Water on tap

I just finished washing the morning dishes. Nothing to it. Turn on the tap. Wash. Turn off the tap. Water gushing out. Water swirling away – soap-sudsy – clean dishes put up on the rack to dry. The pleasure of cleanliness.

For the last 1.5 years, however, that hasn’t been the norm in the Eicher household. We have had water come through the taps – but intermittently. Usually between 6 AM – 10 AM and 7 PM – 10 PM.

Our lives pretty quickly arranged themselves around the water timings. Baths, washing clothes, dishes, plants, floors – all done in the shortest time possible to maximise the water availability.

Many an evening meeting or other engagement was not done because of having to be present for the evening water flow. Domestic life follows water availability.

Things have taken a turn for the better with the society wrangling a new water connection to the municipal water supply. For 2 weeks now we have had the luxury of water on tap. Almost round the clock.

Before we go back to assuming this is normal, spare a thought for most of the rest of our city. The majority of the greater Mumbai’s 18+ million have minimal access to water. Our urban population, by the way, is more than the population of Australia – maybe we need to have the next cricket series between Mumbai and the Ozzies.

The great thirsty metropolis is sending its feelers ever further into the hinterland to slake its unending thirst. We already are tapping reservoirs 200 kms away from us – with huge pipes sending the water Mumbai-ward.

But then the question of distribution takes place. The pipes are not ‘on’ all the time. They fill up local tanks – which then supply to their designated areas. These also release the water at certain times. The power that the ‘water engineers’ wield is huge. An extra few minutes here and there – can earn them a pretty packet. As can not releasing water even if they have it in their tanks.

Housing societies like ours demand water. And are willing to pay. This has led to a huge industry of ‘water tankers’ – beat up trucks that fill up water and bring it to the societies – where it is emptied into the society’s tank – for a fee. It is in the interest of the tanker operators for there to be water shortages. A bit of money given here and there can insure this – even in times of plenty. And then again – the huge demand for water and the dizzying rise of apartments ensure that however much is slurped through the big pipes into the city – there will always be a need for more.

For the poor, water means a common tap. Lines of plastic vessels waiting for it to start flowing. Or a meagre amount dripping through a small pipe.

Living as privileged elite, we found the rationing of water for a few hours each day hard to take. For most people its not a matter of hours – but of minutes.

Or of kilometres.

Away from the razzle-dazzle of Mumbai-town, vast stretches of the rural hinter-land continue to eke out the barest of necessities. Women (it always falls on their shoulders) lift containers of water and walk from the nearest well or river to their homes – small, thin water-tankers, bearing the fluid of life.

A few good men, and women

I was talking with a friend of mine today who just started working for a large social service organisation out of Delhi.

He offered me a bus. A fully equipped medical van - and the salaries and support money to keep it going.

The task for us was to staff it, and make sure it is used to reach the poor / rural population.

I immediately said: 'no.'

We just don't have the staff.

2 years ago we had 6 staff who visiting our positive friends in their homes.

This morning only 1 of the 6 went out to meet people on her home-visits. Daniel and Sanjeev have moved on for higher studies (MSW and nursing respectively). Lata has taken an indefinite leave of absence to help her sister through recovery from severe mental illness. Seema's father suffered a stroke last week and she has been looking after him. Rahul was attending a 3 day pastor's conference for his denomination where his church was given the role of leading worship (and he is the worship leader in his church). That left sister Shanti going out to meet our HIV positive friends this morning - aided by one of the UBS interns - and with 2 of our nurses filling in part of the gaps left by the other absentees in the home-based care team.

We are facing a severe shortage of hands - and hearts - on the front line.

And in all of this we are planning to expand our work - with the idea of scaling up to a community care centre which will support the home-based care work with in-patient care. By the end of October we will need to identify at least 1 full time doctor to join us - with additional nurses.

And more people on the ground meeting people in their homes.

We need a few good men - and women!

Quintiple Nelson

I just noticed that our hard-working little counter is sporting a very palindromic number.

In the game of cricket, the score of 111 is called a 'Nelson'. This apparently is in reference to the missing parts of Admiral Nelson's body (an eye and an arm - but not the leg that some thought he lost too).

Do we have a quintiple Nelson here? Thanks to all the loving eyes that have stopped in to have 'chai' with us - at least virtually. Do stop in and have a real cuppa (or 'cutting' for you Bombay-wallahs) with the Thane Eichers one of these days!

Googling a name

A long long time ago the word 'google' was one of the funny little facts that young teenage lads took pleasure out of knowing:"the number formed by the numeral 1 followed by a million zeros."

That was before a certain corporate behemoth came into being...

These days when I get an email out of the blue - like the one that arrived day-before-yesterday - I usually run a google search on the name.

That email came into our inbox courtesy of the career network of one of my alma maters. Searching the name of the person who wrote the note on google brought me first to a lady who had donated US$ 2300 to Hillary Clinton's presidential campaign. A quick look at the address of the striking middle-aged donor showed her as unlikely to be the email author. She lived half-way across the US from the august college. Looking well into her 5th decade, she was also from an unlikely demographic age group (though in the US college system you never know).

Within the next two search pages, however, I was pretty sure that I had found the person who wrote the note. Same college. Part of a Christian fellowship group on campus. Studying the same field. Amazingly, there was an account of how this person had been involved in genetically determining that an Amazonian epiphyte sample assigned to her was a totally new species. She had used genetic tools to determine that what she had was an unknown part of the tree of life!

To think of the freedom and encouragement students are given in the US! What we call a 'graduation' student doing primary scientific research is almost unthinkable in our higher educational institutions. Most students are mugging for exams - or playing catchup because things out of their control (like their professors going on strike like most Mumbai colleges had this year). Would that our colleges here in happy Bharat-land would experience such bliss.

Doing this to your own name does bring up some interesting links too.

Sadly, I have found out that one of my namesakes (written the traditional way as "Andy") is accused of child molestation. A slew of Andreas Eichers seem to be hanging out in Germany and Switzerland (not surprising since Eicher is a die-hard Mennonite name and Andreas is about as German as you can get - other than the odd Greek that is...).

Where do our digital footprints lead us? Will someone 40 years from now 'searching' the phrase you are reading now be led to this page? Or will the sheer mass of electronic detritus actually overwhelm the systems that we are using now? Will things written today return to haunt us, over and over again? And what about the ever-expanding bubble of information that we are sending out into space (most of which of course is sheer blather) from our blue planet?

The issue of saying something and then not being able to retract it has been around with us since the beginning of time. Jesus put it succinctly: "Let your 'yes' be 'yes' and your 'no' be 'no.' Anything else is from the devil."

Our words - every single one of them - are not just stored in the massive storage vaults of our sub-conscious mind - but exist forever in the eternal mind of God Himself. Anything less would mean a less-than-omniscient God - thus an entity hardly worth thinking about. Only a person who is at least a google times better than google is worth worshipping.

Did anyone say 'to the power of a google'?

Stability

Here's one from the archives: Asha and Enoch on Enoch's first day of school in June 2005.

He was 2.5 years old at the time.

The school was nursery - and his shorts were the length of a pair of slacks. He had 'got admission' due to a change in the eligibility dates. 2 years later we asked the school to let him 'repeat Jr. KG' because he was young for the class.

Our kids both had 4 years of 'school' before they started 1st standard. They are now in 3rd and 1st standard - and do not seem to have suffered too much from having attended school for so many years already...

I had zero years of school before I started in the 'infants school' of the Cathedral and John Connon School - up on Malabar Hill - a few stone-throws away from where I was born in the St. Elizabeth's nursing home. In between my birth and admission into 1st standard - our peripathetic family had moved over 10 times. My mother tried feverishly to prep me up for starting school. We were living in the then distant fishing village of Versova - and my 'school' with her consisted of her working hard to teach me the alphabet. She used flash cards to try and teach me to read. I couldn't understand why the word "Jeep" should not start with "G" - since the sound was so apt. Life in the fast lane...

In contrast to my early days, we as a family have been blessed with such a great amount of stability in our home here in Thane. We have now finished 4.5 years living at Happy Valley - and have been deeply blessed to be in such a quiet place (for Mumbai standards - and tonights loudspeakers from the Navratri celebrations were switched off at precisely 10 PM).

Being in one place for so many years has also allowed the kids to have security - and has provided a haven for us - esp. in the light of the brokenness of so many of the people we are serving the HIV/AIDS work we do.

Sheba and I are able to structure our work time so that we have maximum time with the kids. I leave at 8 AM and am back at 11 AM for lunch with the kids and then put them on their school bus at 12.30 PM. Sheba leaves for the JSK clinic just before 11 AM and is there till at least 3 (which can stretch to 5 PM too). I am back at the office at 12.30 (we live just next to our workplace - a walking commute) and put in work till 6 PM. The kids return from school at 6.30 PM.

Tonight Asha, Enoch and I did some 'running' outside, ending up with 'long-jumps' on the grass in our building society's park. Then as it was dark, we came up to our 7th floor flat and were treated to a dinner of rice, rasam and bindi/potato fry. Then we read another of the heirloom treasures that my parents have so lovingly kept for us (now grown up) kids - a lavishly illustrated book of nature and Bible readings called 'Character Sketches." Sheba cross-stitched while I read - all of us lying in bed - which brought me back to my youth and our family lying together at the end of the day.

And now the quiet of the night. All are asleep. The fans are whirring - the odd crow croaks outside - a dog barks. Another day is over. Nunc dimittis.

Unwanted

I went down to buy bread this morning.

The shops were closed, so I looked around for the roving 'anda-pao' seller on his bicycle, ringing his bell and driving a large black cycle loaded with fresh buns and his wire basket of eggs.

The chemist shop (closed at that early hour) had a new advertisement. A happy looking couple. He lovingly putting her hand on her shoulder. Both smiling at the camera. You felt warm looking at these two.

The product?

"Unwanted 72"

If there ever was a name that was apt it is this. The marketing geniuses at Mankind Pharmacy (another stroke of brilliance - you would think this is all satire, but it is a multi-crore rupee company) have decided to call their 'emergency contraceptive pill' the fetching name of "Unwanted 72"

The happy couple smiling at the camera does not want a child. They have had sex. Happily, a remedy is just a pill away. Pop one of them and that "Unwanted" one is gone. Story over. Happiness reigns.

Or does it?

"Unwanted 72" has a competitor in the emergency contraceptive market. The market leader - advertised heavily on Meru Cabs and other sites all over the city is the sleekly named "i-pill" from Cipla.

Sounding like the latest addition to the Apple computer family, the 'i-pill' seems to indicate something very neat, very crisp, very savy, very now.

The cover shows a stylised figure - with the pill serving as the head - and hands thrown up. Freedom!

The pill itself has a pleasing pink colour and is decorated with a little butterfly.

Just what the baby needs to fly away.

I am so glad that emergency contraception was not available in early 1941. As the son of a father borne out of wedlock - whose mother put him up for adoption - I know that the world would be a far, far poorer place without Ray Eicher.

Sadly our society has consigned the miracle of life to be flushed out whenever we so desire. Having worked with parents who have tried to self-abort their children, we see the totally rotten side of life. But we also see that they are responding to a larger set of cues that are screamed at them from kith and kin and every other hoarding it seems: "look out for yourself" "be free" "don't let a pregnancy get in the way of your dreams" "enjoy sex without a thought of what it means other than getting your bit of the action" etc. etc.

Unwanted. But precious.

Murky waters

Two images - courtesy my daily fix on the BBC news website.

The first a river, make that an ocean of milk, being spilled on a field in Belgium. Its beyond me to understand the ebbs and flow of agricultural economics in Europe - but to waste such a colossal amount of milk - when so many have so little...


The second shot - a dramatic top down pic of a man immersing himself in the Hoogly. Despite many attempts at restoration and cleaning - our rivers remain foul.

This evening we considered bathing the kids in some water that we had been storing (our taps have been running only 4 hours a day for months) but seeing the sediment at the bottom of the barrel we opted to open the tap instead. The coming year will see another crush of humanity around the ancient city of Haridwar - bathing during the Kumbh Mela - in a river that even at that point is turbid.

Living on a liquid planet - its no surprise that fluids are so elemental to us. Each Sunday we remember the death and resurrection of our Lord by ingesting a small symbolic amount of grape juice (or acai berry) to remember the most costly flood of all - the blood that coursed out of a battered body so many years ago outside the city of peace.