,
fight against those
who fight against me'
starts the vocals - almost at a whisper. You hardly believe what you are hearing.

'Take up the shield and the buckler'

'Brandish the spear and the javelin, against those who pursue me'

Not your normal Sunday school stuff. Not the whole wishy-washy world of 'worship' muzak which seems to be the normal fare for most evanjellyfish.

This is a heart-stopping, pulse grinding cry for justice - and for help - by a man who was on the run.

David.

His cry for a javelin to be brandished comes after he himself had a spear thrown at his head.

Twice.

I found myself immersed in the music. The unfamiliar strains of a call for true vengeance forcing me to think and rethink. Surely you can't be singing something like that? I mean - its not done isn't it?

And yet there it is in scripture. Psalm 35. Black on white.

The psalmist knows with the crystal clarity that terror evokes - he knows that evil is real. He knows that he is being hounded. He knows that those pursuing him are not people who want to give him flowers. He knows that evil is very, very real.

A quick look around us today tells us that the odd millenia has not changed to human heart too much. Last week's paper tells about a young rag picker who was forced by a policeman to pick up a severed human head from the tracks of a Mumbai train accident. The young boy seems to have lost his mind. There are hundreds upon hundreds of untold stories of rape and sexual abuse that swirl untold around us.

David's voice cries out for vengeance - for the forceful saving of those being hounded - and for the correct repayment to those who are pursuing with the scent of blood driving them on.

This is the stuff of every boy's fantasy. Taking on the bad guys. Blasting them to oblivion. And that is what it would seem at the first listen to David's cry.

But here is the catch. David is not asking God for a glock in his hand. He is not crying out for the opportunity to personally inflict retributional violence on his enemies.

David is asking God to do the work of vengeance. This is one area that humans have no right to encroach on. "Vengeance is mine" says the Lord.

And as I read through the accounts of David's fleeing from Saul, I see that David put his verses into action.

When given the opportunity to kill Saul, he doesn't.

Twice.

The man who sings 'Brandish the spear and the javelin, against those who pursue me' chooses not to kill when he has Saul at his mercy.

Not to kill when his followers urge him on using religious words "The Lord has given him into your hands" they tell David - urging him to make a swift sword stroke to end Saul. Offering to do the job for him if David does not want to.

David gives Saul a fearful symmetry of grace. Two times David does not let the sword hand slip - for the two spear shots (missed) that Saul had aimed at his own head.

But David's act is just a shadow of the supreme act of vengeance held back.

As the nails were being driven through Jesus' hands - he could have called on the legions of angels to avenge and repay the terrible injustice done to him.

Instead Jesus calls out to Father God saying 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing.'

As a boy Jesus would have sung Psalm 35, and with his other Jewish friends, they may have dreamed of a land free of the iron shod boots of the Romans, and of the terrible oppression by the Quislings who ran Judea at the time for Rome.

But as an adult Jesus said: "you have heard it said, 'love your neighbours and hate your enemies' - but I tell you love your enemies and do good to those you oppress you."

Harder words have seldom been said. But like David - and even more than him - Jesus puts what He says into action.

------------------------

Back to the Sons of Korah's version of Psalm 35.

After the initial throbbing lyrics the music soars. "Say to my soul, I am your salvation"

The man on the run is still desperate, he is still on the run, and he is clinging on to hope, and he is desperate to have the courage and faith to cling to that belief.

... you know I'm still running

Mob

2011-09-26T16:26:00.004+05:30

We sent a man for surgery at one of the main goverment hospitals. He was HIV positive and had a blood clot - and needed emergency surgery.

Our staff went to check up the next day to see how it went.

It didn't.

The man - we will call him Michael - was not operated on.

Not because of his HIV status. That we have experienced before.

But this time it was because the municipal workers were on strike. And since the hospital is staff largely by the municipality... no work was done. The reason for the strike? Wages.

Only a week earlier, there had been another strike. This was by the interns - medical students who had finished their studies and were now on their 1 year internship. The reason for the strike? Violence against doctors. That week a mob of people had barged in after a sudden death of a patient - and began smashing up the hospital and beating the doctor who had handled the case.

And this does not only happen in government hospitals.

Last week a mob beat up all the doctors and a number of senior nurses at the Mission Hospital in Chhatarpur. A lady had been admitted and then passed away suddenly. The relatives and others let mayhem loose. The hospital shut down for a day and senior administrators rushed in from Delhi to meet with the police and others.

And the story goes on. Adversarial relationships in health care. What used to be a sacred trust is hardly that at all.

My mind goes back to a mob that smashed some glass in the hospital where I was working in Jharkhand. A doctor friend of ours was just behind the glass and miraculously did not get hurt from all the splinters. It is not surprising that she does not practice in a mission hospital in the North anymore. While this incident is not the only reason - it did leave a very sour taste - esp. when 'relatives' of the deceased filed a case in the consumer courts that dragged on for years. And was especially nasty since the mother was illiterate - and whoever was behind the case was clearly hoping for some kind of an under the table pay off by the 'rich doctors' who had come to work in their area.

What is taking place in medicine is a sad microcosm of what is taking place across our land. We have an electoral process - but too many groups resort to muscle power. An exhibition of holy books that doesn't meet your standards? Barge in and smash. An alleged insult to a particular community in a film? Rip down posters and burn. Not enough jobs in the police for a certain tribe? Block roads and burn trucks. An artist who has insulted a particular group? Break up his exhibitions wherever they are and force him to go to the gulf for his dear life. The list goes on and on.

I think that besides a genuine hunger to be rid of the all-pervasive corruption that helped propel last month's Anna-Hazare-led popular movement onto all - there is also another angle. I think the desire to see something happen without violence - tapped into the heart of a new generation.

Yes - a lot of it was far more premeditated than it looked - esp. the flags waving about and the TV teams swooping in to interview and record 'people's anger' etc.

But for a brief moment there was something that people felt they could belong to. A reason to go out and demand something. A cause to be proud of.

The candles may be cliched. The slogans and the white 'Anna Topis' (the traditional Maharashtran hat that no-one other than elderly villagers wear these days) with their snappy slogans 'I am Anna' - already seem sepia-toned (until the next fast fof course - but how many can the good man do?).

But here is the rub - how much better all of that than what is now the norm - bullies who barge in to beat up. 'Political Activists' who force people to shut down shops and stay off the roads for some vague demand or other. 'Guardians of morality' whose own actions speak of gross cruelty. And whose 'services' can be purchased by the highest bidder too...

May a thousand candles burn. Always better than the tyranny of the few in the name of the many.

And that goes for the Anna-brigade too!

Celebration!

2011-09-22T10:38:00.004+05:30

A decade!

Whew!

Sometime in 2002 the Jeevan Sahara Kendra began.

Was it when Dr. Stephen Alfred attended the "Prescription for Hope" conference in the US and came back convinced that something more should be done for people with HIV in the Mumbai area?

Was it when local churches and NGOs were called together to think and pray and see whether a new step could be taken?

Was it when the name "Jeevan Sahara Kendra" was coined by our friends Basil Desouza and Jairaj at Covenant Blessings Church?

Was it when Ashley and Robert - our first field staff started visiting homes under the guidance of Naomi Nathan in August 2002?

Was it when Sheba and I felt that she should use her clinical and community health skills to directly care for people with HIV - and so we as a family of 3 (with Enoch well on the way) moved to Thane in November 2002?

Was it our first church training that we started in the December 2002?

The fact is that sometime during this year of 2002 what is now the Jeevan Sahara Kendra family got under way. We started our baby steps of looking after people who had HIV in Thane. We began working with local churches to help them love people with AIDS. We began our own (often painful) process of growth and caring and living with our friends who have HIV.

Its been a journey and continues to be one!

Tonight we are expecting about 200 odd friends, partners, well-wishers, pray-ers - members of our extended JSK family to join us in celebrating Jeevan Sahara Kendra's 10th year of service.

For those of you who are not able to be with us 'in the flesh' - we want to say a heartfelt "THANK YOU!" for walking along with us on this journey!

Thus far has the Lord helped us - we know He is walking with us as we move into this 10th year - and beyond!

guests from a far-off land...

2011-09-21T18:04:00.008+05:30

In the beginning was an email.

Alistair is taking a sabbatical ... and we are plotting and planning where we will go... our flight goes through Mumbai... a couple of days with you guys?

In the interim, the sabbatical has become a full-fledged tour - with a cricket hook. Our friends Alistair and Merryn Appleby - with their lovely lads Sam and Luke - are touring the world with a plastic cricket bat! They intend to wield the willow in at least 4 continents (the Americas are spared this time it seems) and are writing about their travels too: Around the World in 80 Wickets!

We had been looking forward to their visit for months - and as the day approached Enoch was wondering - what would the boys be like? He even had instructions for Asha to scope them out before he got back from his school and tell if they were 'nice' or 'bullies'.

The former. Very much so.

The four kids got together like a house on fire.

pic courtesy M. Appleby

From morning till night there were various games going - starting with the world-uniting Uno and then progressing to various other ones. The prince of games was an elaborate role-playing Lego world that the four created and sustained throughout the weekend the lads were with us!

We adults managed to squeeze in cups of tea and conversations. It is really amazing to see how Alistair and Merryn have structured their lives in the highlands of Scotland. Alistair serves as a GP doctor and also oversees the training and continuous medical education of junior doctors across the highlands. Merryn is a writer and teacher and organiser of the 7 month odessy that the family is on.

They asked us what we did to relax - and we looked blankly at each other.

But one thing we were able to do - have a little walk in the countryside. Once you step into the Sanjay Gandhi National Park - its like you are in a diferent country.

At the top you see this on one side:

And this on the other side:

If you were a butterfly fluttering by you would also have seen this scene: The Appleby and Eicher families enjoying a snack on the top!

It was like a mixture of Enid Blyton (the food and the appetites) and CS Lewis (the door to another world).

The slight drizzle added just the right zest (and delighted the younger lot who refused to wear their rain gear).

And made the going down all the more exciting!

But wait a minute - our friends were here for a cricket match weren't they?

Well - we found no flat spot on the top - and whatever land available was all overgrown with dense foliage - so we had to make do with a small clearing near the forest gate.

Need wickets? Improvise!

pic courtesy M. Appleby

Our guests were clearly seasoned cricketers - but we all made a lusty go at it - before the whistles of the park guards chased us (and the couples who frequent the park) out!

pic courtesy A. Appleby

Dinner was a treat by the Applebies - with dairy products being tested for their tensile properties!

The next day we worshipped at the home of Jolly and Suma Thomas - it was a goodbye to our dear friend Arvind Singh who is being posted in another city - and a kind of farewell to Thomas who is leaving batchelorhood this Saturday! A potluck lunch was dug into by one and all.

And then - oh too soon - we were saying good-bye to Alistair, Merryn, Sam and Luke!

Enoch was very blue the next day - saying that he 'wants more friends who have good imaginations'!

They left him with something to smile about though - a thrilling new lego set!

Farewell dear Applebys! May the wickets fall with joy wherever your feet tread on this journey!

77 not out

2011-09-20T13:22:00.002+05:30

This Saturday we ran an HIV testing and counselling camp with a local church in Navi Mumbai.

Its a church that is made up of people who live in shanty-towns. This outreach was an opportunity for the members to bring in friends and families and educate them about the risks of HIV. But more than just talk about HIV - those who came were encouraged to get themselves tested and remove any doubts they may have about their HIV status.

Testing is where the educational rubber hits the road. Its easy to hear a presentation about HIV. But when it comes to actually giving some blood and getting a concrete result - that's when the sweat breaks out. But that's also exactly where we want to be in helping people avoid contracting HIV in the first place.

Our team of 6 JSK staff arrived at 9 AM. In the set-up our LCD projector fell down and was not working. Prayers were said. It worked again. Mysterious ways.

The church folks did their work well. The went to the gullies and by-lanes and brought people. Daniel talked about HIV in Marathi to the crowd which had gathered at the school building being used for the camp.

Then the counselling and blood collection begain. Our 3 trained counsellors spent the afternoon talking - and were supported by the nurse who drew the samples and our other 2 staff who registered the participants and directed the traffic.

At the end of the day 77 people were tested.

77 adults, almost all of whom had some possible exposure to HIV - either through a personal exposure or through faithfulness to a partner who may have exposed themselves.

The good news: 77 non-reactive reports!

77 people who can take a deep breath and know that they are *not* HIV positive.

We are always thrilled when a person tests 'non-reactive.'

There is of course a small chance that they may have still contracted HIV if there has been less then 6 months from their last potential risk exposure - but we have yet to find someone who has tested 'positive' after an initial 'negative' test.

HIV is a terrific problem. Our team meets families every day who are groaning under the various levels of shame and pain that their HIV status brings with them. But here is a cohort of 77 people who are not HIV positive. They have so much to live for - and a big part of the post-test counselling was to help them maintain their negative status!

It also reflects the govt. estimates that in India we are not dealing with an HIV burden similar to some of the sub-Saharan countries. The Gov. of India estimates we have a 0.4% HIV positivity rate in the population - less than the 0.6% for the US.

These 77 people are not a pat on the back though - they are a challenge to not only maintain the 0.4% level - but make sure that new infections become less and less - and that people who already have HIV live longer and longer!

A Sunday call

2011-09-19T17:41:00.003+05:30

He called me up during Sunday prayers.

The mobile was on silent so I sent him an SMS saying that I would call him later.

Then, while we as a house-fellowship were tucking into a sumptious spread of many different dishes I remembered that I had received a call from an unknown number. I dialed it and found myself speaking to Kanak (all names changed).

Kanak's sister-in-law Farah is dying. She is in a comatose state in the intensive care unit of a reputed hospital.

Farah is HIV positive. The hospital says they have done all they can. The money has drained out of Kanak's family.

Kanak checked the internet. Our name came up.

I asked Kanak to bring his sister-in-law's medical papers to show Sheba and get advice from her.

He brought a stack of papers. They said that Farah was suffering from retroviral disease (code for HIV). They detailed the steps that had been taken. She is on a ventilator right now.

Sheba talked with Kanak about what the family wanted. He said they were drained and without hope. The doctors have given Farah no chance of surviving off the ventilators - but the money has run out and the hospital will not continue to give the treatment without the cash.

We talked about a first step. The family will ask the doctors to take Farah off the ventilator and put her in a step-down ward. If she passes away - the family will take her for her last rites. If she stabilises, we will then bring her here to the JSK centre for further palliative care.

Though there is little hope of cure - we still pray with expectation. We asked Kanak if we could pray with him. He was happy for us to do so. We committed Farah and the whole family into the loving hands of Jesus.

Kanak told us about the sorrow he faced with his brother's death. "No one cared. No one is there to help." He cried. We told him he was welcome to cry if he wanted to.

"I can't cry in front of my mother" Kanak said. "She is a heart patient. It is only here that I can do this."

Kanak has left us for the posh environs of the reputed hospital. I don't think he will take much of the plushness in at this point. His sorrow and the grief that the family have gone through is deep - and hidden. HIV still does not dare speak its name.

We had no quick fixes for Kanak. But we did have a listening ear. A hand to touch him and hold him. A voice to tell him that it is alright to cry. A set of lips to pray together with him for help and peace for Farah and the whole family.

Kanak was so grateful. "I feel like a weight has been lifted from me. There was no one who understood so far."

Farewell Princess

2011-09-16T10:05:00.005+05:30

Its not often that we are on the same email list as Tina Ambani and the National Museum for Modern Art.

But every now and then we get a delightful email from S.M. Mansoor - an artist from Pakistan and modern practitioner of the ancient art of the miniature. I had met this fascinating gentleman 4 years ago on one of my very infrequent visits to the Jehangir Art Gallery.

His latest artistic salvo is called "Goodbye Shahzadi."

Wikipedia tells me that shahzadi can refer to a princess - but beyond that I was clueless - so I decided to write to S.M. Mansoor himself.

He responded immediately:

dear andi eicher,

this conceptual portrait belongs to mrs. benazir bhutto ex-prime minister of pakistan.

she was assassinated four years back during public address by suicide bomber in Rawalpindi.

so, you can observe the hardships & coming dangers ( angry black cloud on her head ) in her life.

which, i have mentioned earlier through this portrait on her first day to enter in pakistan after eight years self claimed asylum.

so, this is a sad & brief story behind the portrait.

dear, still. i remember you. because, we met in jahangir art gallery in bombay & you showed deep interest towards visual art.

might be with the reference of your sister.

i would like to invite you in lahore-pakistan hub of cultural activities like new delhi.

regards.

prof.s.m.mansoor artist/author/art educationist. lahore-pakistan

Art knows no boundaries. Or better said - Art can cross boundaries. Though it is not always easy.

However one may feel about Benazir Bhutto - the sadness of the face and the formal twist of the neck speak volumes.

Hearing from Mansoor that his painting was about Benazir resonated with me. As a 5th standard school-boy in 1979 I had stood up for a minute of silence. Our school had heard the news that her father Zulfikar Ali Bhutto (an 'old-boy' of my then school - Cathedral and John Connon) had been hanged by Gen. Zia.

A picture - even a very small picture - can pack a punch.

Cat's eyes

2011-09-15T10:46:00.002+05:30

The great lumbering twin challenges of finding an effective cure for HIV infection and a stable efficient vaccine continue to lurch forward.

Every now and then we have sparks of hope. Last year the proof of cure for HIV infection was shown in the now famous 'Berlin Patient.' The actual treatment he went through (bone marrow grafting for leukeamia which an additional bonus of using stem cells from a donor who had an HIV-inhibiting mutation) almost killed the patient. He underwent the treatment because he was dying of Leukaemia. Ridding his body of HIV was a big bonus. This particular treatment is unlikely to be replicated much. But it shows that cure is possible. A 'proof-of-concept.'

Vaccine development has been much slower. Every now and then an announcement is made - only for hopes to dim again. Researchers have just not been able to get effective inhibiting agents introduced into human cells.

Enter the glowing kitties!

Recent research on preventing the Feline Immuno-defiency Virus - and HIV like virus found in cats - shows some promise. The idea is to introduce an inhibiting factor found in monkeys to cat egg cells - and see if they were resistant to future infections from FIV.

It seems to have worked. The monkey gene prevented the cats from being infected. And their progeny too.

And the glow-in-the-dark bit? That is a marker (from a jelly fish) added to help researchers know that the gene was actually transmitted.

This is not even close to being a vaccine - but offers hope as a model that is closer to humans. One where the dynamics of protective strategies can be worked out more effectively.

We know that the twin goals of cure and vaccination are possible. There is still a pretty long road ahead. But we are hopeful.

I remember being in a seminar room in New Haven in 1995 when the news came about a 'revolutionary' 3 drug treatment study in treating HIV. We were stunned by the good news of very positive outcomes - compared to the then common single-drug regime where patients quickly developed resistance to the drugs.

Today these drugs are mass produced in India and free for people with HIV. Our challenge now is to help people be stable and take the meds. We have a young man who just does not want to take the medications. He has seen his father die of the disease and prefers to cope with his own infection by denying that he needs medicines.

Whatever scientific advances are made - the actual implementation of any improvement takes place one life at a time. We are privileged to be part of that process. We look to the future and live in the here-and-now, knowing that every day is precious, every life is valuable, every action has meaning.

Take me home

2011-09-14T18:32:00.003+05:30

We had a time of reflection with our staff today.

One questions we asked was: in the last month - what experience made you ask "Why God?"

In two separate groups (our interns whom I met with this morning - and our male staff whom I met this afternoon) the same answer was given:

An elderly woman, lying on a cot in the government hospital, begging for someone to take her home.

This woman had been dumped in the hospital. The people who brought her were gone. She was crying and asking someone, anyone to take her home.

Our staff had visited to govt. hospital to meet with people who are HIV positive. They came across this lady in her wretched state. She could hardly hear - and so they had to talk loudly to try and comunicate with her.

They felt totally powerless and angry.

We talked about this. We talked about the inhumanity we see around us. We talked about the broken state of the world and the need for healing. For justice. For forgiveness. We prayed.

There will come a time -we know - and there really will be a place where there will be no more tears. Part of the outrage that we feel in our hearts points towards this place that we have not yet experienced - but that we innately long for. A true home.

Take me home.

Bitter

2011-09-13T08:42:00.003+05:30

Kavita met me as I was leaving the centre.

We talked briefly. She said that her son was having eye problems and that his wheelchair had broken. We smiled and parted.

I went on. She went up.

When Kavita met Sheba, however, the story was a different one.

A surge, a tide of bitterness broke out. Kavita was so angry.

"You all have spoiled my life. I was fine, I was earning, I was ok before you interfered" and on and on.

Kavita included our work with that of a number of others who have been helping out her family over these years.

"You live in your big appartments and we have to keep coming and bowing to you. We have to keep saying we are sorry"

"I have not been helped at all. It has all been a waste of time."

Sheba listened.

After some time she spoke. She opened Kavita's medical files. Showed her where she had been deathly sick and it was only the intervention by JSK staff that brought her back to life.

Kavita was unmoved. She remained angry and upset.

Over the past years a number of different people have helped Kavita and her three sons. The help has been consistent and caring. The help has come through weak and normal people - who are certainly not perfect. In the last few years the help has been through a local faith community which does have certain standards - ones that Kavita did not want to follow.

She left them over two years ago, but is still angry.

When Sheba told me later about the time with Kavita, my mind went back to the very beginning of our work in Thane. We looked after Kavita's husband as he was dying. In his last days he asked forgiveness from her. I thought back on those early days - to the time when Kavita had tried to commit suicide by consuming poison - while her crippled son prayed to Jesus to save her. Neighbours had broken in and rushed her to the hospital where her stomache was pumped and she was saved. I remember her courageously talking about the incident in our small HIV positive friends support group. She was at peace with it and thanked God for saving her.

The trajectories of our lives take us on some hard paths. We are saddened by the choices Kavita has taken over the past 5 years. Ones that have included moving in with men who are married. It has not been easy to try and help her make good choices - and we can never force a person to make steps on the path to life. We have always tried to reach out to her. Her crippled son is now in his late teens and her other two boys are living with relatives and working in odd jobs. But reaching out is a two-way street.

Kavita walked out of Sheba's consulting room a very sad and defeated woman.

We have no magic remedy. No happy pill that can be popped to make everything better. Each person has real choices. But at least Kavita is still alive. We know of at least 3 times when she was at the edge of death over the last decade. She still stands. And we still have hope for a better life than the bitter one she holds onto now.

A new picture

2011-09-12T16:25:00.012+05:30

After years of using an image that I randomnly filched off the net it is finally time to actually post an original picture for the Chai Chats with the Eichers masthead.

Many thanks to the anonymous person whose image of a tea cup we have been using till now.

It is time to change. Besides the issue of originality, there is the question of authenticity. Though none of our gentle readers ever pointed it out - the tea in the tea cup was definitely not chai!

Take a look at the dark coloured liquid in the picture. It maybe black tea - or black coffee for that matter - but our boiled-to-carmel-milky-cardomon-flavoured chai it certainly is not!

Enter the joy of the new.

This weekend we had a lovely visit by Martin and Saro Abraham. One of the gifts that they brought were two miniature tea cups which Saro had made from paper.

Now the hard part.

Which image to use.

These cups were really, really small.

They are hand-made by Saro using strips of paper and glue.

And lots of care and attention to detail.

How many 'cups' were made and discarded in the process of crafting these two little jewels? Saro - with the humility that comes from a true craftsman - said that making them was quite simple...

Take a look at them next to a 1 rupee coin!

The tiny coin looks as if it were a dinner plate!

We were just smitten with the tiny whisp of steam coming out of the cups.

The tiny twosome have been stored safely out of harms' way - but after the mandatory photo session.

What really tickles me is that they were made especially with the Chai Chats blog in mind.

Martin and Saro have been reading Chai Chats from the very beginning (Saro I think only since she married Martin - but that is also a number of years ago now!). Their gentle words of encouragement have been greatly appreciated over the years.

And though we live in the same great sprawl of greater Mumbai - when do we actually get time to talk over chai?

This weekend was one of those precious moments we did.

What a joy to see grace and happiness pour out of our friends. As we talked while drinking our cuppas Martin and Saro were just radiant. Two people full of the glow of a life-well-lived.

Its friends like these who keep us going. People who have been quietly helping us out over the years in myriad ways. Far from the lime-light and the applause of the big stage.

These two small cups are a reminder of their love.

Salvage

2011-09-08T17:33:00.001+05:30

Over the past month we have been admitting patients with HIV to the JSKCommunity Care Centre.

With each person that we serve we are reminded of the immensity of need -and our own finiteness in caring.

Mrs. Pinky was met by our staff in the civil hospital. She wasdischarged with no hope left. She came here. Pinky was in a pitifulstate. We tried hard to revive her.

When she first came to JSK she could not talk. After some hours she beganto speak. But we knew from the onset that it was going to be touch and gowith her.

Our nurses cared for her. Pinky's father and mother did so too. Ageing parents looking after a dying daughter.

We did what we could. On my Dad's 70th birthday Pinky began toslip. In the afternoon Shebatold me that she thought Pinky was dying. We prayed. A few minuteslater she had revived. She was able to talk again for some time. Shebaand Sashmita talked and prayed with Pinky. She was able to express herreadyness to be with Jesus.

Later that evening - just as we were sitting down for a celebration dinner -the phone rang. It was from the JSK centre. Pinky had stoppedbreathing. Shebaleft the table and went over. I held the fort. An ambulance wasarranged to take the body - Shebatalked with the family and signed the death certificates.

30 years into the HIV epidemic and we are still dealing with death. Still dealing with gaunt cases of neglect. Still trying to pry peopleback from the edge. Still working to somehow provide love and care forthose who are at the cusp of eternity.

For the last few years we have focussed on community-based home care forpeople with HIV. We have seen death rates fall and so many of our friendsstable and moving forward. There are of course real challenges in eachlife - but we are not dealing with death day in and day out.

That has changed since we moved into the care centre. The people whowe now meet here are ones who have had virtually no care - whose HIV has beenbasically untreated and now they are at the end of their tether. The wordthat comes to my mind is 'salvage.' A desperate attempt to try and pullpeople back.

This is taking its toll on us. We are a small group. We have 1nurse on duty at a time. 3 nurses to work. For one to take a dayoff means the other two need to do 12 hour shifts. And the outcomes arelargely ones where the patient dies at the end. We want to save lives -not be a hospice. But that is where we are right now. For everypatient who we discharge better, we seem to be writing a death certificate forthe next. That is not quite true if you look at the statistics - but itis true that we have lost 3 of our friends in the last month - and had lookedafter 8 patients through intensive care over this time.

Pray for Shebaas the pressure to 'perform' and utilise the premises that we have is veryhigh. We have a beautiful facility - but need so many more hands to carefor people in such desperate situations.

Pray for our nurses as they work with the very sick. We are proud ofthe care that they are giving and know that eternity is the richer for theloving care for our very broken friends with HIV.

Pray that we would experience some more 'happy cases' too. We need tobe encouraged to see people get better and back to life as it were!

The other day one came back. I noticed a man in the hall who lookedfamiliar. When I came close to him and saw his wife as well. Wewill call her Mariam. Mariam had a huge smile on her face and it cameback to me - she was one of the first people we had admitted at the new centre.

Now here she was with her husband and a beaming pre-teen daugther, waitingfor a followup with Sheba. We know that we were able to help Mariam come back to life. We know thatshe still has challenges - esp. since her husband continues to teeter throughlife with the ravages of the bottle taking their toll on him. But we seehope in Mariam's eyes.

Would that we did not have to do salvage work. But as long as HIVcontinues to work through our society - it looks like we are here tostay. Shebaand I came to Mumbai 10 years ago in answer to a call. To work throughcaring with people with HIV. And to work with and through localchurches. The call came unexpectedly while we were serving at a missionhospital in Jharkand. It was clear as a bell and we had to obey. Onthe 2nd of October we will complete a decade of obedience to this call. Though there are many times (even now) when we want to throw in the towel - weknow that we must persevere.

Thanks for being along with us on this journey.

70 years young

2011-09-07T10:28:00.005+05:30

A special day slipped by the day before yesterday.

Our country celebrated Sept. 5th as 'Teachers Day.' Many sent SMSs to their teachers. Yesterdays newspapers splashed photos of cute kids 'teaching' others in front of black-boards festooned with A,B,Cs.

One of my greatest teachers was born 70 years ago on that day.

My wonderful father - Ray Eicher.

How do I count the ways that Dad has built me up? I can't.

But here are some snapshots.

Dad taking me along. Travelling in a car with him on a Scandinavian summer. Dad took me along as he went to visit friends in Sweden and Finland and talk about the work he was doing in India. I was all of 9 years old. In Sweden I was so taken by a family that we stayed with (who had a boy my age and were living out in a forest wonderland) that I persuaded Dad to carry on to Finland without me and pick me up on the way back. Over the years Dad included me into his work of leading a mission organisation. He explained so much of what he was doing - treating me with huge respect. His words were always helpful, even when he shared about the struggles that he was going through.

Dad leading the way on our family hikes in his beloved Kodaikanal. We were grumblers - but he moved us forward with stories. About how he and his friends would go down the Shola forests with their butterfly nets (we even took up collecting butterflies ourselves for a brief season) and bird books. On our hikes he would try and help us identify birds using the trust Salim Ali book - and would tell us about the 'whistling school-boy' - a bird whose call sounds just like the aimless whistling of a little lad on holiday. We were thrilled when we heard the uncanny notes ourselves.

Dad greeting all and sundry - wherever he goes. Our father seems to have a one-point agenda - to love everyone he meets. As a result anywhere we go with Dad he is constantly smiling, namasteing, shaking hands, saying a smattering of whatever local language is being spoken, giving out gospel portions, entering into conversations with his big smile. Truth be told - I have not always appreciated this constant barrage of good-humour from Dad which he broadcasts 360 degrees wherever he may be. My own pettyness and frank irritation often got (and still get) in the way. But looking back over the years - I will anytime say that I prefer Dad as the lover-of-every-soul rather than an aloof, self-contained person.

Dad excited by one of the 'big ideas.' Growing up the son of a preacher - I heard Dad many, many times. He speaks passionately. He speaks with the joy of sharing something that has really blessed him - and that is the current 'big idea.'

As a kid I remember hearing often about us being 'destined for the Throne.' Dad passionately shared about how each follower of Jesus is being prepared to live and rule together with Jesus for eternity - and not just sit around strumming harps - but actually administer the whole universe!

These last few years Dad tells about inner healing and forgiveness. He loves to pour his heart into helping people understand how they can forgive others - and see the amazing changes in their own broken lives through prayer, confession and deliverance.

Dad putting us first. We grew up in an open family. There were always visitors at the table. Years later when it was only the 5 of us in Mussoorie there were times when we seemed at a loss for things to talk with each other. Dad and Mum had many, many responsibilities with others - which they poured themselves into. But they worked hard to treasure us kids. Evening times were for us. Reading a book and the Bible were key. Sunday afternoons were for games. A month's holiday was taken each year. Cycle trips and other adventures peppered our times too. Looking back I just wonder how Dad was able to do it all. But am I ever grateful.

As with any man Dad made his share of mistakes. But whenever they are pointed out Dad apologises. Immediately. Sometimes he apologises so profusely that you are embarrassed even to have brought it up. Dad values openness and has modeled a life of seeking forgiveness and restoration as long as I can remember.

There is so much more that can be said.

But lets end with this.

We did not have any spectacular celebration for Dad's birthday. And I think that is what he prefers. He spent the day like he does everyday. Praying. Greeting. Blessing others. Listening. Talking. Emailing. Being.

We are very, very thankful and proud of Dad - and amazed at the 7 decades that passed since he was born at the Wanless Hospital in Miraj, Maharashtra.

at the end of the new generation of Eichers first 'overnight hike'
- Flag Hill Mussoorie, May 2011

Preeti's story

2011-08-31T15:47:00.002+05:30

Last night a woman got on the ground and prayed.

We had just finished our Tuesday evening study. We meet in the home of Shanti – one of our JSK staff and fellow church members. Besides Shanti, Sheba and myself – we were a small group – two young adult brothers, two pre-teen sisters, and the lady. All the lives have been touched by AIDS. The brothers were orphaned when the oldest was just 14. The girls’ mother normally comes to this weekly study at Shanti’s home. But the mother did not attend tonight – because she has been feeling sick. She has HIV. And the lady who prayed has been living with HIV for years.

Lets call her Preeti.

Preeti is a tall woman whose life has been through the pits – and then some more.

When we got home - Sheba and I reviewed Preeti’s experiences and had to shudder at just how awful some of her experiences were.

Early on, after getting to know Preeti, our staff had taken her children to a special camp. In the middle of the camp – late one night – Preeti’s husband showed up and demanded that the kids go with him. He was going to the village. He left Preeti behind. Abandoned her and took the kids to his parents’ house.

We heard that his parents told him to marry again. But he was HIV positive too. And soon he fell sick. Preeti swallowed her pride and went to his village to look after him. She lovingly cared for him in his final days. After he died, his parents told Preeti to take the children and leave. She did.

She came back to Thane. Her eldest daughter had dropped out of school and was working as a maid cleaning floors in different homes – just like Preeti. But Preeti was also not well. She had repeated painful collections of pus in her upper thigh. It was horrible. Sheba put her on TB treatment. Preeti’s immunity was low so we started her on anti-retroviral therapy. She was struggling financially with her three children and her repeated illnesses. Would she even survive? We wondered about who would care for the kids – should they be put in an orphanage?

In the midst of the darkness, pin-pricks of light appeared. They were so small at first that we hardly noticed. Preeti started to pray. One of her abscesses burst and drained so completely that it was as if a surgeon had done it – and a trained nurse had then dressed the wound.

Then the light started to shine more. Preeti’s daughter started back in school. We found a couple who began quietly paying the rent of the small room where Preeti and her children stay. Preeti stuck to her TB meds and completed the many-month long course. She stuck to her ART meds as well. She worked. And prayed. Preeti started attending a local prayer group too.

I did not hear much of her for some months. In our work that can be a good sign – it’s the families who are going through complicated times that we tend to hear most about in our JSK staff meetings. In Preeti’s case it was a very good sign. She was rebuilding her life.

After this evening’s study we asked each other whether there were any things people wanted prayer for. Preeti beamed and said that she is so grateful that she was able to get a whole month’s worth of medicine today. The govt. ART centre in town has been running low on medicines for the last few months – and so people who are getting ART from them were often given medicines for only 8 days at a time and then told to come back for more. This is very hard for working people like Preeti. So Preeti was so thankful to get her full month’s worth of meds after quite some time. What struck me was her radiant joy. Instead of cribbing about what she had been through over the past few months – she was just so glad to get the medicines this time.

After we had prayed for all – and Shanti went into the other room to get coffee and biscuits – Preeti said she wanted to pray. She slipped down from the diwan and kneeled on the ground. And then she poured out her heart to Jesus in Marathi. It was deeply moving to hear the beautiful torrent of words. And to hear her pray earnestly for Sheba and myself and the kids.

We parted ways outside Shanti’s home on a drizzly and dark monsoonal night. The yellow street-lights saw us stepping out onto the street with the autorickshaws scurrying back home, wending our way past the vendours selling dried fish and small piles of vegetables. Preeti said a final good by – as did the girls – and then they were swallowed up by the streams of people.

Hidden in the dark city we live in – below the flash and the sorrow – there are stories of hope. Stories whose chronicler is not the frilly fanzines or the august financial broadsheets. There are people who do not make it into the glossy photo-spreads of the latest starlet showing skin. There are folks like our Preeti – whose deep hope reminds us that life is worth the living.

Phil

2011-08-30T21:31:00.005+05:30

Our amazing friend Phil Baarendse just spent a few hours with us over the weekend.

Having him in our home is always a blessing. His irenic demeanour, his comfortable smile, his honest quest as a follower of Yeshu-Masih - all of these blend into an on-going conversation that spans however short or long time Phil is with us.

This visit was no less.

We were blessed with new insights into him and a wonderful variety of thoughts about what he has read and where he has been.

One of the many projects he has is the lovely website: This Indian Life. Very worth clicking and browsing around.

An avid lens-man, Phil loves clicking.

Here is a shot of Asha and myself that just arrived along with Phil's gracious thankyou email.

Enjoy.

A teachable moment

2011-08-30T16:21:00.002+05:30

We were eating lunch. The newspaper was open.

Enoch read an exerpt which had been highlighted - and then asked me the question any father dreads to hear.

"Daddy, what is Lady Gaga?"

The quote in question went as follows "Twitter and Facebook are great for organising and spreading a message of protest, but it can also spread a message of caution, delay, confusion or, I don't have time for all this politics, did you see what Lady Gaga is wearing?"

Enoch is waiting for me.

Small swallow and then jump into the answer.

"Enoch, you know that there are some times people try to get attention by wearing very few clothes?"

Enoch: "Yes"

"And you know that people look at them in bad ways? Well Lady Gaga is a person who does that a lot - and she is very famous for doing that."

Enoch: "OK"

So there you have it. My first conversation with my son about Lady Gaga.

What a world young Enoch is in. What a world Enoch's Daddy lives in.

A smile

2011-08-27T10:43:00.003+05:30

In the dimming of a monsoonal evening - it was her smile that stood out.

We had just finished a small time of prayer.

The setting is the corner room of our Jeveen Sahara Kendra Care Centre.

Her husband was lying in his bed. We had just sang and prayed and talked with them about hope. I had talked about Mat. 11.28 where Jesus tells us "come unto me - all you who are weak and heavy-laden - and I will give you rest."

Throughout the time I could see her smile. Radiant.

Lets call her Rita. And lets call her husband Binod.

Binod has HIV. His CD4 count is pitifully low. Only 76. He is suffering from diarrheoa. Two days ago he went 25 times to the toilet.

Binod and Rita are from a village beyond a nearby town. They heard about us through a doctor. They came. Sheba admitted them yesterday afternoon.

As the monsoon rain poured down outside, and Agnes the nurse on duty, uncle Salins, Amol and I were in the room with Binod and Rita, I saw briefly the world through her eyes. The sudden change from wherever they were - whatever fear-filled situation they had been living through - to a beautiful, clean place - where the nurses speak with love, where hope is given.

The smile reflected that.

We don't see many smiles like that.

Most of our friends are in such complicated situations that even when they come here the burdens and the knotted situations that they are living through dampen the spirit.

But for Rita - not even 2 hours of care for her husband Binod - was enough to bring a rainbow of beauty on her face.

At the end of our prayer Rita tried to touch my feet. We dissuaded her telling her that only God deserves our adoration.

This is why we are here. With all our short-comings - this is what we seek to do - to be a safe place for those whose lives are anything but safe.

The person I thought would be admitted did not come for admission yet.

Manish is a man with two teenaged sons - and who lost his wife to HIV 4 months ago. Manish is very sick. He has diabetes and his kidneys are losing their function. But he is afraid of treatment. He and his sons have seen their mother die. The son wants to take him to the village because Manish's brothers live their. We know that if he goes there Manish will not come back.

We are hoping that Manish will come for admission this morning.

Last night Binod passed stool 3 times. We had his TB sputum tests and other investigations done this morning. He is on the road to recovery.

We hope.

Tante Karin

2011-08-24T17:48:00.005+05:30

Both my parents are single children. Relatives are few and far between. The cousins that they do have are many oceans away.

Mum had one very special cousin. Auntie Karin Meyer ("Tante" for us German speakers). She died on the 11th of August.

Of all of Mum's cousins - Karin was the only one who has come out to India to meet Mum.

They had a special bond.

When the allied bombs started falling steadily on German cities in WW2, many children were sent away to the relatively safer countryside. My mother was one of these children.

At the age of six she was sent to the Black Forest to be with her mother's sister in the tiny village of Arnbach - while her parents stayed on in Leipzig.

It was three long years before Mum saw her parents again. Years when the evening radio broadcasts were monitored for information on where the bombs were falling - and what the progress of the war was. Years where all the children were thin - and potato peelings carefully saved to make soup from.

During these years Mum bonded with her cousin Karin - and that bond lasted a life-time.

A month ago Mum heard that Karin was judged to have terminal cancer. She knew that Karin was suffering from cancer - but Karin did not let Mum in on what was going on in her life. When the news came Mum felt that she must go and see her.

Amazingly, a few days later, she was driven by her cousin Otto to the hospice where Karin was. Mum did not know what to expect. Would she be rejected? Would Karin be willing to talk?

It was a beautiful time.

Karin was alert and so grateful to see Mum.

They were able to talk deep. It was as if they had not been apart. At the same time - they were able to speak about Karin's death and readyness to meet Jesus.

Karin was at peace.

At their last meeting - when Mum said goodbye - she said that she would 'meet Karin again.'

Karin smiled and pointed upwards.

Last week Karin's remains were placed in a small urn and buried under a tree.

We await her resurrection.

Crossings

2011-08-23T08:59:00.001+05:30

Subah

Riding my creaky steed – a slow-sputtering scooter – with my daughter clutching me from behind - I putter through a cross-road at 6.50 every morning.

In the grey monsoonal dawn, the two roads are dotted with clusters of people. Before shuttered shop fronts they stand. Here a milk vendor with his plastic rain-hat is adjusting bags of milk on his bicycle. There a group of men scan the morning headlines at the newspaper-wallah’s plastic-covered table. At the corner of the crossing fifteen-odd office goers – tightly-curled umbrellas and mobiles in hand – fidget and look for an autorickshaw to take them away.

As our scooter crosses the intersection, an autorickshaw appears. The people who were studiously ignoring each other now cluster desperately around the auto – shouting hopefully at the driver that they want a ride to the station.

We are through. The odd car honks its horn while grey pigeons flutter down to be fed by early risers. We ride ahead through a shady road, past freshly uniformed children walking towards the same destination, shepherded by the odd parent.

Shaam

Half an earth-spin later I return to the intersection. I am now coming out of the shady lane. It is almost 7 pm and my son in his hot rumpled uniform is sitting in front of me. We ride the same battered scooter. He wears his bright green school-bag in front. His little black helmet occasionally clatters with my red one as we are headed for home.

The small rickety shops at the crossing’s corner – which have sprung up after the latest demolition drive – are now overflowing with people. I don’t register the bicyle-repair-wallah who sits near the two banana carts, who in turn share space with two florists and a chicken shop. My eyes are focussed on the snarl of traffic just ahead of me.

The cross-roads are now a mass of metal. Bumper-to-bumper cars, and autorickshaws, with scooters and motorcycles trying to squeeze into any open space. The groans of a large bus mingle with a jangling chorus of horns. In the middle of this motorised mess a lone policeman tries to push the traffic around.

Into this crush we push. A small space opens up between a car and an auto and our black scooter darts in. To the deafening honking we add the bleet of our Honda Activa. A turn here, a twist there, and we are through. The intersection will continue to be a heaving flow of horn-blowing metal till some hour of the night, but we only have 30 meters of road ahead of us. A left turn and we are home.

-------------------------------
Written as an exercise at the just concluded EMFI writers workshop

Untouched

2011-08-22T10:57:00.003+05:30

She met with Sheba on Friday.

We will call her Meena.

Meena found out that she has HIV 6 years ago.

She got help. Meena has been through various agencies in Mumbai and has been treated at the JJ Hospital and other hospitals. She is currently on Anti-Retroviral Therapy - the meds which have brought hope for so many by reducing viral loads.

She has been involved as an activist and volunteer with at least one HIV support group. Meena knows her HIV and is not taking it lying down.

But Meena came to meet Sheba.

Her meds are not working so well now.

Sheba examined her and talked with her.

Then the shock.

Meena told Sheba that to date Sheba was the very first doctor who had actually done a physical examination of her. The very first doctor who had touched her in the way all doctors are supposed to touch their patients. The very first doctor who had spent time finding out about who she was as a person.

Sheba's mind reeled.

25 years into the epidemic. In the big city of Mumbai with our International HIV Treatment Conferences held at the poshest of hotels. In the place where thousands of people with HIV are being treated with the Anti-Retroviral drugs - here is an HIV treatment veteran who has never been touched by a doctor.

Till now at least.

Hard to help

2011-08-10T18:10:00.001+05:30

I remember when I first met him. His face was like a cloud. What goes on inside, behind the two white eyes and the inscrutable expression?

His thoughts were also hard to follow. He has HIV. He had come for help. The help that he wanted was a job. A place to stay.

He had grown up on the streets.

We will call him Harish (not his real name of course).

What his real story is only his Maker knows.

But this is what I gathered.

Harish has family. But they are terribly estranged. He has HIV. They know. They don’t want him.

Harish was working as a porter at the Churchgate railway station. Helping to load fish that came from the docks onto the trains. 7 days a week. And the additional duties too. When an accident took place, it was he and his fellow ‘hamals’ who were called to remove the dead bodies – sometimes even to pick up the pieces.

According to the pastor who sent Harish, the govt. doctor had told Harish to stop working at this job because the constant exposure to water meant he kept falling ill.

The pastor also told us that Harish was so broken by his rejection by his family that he was suicidal.

Among the stories Harish told was how he had been a petty thief and chain-snatcher before he had a change in his life. He also talked about his rejection and the hope that he had about joining his family who had gone to a village – but how bitter the parting was.

In the swirling stories he reminisced about growing up on the street and being helped by a school bus on wheels. He remembered the milk and biscuits he got from them.

Harish looked healthy. He did not seem to have any apparent weakness or sickness at this point. He said that he had not eaten much recently because he was unemployed. He said that he did not want to go back to his old ways.

We did not have a job for Harish. We talked with the pastor. We suggested another agency whose office was near where Harish was staying.

Later we found that Harish was staying in a totally different area to what we had understood him to say.

We also found out that Harish had been helped before in a residential programme – but that he did not stay put.

We had asked him to go to the other agency with a local church person. He went alone. The agency said they would try and get him a job. Everything seemed rosy.

I got a call from the pastor who had initially referred to us some weeks later. He was frustrated with the agency, saying they had promised and had not delivered. We had a long – and not entirely pleasant conversation about Harish and what should be done for him. The pastor suggested another HIV-focussed social service organisation. I didn’t think there was much hope for them looking after Harish, but I said “why not”.

This was all a number of months ago.

A fortnight ago I attended a meeting at this organization.

I was served tea by a young man dressed in a uniform with the name of the organization embroidered on it. He greeted me enthusiastically. I did not recognize him immediately – thinking he was perhaps a local trainee whom I had met sometime ago.

It was Harish.

“I wanted to come to meet you – and also meet pastor x” (he mentioned the pastor who had initially referred Harish to us).

I was thrilled to see Harish finally settled.

A few days later I called up the pastor and thanked him for what he had done for Harish.

Sadly, I just got this SMS on my mobile from the pastor. It was from the head of the organization Harish was with:

“Harish has left from here in very bad spirit again. I don’t think I will take him back again because he is always threatening to leave if things such as food and other things don’t match up to his expectations. Tried to help but he is spoiling the atmosphere here. All of us here in the organization and church are concerned for him and have tried our hardest…”

It’s hard to help.

There are a lot of romantic ideas that people have about social work. “Ooh, how noble” say some “it must be so satisfying to know that you are doing worthwhile work.” “People must be so grateful for your help” say others.

Its more often that we are faced with trying to help challenging people like Harish. The combined efforts of the pastor, us and at least two other excellent organizations have really worked to help Harish start life anew.

But the choices remain with Harish. And many like him.

Say a prayer for Harish will you? And say a prayer for the pastor, the other two organizations, and us (and who knows how many others) who are trying to help.

--------------

Photo courtesy Christa Eicher

New Daughter

2011-08-09T08:03:00.003+05:30

We have a new daughter.

Well, we have a new one for a few days at least.

She is all of 5 years old.

We call her ‘Nannu.’

Nannu’s widowed mother and her older sister are at a government hospital. Her sister ‘Apu’ was born with a cleft palate. Plastic surgery was done some years ago to mend her lip, but her palate was still cleft – which meant that we could hardly understand Apu’s speech.

After working through the system (with many delays and frustrations) prayers were answered and Apu’s surgery took place a week ago at GT hospital in Mumbai. The plastic surgeon did a good job. The ward was surprisingly clean. Apu has been taken off the IV line and is taking clear liquids and moving towards solid food. Over the last few days Apu has also been phoning regularly. “You speak so nicely” said Nannu to her sister on the phone. We are then treated to a detailed description by Nannu of how much better her sister is talking.

Its wonderful to have 3 kids in the home.

Nannu is a little sprite. She is a small enthusiastic ball of energy.

She has taken to playing with Enoch’s old duplo blocks with a vengeance. The kids have been so kind to her. Enoch patiently plays with her for long stretches in the morning – and then Asha takes over for part of the afternoon. Nannu bounces up and down when Enoch returns from school at just before 7 PM. At night Nannu cuddles up to Asha as they sleep in Asha’s bed. We are mighty proud of how gentle Asha and Enoch are to their little ‘sister.’

Nannu should be with us for a few more days. We expect Apu to be discharged in a day or two from the hospital. When her mother and Apu return to Thane, Nannu will rejoin her family.

Nannu’s mother has been worshipping with us for a few years now. She has seen many hard things in her life – and continues to work through challenges. But this last year has seen a big change in her outlook and understanding. In June she took baptism and has been growing in faith. This freshness in her faith has rooted her whole outlook on life – she just seems so much more positive and ‘alive’ these days.

The church has also been faithfully looking after Nannu's mother. Looking after her during her long bouts of depression as well as when she was up. And with Apu’s surgery, we have seen that her mother’s help has not only been from our small fellowship – we are humbled to see the love of ladies from a number of other congregations who have visited Nannu’s mother and sister in the hospital and helped out in many practical ways.

Nannu mirrors some of her family history. She is almost painfully thin – her little arms are doll-like in an unpleasant way. She can cry easily – though considering the very tough knocks she has been through so far – she spends very little time crying. In fact what struck me these days is how radiant her smile is most of the time.

Nannu’s mind is as sharp as a tack. Her animated face and the constant chatter are a delight to behold. She switches topics rapidly – remembers tons – and loves to talk. Where will this girl go? What will be her destiny? Within her slight body lie the seeds of a woman who can shake the world.

What a privilege it is for us to host this little “daughter” of ours for a few days.

Clean

2011-08-08T17:40:00.005+05:30

There is a very special happy feeling linked with clean dishes. The shimmer of stainless steel. The wet happiness of a clean tabletop. The pleasant jumble of a pile drying pots and pans. The comely hanging of assorted kitchen instruments – spotlessly dangling from their assigned hooks….

Mind you, there once had been a minor kingdom of greasy stains in the sink – a small ugly city of maculate cups and spoons, a multi-layered squatters' settlement of grimy bowls and plates, with the odd black frying pan wedged in. That evil little empire existed for a short time after one of our meals – good Mummy-cooked-food which was happily consumed by us family-wallahs around our oval table. But Grime-town is history now. We have blessed, sparkling peace restored back in the kitchen.

In my growing-up days ‘washing dishes’ was a chore. Burdensome. Not-looked-forward-to-in-the-least. Us kids were supposed to ‘learn to help’ our mother. Sunday afternoons – after the big post-church lunch (which always had lots of dishes because of the spread and the inevitable guests) it was the ‘boy’s job’ to clean the dishes. A big plastic tub of soapy hot water in one sink – another tub of hot rinsing water in the other. Between the two of us brothers - we fought (gently of course) for the right to ‘rinse n dry’ instead of doing the scrubbing of the wash.

No more.

I see increasingly larger traces of my father in me the more I press into middle age and beyond. He loves cleaning things. Just loves to scrub. To say nothing of my mother. Spick-and-span is her middle name. Throughout most of my moderately-slovenly youth cleanliness was hardly my scene. Old genes however – or perhaps we should say old memes – show up unexpectedly. Just add a new gen of Eichers and the older gen seems to revert to type.

The cleaning bug is very much in me.

Having recently moved into a new flat – one which reduced a person a dearly love to tears because of its grimy kitchen – I have many opportunities to hone my craft. Little bits of time are sequestered away – to scrub a corner here – to de-grime a set of switches there – to get out the steel wool and give a real elbow-grease rubdown of the floor over there again…

There are still areas where skirmishes are still to take place – but the battle of Eicher vs. Grime is gradually tipping the way of the former name.

Amidst the on-going campaign to scrub up our home – here is a small daily experience of partnering pleasure in the home: the pleasant 'click' of switching off the light on a clean kitchen at the end of the day. Just knowing that all the dishes are happily drying on their racks (with a further clean-n-dry group having been scooted into their places to make way for the wetties) - and that your damp shirt and tired hands have made is possible - is a small but tangible daily pleasure for yours truly.

Over

2011-08-05T08:45:00.003+05:30

Sheba walked in while we were singing.

I knew what that meant.

It was 9.10 AM. She would not have come with Enoch for any other reason.

The door next to us was closed.

Sheba walked in. A few moments later Sashmita - our nurse on duty came out - only to reenter the door with two bedsheets and some cotton.

I was pretty sure that Mrs. Tanya had died.

She did.

After 20 days of care at our centre. Twenty days of receiving love and support by her husband who is HIV negative. 20 days of love.

Mrs. Tanya was about to die over a year ago. She miraculously recovered and seemed pretty healthy till 3 weeks ago she suffered a sudden stroke and had a persitently high fever. It seems that she had a hidden TB which infected her brain - causing the stroke and paralysing her left side.

For the first 2 weeks she seemed to improve. A physiotherapist friend of ours came and Mrs. Tanya started to regain the use of her foot and partly her hand. She spoke a few words too.

Then 5 days ago she slipped away into semi-consciousness. We had her on oxygen and called the relatives and the church. Mrs. Tanya was a first generation believer - and the others in her prayer group rallied around her. They had hoped that she would walk out of our centre - healed. Instead - they came to her bed and spent time with her - knowing that she was most likely to wake up in heaven.

Which she did.

The funeral - on a monsoonal afternoon at the Mulund cemetary - was a testimony to God's goodness in the midst of sorrow. We don't have easy solutions - but we have a God who values each person.

Its not easy to pour yourself into a person and then have them slip away to death. But Mrs. Tanya was infinitely worth the love that was poured into her by the JSK team. Her husband - a man who tenderly looked after her throughout the ordeal - testified about how grateful he was for the care given to her.

We cannot but admit, however, that small bitter knot that death leaves us with. That yearning for something different. That gentle rage that it is not meant to be this way. And that is how it should be. Lets not have window-dressing and idle words when the cut and thrust of severance takes place.

But at the same time - we know for sure that Mrs. Tanya is with her Lord. And we know that a time will come when we meet again. No idle speculation this. No 'Pie-in-the-sky-in-the-sweet-by-and-by". The reality wrestled out on a lonely hill by a brutally beaten naked man who cried out 'my Lord, my Lord, why have you forsaken me?' before shouting 'it is finished!'

Moving home - bye bye Happy Valley

2011-07-28T08:19:00.004+05:30

Its been just over a week since we packed everything in boxes and came over to our new home.

We have somehow emerged. Emerged from a haze of a string of late nights spent packing – and then the daze of the D-day of moving (mercifully with very little rain) and now a week of what can only be called a craze of the unpacking – and scrubbing every nook and cranny of the new residence. We have emerged somewhat intact – and in a pretty beautiful flat to boot!

Lets step into the a time machine and travel through the last fortnight again.

It all started just under a month ago. Enoch told Sheba that “wouldn’t it be good if we were living close to the Lok Hospital building.” Sheba told me. We talked and prayed and called Dr. Stephen. Could we move into one of the Bethany Trust flats which the nurses were vacating. “I don’t see why not” came Stephen’s reply.

The flat is a minute’s walk away from the Jeevan Sahara Kendra Community Care Centre at the Lok Hospital building. It is 5 minutes walk away from the children’s school (1 minute by scooter). We prayed and had a real peace to move forward.

And so with a sudden spurt our shift of house started.

Once the Bethany nurses had left the flat, we went to take a peek at the house. It desperately needed paint. The kitchen was caked in grease. Tears flowed.

We called a friend of ours who paints. He agreed to start in 2 days. A week later the flat was ready. During this week Andi burned the midnight oil – packing away different parts of our house in endless boxes.

The day before we were to move there was still work being done in the house. The day we moved the final painting and cleaning of the floors was still going on. But at 3 PM the truck and the 4 workmen came to our door. The shifting had begun.

All the boxes and the flotsam and jetsam of our Happy Valley home (minus a portion that we were able to give and horrors throw away) – all that was in boxes was transported out the door.

How some of stuff went out was a miracle. The sheer volume of it all meant that the truck had to do two journeys.

After it was all out – the Happy Valley flat – which has been our home for 6 long happy years – was eerily empty

Our stuff had all gone down and was stacked in the front of the building – and then packed in tight into the truck

They then drove the 2 km distance to our new house and unloaded everything. Most of the things went up by lift. But our elephant of a teak sofa would not fit in. So it was carried by hand. Four sets of hands and four backs did the work. Down 7 flights of stairs at Happy Valley – and up 6 flights to our new flat at Lok Upvan Ph. 1.

Needless to say a cheery chaos rained as the boxes kept flowing in.

Selvaraj – the owner of the truck told me that he had helped us shift when we moved into Happy Valley in early 2005. I vaguely remember him doing that. And then he said this us samay aap ka kum saman tha (you had less things then). Ouch – that hurt – and yet it was too true.

We tried to set things up – at least the basics – like the getting the gas hooked up.

And then it was suddenly 10.30 pm and time for our first supper.

We managed to set up the table and find the table cloth ….

… and then we sat down to eat our first meal in the new home. Food which we had cooked at Happy Valley and brought over with the boxes.

A tired foursome went to sleep in our old beds – but in a very new place

And a tired Daddy slept in later than usual the next morning (pic. by Enoch of course).

Over the next week the piles of boxes got smaller. The late nights continued. The war on grime was sounded again. Scrub, scrub.

On Tuesday night we had our first guests – Agnes and Annie who looked after Asha and Enoch while Sheba and I took the Bible study at Shanti’s home. On coming back we had a joyous meal together.

Finally on Friday most of the things were away.

We had a time of prayer to thank the Lord for His wonderful goodness in giving us a new place to stay – so close to our work.

We are so grateful for this new accommodation. We loved the Happy Valley flat – and are currently looking for someone to rent it from us – so that we can pass on the rent towards our new accommodation.

It is amazing to have shifted so quickly. Some things are still at loose ends – but all things considered it was a remarkably smooth transition.

We have been given such a god-like set of opportunities – to move when we want. How we want. So many of our fellow countrymen are stuck in the most horrible ‘homes’. Though we really enjoyed the 6 years at our Happy Valley flat – it is surprising how quick we were able to up and leave.

The pictures are now up. The books are (almost) all in place. Our family rhythms have started up in a new space. The key to it all – of course – is the amazing love that God has given for each other.

6 years ago, Enoch as a 2 year old stood up in the middle of the first night and said pointing to the door “home” “home.” He had spent the entire life till then in one place – the Vasant Vihar flat we were in then. Today Asha has moved 4 times in the 10 years of her life so far. How many more times will we (esp. the kids) move again? Who knows. What matters is that we are together.

And so we can go to sleep knowing that wherever we are – it is family that counts.

My family and other animals

2011-07-28T08:10:00.003+05:30

Down in Nana Chowk – that large intersection west of Grant Road station in South Mumbai – next to the fire station – a 2 story bungalow juts out into the road. It’s the corner of the John Wilson Education Society compound and shares the wall with Mumbai’s finest. Every morning at 9 AM our fire-friends would test their air-raid warning siren. And every now and then a bell would peal and firemen would run pell-mell to the big red Bedford fire-engine – which would go clanking off to quell whatever fire had been reported.

We lived in that building. For over a decade. We arrived there by God’s grace when it was time for me to start my 1^st standard of the Cathedral and John Connon Infant school on Malabar hill. We left when I finished my 12^th at Woodstock School in Mussoorie.

In between were many amazing years.

This picture is from somewhere in the early 80s.

photo by Karen Swan

Our Nana Chowk house was a small ark.

Our home was the home to scores of animals. Pets which we acquired over the years. Most did not survive long. Some like the cats were multi-generational presences.

All were loved by us. As kids we would earnestly promise to look after the newest pet. But of course it was Mum who did all the work.

She would come in at the cat feeding time and have them tumbling over her feet – running ahead and behind her – making small jagging sorties with their tails held high like so many flags. Food time. They knew who it was who fed them. Never did our feline friends show such excitement to us kids.

Shall we count the animals?

In no particular order – and certainly not all at once – we had (ergo – Mum fed and tended for):

Cats (lots of them – sometimes as many as 4 at once – depending of the fertility of the then current mother cat). The originals were Snowy and Tiger – which were our first pets – right when we landed up in Nana Chowk.
Dog – one ½ Labrador (inherited from a Scottish missionary family). A real heart of gold. Would waggle her entire rear end when excited. Good rat catcher too.
Doves – 2 – they laid eggs – but they did not hatch – possibly because I put a crows egg in along with them…
Parrot – 1 – very loud.
Guinea pig – 1 – inherited from a family of German hippies who drove around the country in a modified truck. His original cage was a plastic milk carton.
Hamster – 1 – a birthday gift. He managed to escape and lived under the wooden floor for sometime. We managed to recapture him and loved him dearly.
Rabbits – many. They lived in a hutch outside. Sadly, they were eaten by folks when we went away to the US for a year in 1977. We were heartbroken at the news.
Fish – lots – mainly guppies. Some angel fish. A few neon tetras. The occasional "fighter" fish too.
Tortoises. A few. Another set of hand-me-downs. Never really bonded with these. Today having them would be illegal.
Chipmunk. 1 – I really loved him. Very sweet and small. Did not last long from what I can recall.
Budgies. A few. Didn’t last long as far as I can remember.
Owl – one – but that was in Mussoorie and that too only for 2 weeks before he decided to fly away – so it does not really count
Snake – one – but that also does not count since it was when I was in college. George was a boa from Venezuala that the infatiguable Nathaniel Tuggy smuggled into college – and then was banished to our off campus home. A very gentle fellow.

Hats off to Mrs. Noah – I mean Mum – for handling this vast menagerie (barring the last one of course)!

It was wonderful to grow up with animals.

18

2011-07-26T08:36:00.003+05:30

He is 18.

Not his age.

This man has seen at least 35 revolutions around the sun since his birth.

18 is his weight.

18 kilogrammes.

He is basically skin and bones.

The ravages of HIV. The product of an immune system that has been run down – and allowed tuberculosis to take over. The result of many days of not eating. The end-point of many months of not being cared for.

We will call him Yohan. He came to the JSK Community Care Centre last week. He had been admitted at the civil hospital in Thane for 2 weeks without any improvement. They discharged him to die.

Yohan came to us with very little hope.

His friends brought him. Strapping lads. Who promised that they would be with him.

They have kept their promise so far.

There is always someone with Yohan. It may be his aged mother – who herself has suffered a stroke. Or one of his friends. Vikas is a particularly faithful presence.

Yohan is being loved. Our nurses are caring for him. Bathing him. Feeding him.

Sheba is with the nurse on duty as I type this. It is 10.10 PM. Yohan has a full bladder but cannot pass urine. They are working to help him.

Yohan came semi-comatose. He could not speak. He could barely move.

This morning there was a twinkle in his eye. He has started eating some food. He polished off a masala dosa yesterday. Two chappatis today. He has started saying a few words.

Yohan still has a long road to go. He needs lots of calories. He needs to overcome his TB. He needs to be knit back together again.

Yohan has a bed sore on his back. It was from the previous hospitalization. He has so little flesh that unless he is physically shifted every 4 hours – more sores will emerge. Our nurses are dressing the wound. The saintly Sister Chinnamma takes special joy in caring for Yohan. We are blessed to have a team like this serving at the Jeevan Sahara Kendra Community Care Centre.

Every morning and every evening – and several times in between Yohan is prayed for. It will be a miracle if he pulls through. But even if he does not – and we are working hard to keep that from happening – even if Yohan does not live too much longer - we know that his last days will have ones where he experienced some comfort and love in the midst of his sufferings.

Ringside

2011-07-20T16:38:00.002+05:30

Our kids are part of who we are.

They are growing up hearing the words "HIV" "death" "orphan" and "widow".

But they are also in a ring-side seat - watching their parents live out the calling that God has given us.

They see our short-comings. And they see the amazing ways that God has used us and the team to touch people's lives.

Asha is in the JSK building as I type. She has morning school and came here at 1PM. As I had to go to Mumbai for the CORINTH meeting - Sheba (who had brought Enoch to the hospital at 11 AM) stepped out to drop Enoch off at school and pick up Asha.

In the meantime Sheba admitted a very sick woman. Anita (as we will call her) has a sudden on-set hemiplegia (partial paralysis). She has a fever - and it is probably due to a viral meningitis (brain infection). All this because her immunity is very low due to her HIV. A church partner of ours brought Anita in. Sheba admitted her. Anita may die. But that is what we are here for. To try to do what we can. To treat. To pray.

Asha got a ringside view of this.

And at the same time - had a wonderful afternoon. Agnes (Sheba's cousin) who is off duty also lives in the same building (all our single female staff are now housed with the Bethany Hospital nurses who live in the 2nd to 4th floors of our building). Asha went up to Agnes' room and spent a wonderful rest of the afternoon. She just popped in - her hair done up in two adorable pigtails - and asked for money to buy snacks at the canteen down stairs.

Its a wonderful life. A strange and trying one at times. But one where our children are part and parcel of the God-drenched solutions we are working through.

Dealing with Discouragement

2011-07-18T17:34:00.002+05:30

We all love to hear happy stories. Especially when a person has been terribly ill and is now so much better.

Its heart-breaking when that person relapses back to their previous situation. Mr. Bali, for example. We first met him when he was at death's door. A long-term alcoholic, he lived in a shack 50 meters from our clinic. He was HIV positive and dying from TB.

Our JSK team got him started on TB treatment, nursed him back to health, fed him, talked and prayed with him. And amazingly he pulled through. He stopped drinking. Started walking. Got a job as a security guard. Things were rosy.

They are not anymore. Mr. Bali is back to the bottle. Our staff try to meet him, but he is nowhere to be found. When they do find him, they can hardly talk to him as he is in a drunken stupor.

He is still walking, but how long?

Our staff feel like they have been kicked in the gut. No happy, happy tales at this point. But they continue to try and meet Mr. Bali. We continue to pray that somehow he will listen to the still small voice to God speaking to him. We keep trying to reach out to Mr. Bali - with the hope that he will listen.

Listen and not drown out the voice with another plastic packet of country liquor.

Listen and act, making real steps forward into hope. Again.

Pilgrimage

2011-07-14T23:00:00.003+05:30

Its 11.15 PM. The walls of our house are empty. There are cardboard boxes in every room. Some empty. Some full and taped shut and marked with black sketch pen.

We want to know what is where - and will soon be trying to figure out how to fit everything in at a new place.

The Eichers are moving again. It seems barely possible that we would do so. To leave our own home and take up a rented flat. With the hope that we will find people to rent ours.

The reason for our shifting?

Ever since we started work at the Jeevan Sahara Kendra Community Care Center at the Lok Hospital building - we have found our closely choreographed days slowly unraveling.

Asha now starts school at 7.15 AM in the morning - which means she needs to be down at the bus stop at 6.30 AM. Enoch still has afternoon school - so he goes at 12.40 PM. Asha returns at 1.30 PM and Enoch comes back at 6.40 PM. One of us has to be home when our kids are. And so the dance has become stretched and wonky.

Plus this - with the new phase of our work, we are going to be dealing with new HIV positive people who will present to us in a very sick condition - since they are coming to the JSK CCC for admission for complex (and usually grossly untreated) conditions. Sheba already had a night call last week - where she arrived at 8 PM only to find that the poor man had expired already.
With no other doctor in sight - we expect a lot more of this in the time to come.

And so the rather sudden decision to pull up and move. We are shifting from our Happy Valley flat over to an apartment at Lok Upvan Phase 1. We will be a 1 minute walk away from the Lok Hospital building. The children will be 5 mins walk from their school (though I think their Daddy will be dropping them off alot on the scooter).

And so every night over this week we have been packing. Putting things away. Decided on what to keep - what to give - and what to bin. It is good to do this. We sequester so much stuff away. Time to carve out the fat (though most seems to be disappearing into the boxes to be hauled off to the new place...).

In the mean time our new place is getting a painting and cleaning up. The process is (as usual) painfully slow. We go over everyday to see to the workman (yes it is one guy with the occasional side-kick) is doing.

Today we said the classic lines: "You want to move in by Saturday?" As if he had never heard of such an idea. As if we had not been telling him this since he told us 'one weeks time' 10 days ago.

Its only been 2 weeks since we made the decision to shift. And it looks like in 2 days we will (at least we hope to).

There is still more packing and paper work awaiting me before the midnight hour strikes.

Our latest leg of this raggedly grand pilgrimage that we are on together as a family unfolds.

Onwards ever. Backwards never. Or at least not most of the time.

Prayers always accepted on behalf of the Eichers. Strong backs and willing arms welcome on Saturday afternoon too (D.v.).

Not again.

2011-07-14T08:52:00.005+05:30

The SMS beeped on my phone at 8.19 PM last night.

I was washing dishes.

The SMS was from a friend telling me he would not be able to come to our home for the regular Wed. nite men's prayer meeting

"Bro i cant come today here very tight traffic bcoz of blast"

Because of blast?

A minute later I called up Jolly (one of our elders).

Yes. 3 bombs went off in Mumbai. 20 dead so far. Many injured. Rush hour. Crowded market places.

I felt sick. The whole day the rain had been pouring down. Things were pretty grey. And now this.

Sheba was with the kids. What to tell. Another blast. Should I wait till the kids sleep? But they will find out anyway. In I go. Tell the news. Another blast.

The BBC website tells us that 21 are dead - so far - and over 100 injured. Over the next few days their stories will drip in. Some will die. Some will be maimed. Some will fade away. More numbers to the cruelty of the human heart.

What a world Asha and Enoch are growing up in. One where parcels are to be feared. Where the news flashes and then people pick up their phones to check if everyone is accounted for and ok.

How long till I know someone personally who has died in a blast? Pakistan has seen over 30,000 people killed by fellow Pakistanis over the past decade. We are not as high in this sorry contest - but the drip drip drip of killing continues.

We were three of us who met for prayer last night. Three men praying from 9.30 to 10.30 as we do every Wed. night. Three men calling out to God as the rain pounded down in the darkness outside.

Come Lord Jesus and set things right. Come Judge and King and Restorer. We need you more than ever. The brutality of yesterday tells us this again and again.

Happy Birthday Neptune!

2011-07-11T22:24:00.006+05:30

I was thrilled to discover that the planet Neptune was discovered a year ago tomorrow.

Yes you heard it right. Neptune was discovered only a year ago. And July 12, 2011 celebrates this great occasion.

Not an earth year mind you.

A neptunian year.

A mere 164.79 earth years.

The last time Neptune was where it is tomorrow in its spin around the sun - astronomers from our dear planet spotted it. The planet had been discovered!

The trusty BBC website breathlessly reports that Neptune was the first planet to be discovered intentionally. The planet Uranus' orbit (found in the late 1790s) didn't fit with Newtonian calculations... prompting a bright spark to postulate that there was another as-yet-undiscovered heavenly body that was the case for Uranus' strange orbit.

Right on the money!

The boffins calculated - and predicted it would be found in a certain part of the sky. Armed with the coordinates the astronomers looked - and after only an hour of searching on the 24th of September 1846 - they saw the new planet!

Happy Birthday Neptune! I am so glad mathematics works! Here's to the deductive approach!

Hooray for the wonders of space! But please do shed a tear as the space shuttle glides into history - after spending billions and twice providing terrible disasters... (the flip side of our confidence in deduction).

We have so much more to discover...

The Railway Children

2011-07-08T21:46:00.004+05:30

Since we came back from Mussoorie in June - I have found myself in a land where I have gone too little in the last decade.

The land of books.

There are just so many great ones to read.

Old classics. New voyages. The joy of cracking a book open and letting the text swim into my mind. The desire to keep going. The wonder at seeing the clock having spun around while I was in another place, another time...

I hope to share some of these journeys. So lets start with a delight. I had never heard of E. Nesbit. We were in a bookstore (one of those places which has sadly seen too few footfalls from us over the last decade) and I saw this book.

The cover hooked me. We bought it.

What a wise and wonderful tale it is. The three children and their world opened up. We laughed and smiled, shed the odd tear and lived along with the family as they grew together in the absence of their father. As the main reader I could not help but find my voice thickening a number of times - triggering memories of my own father reading to us as kids.

While the story has plenty of adventurous incidents to take you along - what Nesbit does so well is to build up the world of friendships that the children manage to create. Someone said that fiction allows us to see the truth that reality hides. This book rings true. The freshness of the children. The challenges that they and their mother cross. The child-level vision that Nesbit captures - while seeping the book with a deeper (and at times sadder) wisdom. The sprinkled incidences of Providence. The quiet commentary on class. The gentleness of love and devotion - and the dawning of understanding in a child. Its all there and more. Read it.

I wish I had read this a long time ago. But am glad that Asha and Enoch gave us an opportunity to go into this world together.

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Interestingly E. Nesbit and her husband were founders of the Fabian Society and involved in British Socialism at the turn of the century. Most of her books are available as free ebooks and audiobooks.

Here is a quote by Nesbit: “When I was a little child I used to pray fervently, tearfully, that when I should be grown up I might never forget what I thought and felt and suffered then.” (from an essay on Nesbit by Gore Vidal). We are glad that she didn't. It has made us the richer

24 hours

2011-07-07T22:21:00.003+05:30

Its been a tough 24 hours.

For the first 2 weeks after our shifting the Jeevan Sahara work to the new premises, we did not have a single in-patient.

Then this Monday we had our first inpatient. Leelamma.

On Tuesday our second patient came. Nelson.

He is one of our contacts in the home-based care team. Nelson is a very complex man. A long-term alcoholic - he has suffered a stroke which has left him paralysed on one half of his body. He has lost the power of speech and communicates through grunts. It is hell at home. He continues to drink and flails around - beating his wife and mother. His mother, a tiny waif of a woman has been supporting him so far. His wife comes and goes.

We admitted Nelson in one of the rooms.

Yesterday we found out a terrible fact. His good leg is blue. It looks like a clot has moved down into his leg and is cutting off the blood supply. An emergency surgery could help - but Nelson's wild and erratic behaviour means that an post-op care is almost impossible. We talked to his wife and mother. There is no one to go with him. They want to take him home.
Then last night a man came.

He was brought to the center at 8 PM. We got a call saying that a very very sick person has come for admission. We live 2 kms away from the Jeevan Sahara Community Care Centre. Sheba left immediately, but by the time Sheba arrived at hospital the man had already passed away.

Lets give the man a name. We will call him Yashwant. Our staff had met Yashwant earlier when he had been admitted to the civil hospital. Like Nelson, he had only an aging mother with him to look after him then. When he came to JSK at 8 at night it was only with his mother again.

After he died, however, many relatives appeared. Where were they when Yashwant was alive?

The lot of a person with HIV can be very lonely. And most of the loneliness is due to purposeful neglect. Shame by other family members. Weariness from caring and giving money. Coldness due to past wrongs done and bridges burned. Fear of the disease and the stigma that surrounds it.

Each person so complicated. What we are finding is that the Community Care Centre is putting us in touch with people who have had extreme experiences. Though we have just started this phase of our work, I think it has already begun to take its toll on us.

At 11 AM noon today, Sheba was about to go over to the centre when she had a severe pain in her lower abdomen. She could not stand. We had to put her into bed. Sheba has remained in dull pain for most of the day - and sharp pain when she stands. She has dropped off to sleep now.

In the meantime - in the early afternoon - an HIV positive boy came to the JSK Centre with a 104 degree fever and shallow breathing. With Sheba unable to come, Agnes our main nurse called Dr. Marise who helps out 2 days a week. Marise came over, and the boy was stabilised. Our staff was about to discharge him home in the late afternoon - without having to be admitted.

Nelson's family took him home this afternoon too. How long he lives is a hard question. How his family is to look after him with his violence and anger is another. We don't have any simple answers - but that is why we are here. To serve. To show the love that God through Jesus gave to us in the first place - undeserving, wild, ungrateful, incoherent us!

Its 23.18 as I type this and another day starts at 5 AM tomorrow.

Onwards!