on the edges

The rain poured down, then slowed, then started up in new squalls of fury. Buckets of water streaming down from the dark night sky.

Our neighbours had planned a small party. On the terrace of our appartment building. It was quickly clear that the unusual October deluge had washed away the evening's preferred venue.

Instead we were down in their flat. After the cake was cut and the song was sung the main entertainment began. The men took over the living room and the ladies hovered in and out of the kitchen and clustered in the bedrooms.

The bottles were brought out and poured. I found myself surrounded by members of an extended family who have all done very well for themselves. The elder generation were architects and decorators - the younger were into clinical research, big pharma and human resource management for large retail chains. They nursed their beers with studied determination. The odd shot of whisky (from a bottle labelled 'For Defence Personel only" - and not a fauji in sight) mingled with the even odder hand clutching a glass of black fizzy water (mine).

"Social service, eh?" The conversation was polite. But not much traction. I did the asking about them - there was not much coming the other way.

And in the middle of all were the invisibles. Silent. Noticably darker skinned. No gold. The odd young man coming in and carrying some item of food. Being ordered to clean up the dirt left from having shifted the TV into the corner.

I was in the kitchen when one young man carried in a tray adorned with empty glasses and bottles. "Take it outside" said one of the hosts. The young man looked blank. He had just been ordered to bring it into the kitchen.

We ate and left. Having kids offers a polite excuse to leave with some decorum. Their term exams were the next day so we were able to exit without seeming too rude.

As we crossed the foyer and took out our keys to open our door I looked up the stairwell. There, splayed out over the bright red plastic chairs which were to have been put up on the terrace, were three figures. Silent. Exhausted. Asleep.

These men are the men at the margins. We have outsourced our slavery. Who they are, where they live, what the structure of their lives is - are the least of our concerns. We order a product (in this case the chairs/lights for an evenings entertainment) and how it is provided is not our business.

None of us want to admit it, but we are in a colossally cruel world. The path most of us take is to suspend our feelings - to sequester and push away anything that disturbs our day to day feeling of niceness.

I don't have many solutions - but one thing I know. Each person is precious. Growing up the the same brutally inequal world that I now live in, I have seen some steps to bridge the chasm between us rich and them poor. I have seen it through my father's kind and person-affirming heart. The three sleeping figures could have been at least served a meal. I have seen it in his generous and open manner - and in the way he talks to people in a way that radiates their value.

Dad - with all his human limitations - embodies so much of his friend-of-the-poor Master - our Lord Jesus. He who sculpted the galaxies and upper structures of space - stooped down and was enfleshed as the son of a mistry, a rude labourer who made door posts and ploughs - and whose family had only enough money to buy a pigeon to sacrifice at his naming.

Who being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. Phil. 2.6-7.

Review

Its been a weekend of reviews.

Friday afternoon we looked over the past month with Jeevan Sahara Kendra. A good month - though challenging since our field staff running at 1/3 with 3 of our staff leaving in the past 3 months - and another one on leave as her father was quite ill.

Then yesterday we reviewed the past quarter. We spent time quietly thinking and praying. Then shared what the positives had been and what barriers we faced, mapping them out on a board before bringing them back to God in prayer. As the white-board kept filling up with facts - both triumphs as well as challenges - we experienced waves of thanksgiving - and deep jabs of regret at areas that we were not able to deliver in.

The second half of the day saw us sharing a meal at the 'nature interpretation centre' just inside the Sanjay Gandhi National Park, a 15 minute stroll from our office. To be out in the trees, and hear birds sing, and be surrounded by green - so close to the death and destruction we deal with day-in-and-day-out is such a blessing.

The hard fact is this: despite all the progress in HIV, we are still dealing with people dying.

I was so happy that our Friday meeting reported no deaths among any of our families all of September.

But late last night Sunita, one of our nurses called. A man, whose name would translate as "Great-God" had died. His wife - also HIV positive - was not able to go to the government centre for her monthly Anti-Retroviral drugs. Sunita went over this morning with three days worth of drugs to tide over this new widow's need for medication. How much more this young woman will now face as she starts living with HIV without her husband.

This morning we met as a combined group of churches. Attendance was on the sparser side - with exam season seeing many parents staying at home for some last minute cramming instead of spending time enjoying God.

Their loss: God spoke powerfully this morning.

One of the insights came from the life of Elijah. In one of the flash-points of his often painful career as prophet - Elijah rebuilt the altar on Mount Carmel that had fallen into disrepair.

How many things in our own lives are in disrepair. We reviewed our work at JSK - and saw plenty that needed fixing. A good look at my own life sees much that is run-down too. But the hope is not in throwing out the old and starting from scratch. That's not God's way of doing things. He is totally into redemption, reforming, reshaping, reusing, rebuilding.

We have seen miracles - big and small - in our lives and the lives of others. The mountain-tops of victory - a life saved here - a relationship reconciled there - will always be challenged by the gut-punch of hearing that one of our friends has died - or that someone has made another spectacularly bad choice in life. Our institutions may be shabby, and our relationships may be frayed - but we are not to give up. God didn't do that with us.

Review. Restore. Rebuild.

Happy Birthday Gandhi-ji!

Early in my coin collecting days I came across what was even then in short supply - a brass "Gandhi" 20 paisa piece. The coin was minted in 1969 to celebrate the birth centenary of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi - better known as 'Gandhiji.'

Since I was born in 1969 the coin had a special pull for me. The coins were in short supply because the value of the brass had soon outstripped the 20 paisa it was representing - and hoarders collected them and melted the coins down for the metal value alone.

The portrait is also a bit strange, as he bears a faintly plump look which is a bit at odds with his iconic mode of austerity.

October the 2nd was the day when Mohandas was born to an aspirational middle-class (if such a term existed them) family in Porbandar, Gujarat state. If Gandhi were alive today, he would have turned a ripe 140 years on this day.

Our kids have a holiday on the occasion of 'Gandhi Jayanti' but of the man there seems to be little left in the public discourse. Having won freedom for the British - there seemed very little place for him in free India too. The place where we see him the most now-a-days is on all our bank notes. There is a certain poetic justice to this - since the trading community he came from is known for their astuteness and business enterprise. Many of the shop-keepers around us are Gujarathis - but they do not stick out as clearly as they do in East Africa (for example) since there are other trading communities as well (such as from the desert areas of Marwar in Rajasthan) and the general mish-mash of our society means that even our often vociferous 'sons-of-the-soil' do not raise too harsh a voice against hard-working internal migrants.

Whether Gandhi could have imaged the India of today is another matter. With great strides come great responsibilities too. While our industry (thanks in a large part to the Gujarati community) seems to have weathered the global recession relatively well - we continue to see yawning gaps in incomes.

On this 'International Day of Peace' the news is that 16 people were gunned down by Naxalite (i.e. ultra Maoist) forces in Bihar. The same Bihar state that Gandhi tramped up and down trying to keep from secessionist flames has gone from being a jewel in India to being a state synonymous with corruption and nepotism. At least 20,000 people have died in the recent decades of low-grade struggle by the Red forces in our nation's jungle belt.

The government has decided to remember Gandhi by renaming its flagship rural employment scheme after the great soul.

What is missing is the essential energy of the man. While there are many issues that we can legitimately disagree with Gandhi - at least he had some ideas. At least he wrote (copiously in fact). At least he publicly put things to debate and was alive to so many facets of life and society.

Take a look at our leaders of today.

The picture on the right says it all.

A group of toadies. "Washing" a statue of Gandhi. With milk.

Of all the absurd things to do.

How about actually helping young widows look after their children and seeing that the milk goes down the throats of young children, rather than washing bird-droppings off a statue?

Gandhi has become today whatever anyone wants him to be. A malleable icon that can be safely appliqued on whatever we would like.

Would that our current generation would get their hands off the gaming consoles, or off the study-to-get-into-a-prestigious-college-and-then-get-a-fat-paycheck books, and actually get our hands dirty serving. Our Lord Jesus - from whom Gandhi claimed receiving inspiration from - said that we should love our neighbours as ourselves. Not possible to do virtually. We have to actually put our hearts into our hands and step out of our comfort zones - and into the lives of others.

Happy Birthday Gandhi-ji - you have left us with a lot to do!

Living legends: Manjula Shah

Wonders never cease.

The picture shows the senior leadership of Operation Mobilisation - the mission my parents are most closely associated with - having actively served with the movement over 3 decades. In the front row is my Dad. Around him stalwarts from what looks like the late 70s by the hair styles (and amount of hair on Dad's head).

On the left hand side of the picture stands a lady with a batik top, holding hands with a lady in a saree. The saree-clad lady is Mariam DeSouza, with her husband Joseph (the current OM leader) sitting in front of her. The batik-wearing lady visited us in Thane today. Her name is Manjula Shah.

I have grown up knowing Auntie Manjula. Or so I thought. There are certain things you know as a boy and others you do not. Today we found out more about Auntie than I did in all my adolescence.

We had our Positive Friends meeting this afternoon. Last Wednesday of the month. A time for our friends to be encouraged. To sing and share what they have experienced. To be challenged by God's words - and to pray with each other.

Auntie Manjula joined us for this meeting today. She sat beaming through the different sharings that our friends gave. One told how her husband is so much better now. Another about how she has been able to take her medications (she is being treated for multi-drug resistant TB). A third about how he had had his identity as an HIV positive man revealed to his family when a TV crew shot a short feature - and his family friends then found out that he was living with HIV.

I couldn't resist asking Auntie to tell her story. She did.

She started with the obvious. Having limped forward using her calipers - she shared about how she was born in Nairobi to a Gujarathi family who were followers of the Jain faith and how she was infected with polio as a 6 month old baby.

She also shared how she first came in contact with Christians - through attending meetings as a young girl - hoping for healing of her leg. In the process she met Jesus in a personal way and became His devotee. But the leg was still there - and she continued to ask for total and miraculous healing.

Matters came to a head in her late teens. Auntie Manjula was at a series of meetings where she was fervently praying for healing. Partly because she believed that God wanted her better - partly because she wanted her other family members to have proof of the power of Jesus. She fasted for 3 days and then gave God her ultimatum. "If you don't heal me today - then I think I will have to reassess what I know about you...."

God answered her - but not as she expected. During that climatic day - she opened her Bible and seemingly at random the passage she read was Paul talking about how he had asked God 3 times to remove the 'thorn from his flesh' - and how the answer he got was: "my grace is sufficient for you."

Manjula told those of us in the room today - HIV positive and negative alike - that God spoke to her so clearly through those words. And that she for the first time spontaneously told God: "thank you for my leg" and felt so much of the worries and bitterness drain away. And how she received God's promises to her that He would look after her. Her parents were worried about her marriage - and who would take care of her when they died - on that day God told Manjula that He was her Father - and would look out for her. She also received assurance about her other deep fear - that her other family members would be able to know Jesus. In that maelstorm of messages - God assured her that this too would take place - even though her leg was not going to be miraculously healed in the way that she wanted. And that in His time each of her loved ones would come to love Jesus too.

There are many more stories to be told. But here is the gist. After her family left East Africa and settled back in Gujarat - and in the UK - Manjula finished her college in Baroda. She then joined OM and served with my parents - eventually providing leadership for all the women's work. Her leg went with her everywhere she went. And her heart of love and compassion and her zeal for her loving Jesus too.

The last 20 odd years have been spent serving with local government in Britain. A sprightly 60, Auntie Manjula ended up her career with 4 years as a diversity officer which she thoroughly enjoyed.

And then she got cancer.

About 2 years ago we got an email and feared the worst. Our Auntie Manjula has mouth cancer. She cannot eat from the mouth any more. She cannot speak. She is in hospital and critical.

Today, Manjula Auntie filled in the story. It was all true. She was admitted for massive chemo and radio therapy. She developed severe infections. She did not know whether she would leave the hospital alive. After 32 days she was discharged. She did not eat food orally for 1.5 years. The thought of coming back to India was remote.

But today she stood in-front of our friends with HIV and shared the final bit of her story. The therapies have kicked in. She is being amazingly healed of her cancer. God is not finished with Auntie Manjula yet. A sprightly 60 - she is a survivor. Her cancer is in remission and she is able to eat. She speaks - something that she was not able to do as recently as January this year. She is full of the quiet joy of the overcomer.

Auntie shared her story which blended in with the other stories of hope. We are so proud to know this saint. We are so blessed to see God use His dear children in such amazing ways. A day well lived for us all. A life well-trodden for our Jesus-loving example.

Its a boy!

Another baby was born yesterday. He joins the hundreds of thousands who were born across India on the 28th of September 2009.

His mother and father are HIV positive.

His parents tried to abort him a number of times early in their pregnancy.

His mother was so sad and sick that she tried to commit suicide by pouring kerosine on herself.

Mercifully she did not succeed - in either attempt at killing.

This baby boy was born - and to what joy. We just got off the phone with his father - he is so grateful. The baby's father can hardly bring out the words. His mother is radiant.

Another beautiful child has seen the light of day. Another wonderful packet of potential. Who will this child become? What steps will he take in the future? What joys and sorrows will he experience?

Will he be HIV positive himself?

By God's grace - actioned through the care that we have provided HIV positive mothers - not a single child has been born positive to us so far. We have high hopes that this little boy will continue this happy pattern of outcomes.

One thing we know. This baby is already a miracle child. Having survived so far. And having brought so much joy already.

Happy Birthday little as-yet-unnamed boy! We are all very glad you are here!

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!