Matheran

We completed 10 years of marriage together yesterday. 1/4 of our lives so far.

We were all up at 4 AM to start our epic trip to Matheran - but not before a small time of cake and flowers and cards and joy and grateful prayer. Asha presented me with a cloth cross-stitched book-mark - her first cross stich - done in painful secrecy to me. A very happy family left the home at 5 AM for Thane station - and our day of adventure!

One of the total highlights of the whole time was the amazing toy train.

When you get into the tiny carriages - you have no idea how wonderful the ride is going to be. After a slow and (at least for our carriage) slightly bumpy ride up an initial few hill ridges, you suddenly come right up against the side of the Matheran plateau.

From then on it is up, up, up and you see the most wonderful scenery unfold around you, even as you look down a sheer drop from your bar-less windows.

The beauty of the Sahaydri hills takes your breath away. And to think that just a few minutes earlier we had gotten off one of the many Mumbai local trains that ferry crammed boxes of people to and fro their workplaces in their daily grinds!

This amazing train covers 126 kms between Neral and Matheran. It is both slow and fast.

Slow because you move at a leisurely pace - able to soak in the views as you judder along the little narrow track on the thin man-made ledge of stone.

Fast, because we soon come to the famous 'one-kiss tunnel' - a tiny little tunnel which allows for just a single kiss before the light floods the carriage again (being a 10th anniv. there were plenty of excuses for being honey-mooney).

Fast, because before you know it, your 2 hours are up, and you are scooting through the forest crown that covers the flat top of the Matheran plateau.

As you come close to the town, you start to smell the horses. No vehicles are allowed in Matheran - not even bicycles. The only transportation are horses and human-pulled rickshaws. The horse owning lobby has zealously kept others out. And are making plenty off the throngs to tourists who make it up to the top during the peak seasons.

And then there are the monkeys too.

Nice to see from afar.

Not so nice close by.

We had just come to the 'Hope Hall Hotel' - a spartan place (no guesses for who chose it) - run by a quirky goan family. Enoch and I went to check in while Sheba and Asha lay down after the walk through the bazaar.

The door was open.

Before they knew it, Sheba and Asha had guests. A troop of rhesus monkeys. Not friendly either. They instantly started trying to loot our things. A shout from Sheba and Asha and the hotel boy who was bringing water rushed in to the rescue and chased out at least 6 of them.

By the time Enoch and I returned, the door was firmly shut. And so it remained. Generations of tourists have taught generations of monkeys to take advantage of them. We saw numerous people being boldly attacked and have packages snatched from them. One was a pack of kholapuri chappals. The monkey took it to a roof and opened it - only to leave it up there in disgust when if found out that it had stolen something inedible.

The kids had been looking forward to horse-riding.

The big moment finally came.

We gave in to the friendliest of the touts and 'negotiated' a ride with 3 mounts for something close to the amount being demanded by Somali pirates.

However, no sooner had the family mounted, than most decided that riding was not their thing after all. Various shrieks and shouts while walking through the bazaar - and then the ride was over. Bemused horse-men were paid off with a tip and the Eichers continued the trip to "One Tree Hill" on foot.

A ride had become a hike. And a splendid time was had by all!

To be out in the woods. To be alone. To be wandering at mid-day in the cool of the hills and the warmth of the sun. What a joy to be at Belvedere point - absolutely only us - and look down ravishing heights to a large reservoir - with magnificent cliffs on all sides and tinouses in a village below - nestled in the trees.


The charms of Matheran caught us quick.

Our intrepid family did the 7 kms round trip with a lot of gusto - and oohs and aahs - and many rest-stops and a final push back to the bazaar and a late lunch. While we feasted on tandoori roti and chicken (and Asha ate her normal rice-dal) the TV was cackling about India and Sri Lanka clobbering each other on the cricket field. Another world from ours in Matheran - but one being avidly followed.


So much of the place - however - was decaying. The old stately homes seem largely to have gone to seed.

Other than the garish shops selling chikki and leather sandals - and the amazing variety of hotels (most with hair-standing crassness on offer) - the place is pretty dead. I wondered how many of the school children we saw were planning to stay in Matheran - and how many had their eyes fixed on Mumbai.

As for the Parsis, who were the real founders and establishers of Matheran - their influence seems mainly to linger in the estates that still bear the exotic names like Jeejeebhoy.

We didn't meet anyone who identified themselves as Parsi during our short stay - but then we only had a sample day of 1.

The other oddly decrepid thing were the horses.

Now there were the odd handsome ones -buffed up and sharp looking, ready for tourists to mount them.
But the bulk of the horses looked sad overused. Especially the occassional train of pack horses, straining under their heavy loads - and the occasional whack from their masters.

We passed a camp of them this morning as the train wound us down the mountain again. Each horse had a feed bag on and were munching in the mist. What would today's labour mean for these gentle beasts?

Suffice it to say - that seeing Matheran with adult eyes is very different from seeing it through the wild-eyed vision of a 7th grader.

We came down the mountain deeply refreshed in our hearts. Still tired in our bodies and minds because of the mountain of work that met us back in Thane. But very very glad that we were able to do this trip.

Now to make sure it is not another 10 years before we foray out like this to Matheran - and beyond!

10th anniversary

Tomorrow marks a red-letter day for Sheba and myself. Exactly 10 years ago - on the 15th of January in the last year of the past millennium Sheba and I promised ourselves to each other.

We have come a long way from our marriage in Rourkela, and the initial 2 years at Nav Jivan Hospital in Jharkhand - over to Mumbai for a year with ACT-Chiraag and then the last 7 odd years with Jeevan Sahara Kendra in Thane.

What a wonderful and challenging 10 years it has been. So much joy. So many experiences. So many places where we are changed (and the sobering knowledge that there is still much to be re-moulded). There have been dark days - but looking back all we can say is 'thank you God!"

Tomorrow we are heading off for a one-day trip to Matheran - a small hill-station 3.5 hours from us. We go with Asha and Enoch - our two fellow-travellers whom God has graciously given us along the way.

The little trip will include a delightful trundle up the hill in the famous 'toy-train' - something that we have not been able to experience as a family in the 8 years we have been in the greater Mumbai area.

As we go on this little trip - we realise that it mirrors the much longer trip that we are on together as a family. Dec. 15th 1999 was the embarking time. When will it end? We really don't know - and can't. But we do know that every single day, every precious one of them is amazingly valuable.

Many of you gentle readers have accompanied us for various periods of time on this on-going journey. Thank you for your companionship, love and prayers.

On-ward!

Far from home

We have been counselling and testing people for HIV for the past year now. The numbers of people coming has been slim - and we suspect it is because most people don't know that Jeevan Sahara has the services available.

So around World AIDS Day we did a small publicity campaign. We put up stickers in auto-rickshaws and gave our small pink pamphlets telling that we have HIV counselling and testing available.

Niraj (not his real name of course) saw one of these pamphlets in a friends house. Niraj works in the nearby city of Bhiwandi - and has lost his father 4 years ago to HIV. He had just gotten news that his mother - living near the Nepal border in Gorakhpur district - was very sick. He also heard that she was testing for HIV and was found positive. Niraj kept the news to himself.

When Niraj saw the pamphlet with something about HIV on it in his friends house - he waited till the friend left the room - and stole it.

Looking at it later, he found the Jeevan Sahara Kendra address and came to talk.

"Please help my mother" he pleaded - going in and out of tears repeatedly. "Please give me medicine - powerful, expensive medicine - so that she will live." Niraj implored. "I will send it to her and then she will live."

Sheba tried to help Niraj and suggested taking his mother to Gorakhpur to the government hospital there. Niraj was horrified. "No! They will kill her!" he sobbed. Somehow this young man was totally convinced that the govt. hospitals kill people intentionally. Where this fear came from, whether it was a general fear or only limited to people with HIV, we could find out only very little. But the fear was real. It may seem irrational, but this is what this young man went through.

At the next visit, Niraj repeated his plea. He had just heard that his mother was bedridden now and he was preparing to go. He agreed to take her to the govt. hospital. "Madam, I will give you a call from when we meet the big doctor - please tell him not to kill my mother" Niraj entreated Sheba ,"she is all I have." But the next day he reversed his decision and asked for medicines that he could give her to get her a bit better - and then he would bring her to Mumbai.

We were due to meet him again. Niraj was sitting at Jeevan Sahara Kendra, waiting for his turn to see Sheba, when his phone rang. A call from home. His mother had died.

Niraj was broken. His worst fears had come true.

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Sheba prayed with Niraj. She listened to his grief. He has gone to the village to do the last rites. Along with him, he has a small book which tells of the life of Jesus - who as a young man probably buried his earthly father Joseph.

The big city has many, many stories of grief - puddles of them that spill sloppily between the rush of tyres on road.

At the heart of it all

The heart is a fascinating thing. Pumping blood day and night. Never stopping, never sleeping, unnoticed most of the time.

That is, until the odd pain prompts the dreaded question: is something wrong.

We always believe that it will happen to others. Not to me. Not now. I am too young.

This week was a wake-up call for us.

Dr. Stephen Alfred - just a decade ahead of us in the race of life - has found that he needs urgent heart surgery. A major blockage which stenting alone will not adequately deal with.

Stephen is no slouch. He doesn't fit my mental stereotype of an obese, sedentary, aging male. As the managing trustee for the Bethany Trust - God has used him to start up and run the Lok Hospital. We at JSK owe our start to his initiative in 2002 after attending the 'Prescription for Hope' conference. His presence as the central pillar of Lok Hospital and Bethany trust was a given.

Or so we think. Scripture tells us that men's days are like grass. We bloom and blossom and then fade away.

Scripture also tells us that we are very precious in God's sight.

I talked to Stephen on the phone yesterday. He expressed his deep gratitude to God for taking him through this process. It echoed some of the comments of our friends who have HIV. Gratitude for God's mercies in the midst of uncertainty.

Stephen has been booked for minimally invasive heart surgery at the Asian Heart Institute in Bandra for Monday Dec. 14th. Your prayers are requested.

Enoch, a.k.a. Sunflower

Parenting may be God's way of keeping us from becoming too serious.

We certainly get so much joy from Asha and Enoch - both in their own unique ways.

One of Enoch's traits is the capacity for laughter. Its no accident that the first thought that came to mind was "Sunflower." The school had sent us a notice that he was to come dressed up as a flower today. Hence the contraption above instead of his normal school uniform.

Its hard to be bowed down with the worries of the world when you have a ray of sunshine like Enoch!

We are very, very grateful for this young man.

An afternoon up high

I went up this afternoon. Literally up. Climbed a hill. Was quiet. Slept. Read the Bible and prayed. Sunk in the late afternoon sun.


The last few weeks have really taken their toll on me. I am irritable and unfocussed. Constantly tired. Yet not able to sleep easily (like right now as I am typing this at 11.15 PM in a darkened home).

Going up the hill - was a first and very welcome step.

To be under a tree - on the top of the ridge - and to see green forested hills stretch before you is something very special.

To do so with the urban sprawl of Thane just behind your back is an added bonus. It was remarkable to be up high - and hear the low rumble that the city gives off - and realise that this rumble is the background music to our lives. We are so accustomed to the melange of sound that we do not even consciously note that all the time we have a wall of sound around us.

A big thankyou to Sheba for encouraging this afternoon expedition. I feel more human again. More real. More of what I know God wants me to be.

And so off to some real slumber! Good night!

Rs. 11 trumps Rs. 100,000

Hari and his wife have HIV. They are an upper middle class couple - living in a pretty posh locality in Thane.

But even so, spending Rs. 100,000 on medicines, tests and consultations - and still suffering from a diarrhea for 6 months is horrible.

Sheba saw the thick pile of medical papers. Expensive tests done. Various medications prescribed.

She then prayed for the Hari and prescribed a course of co-trimoxazole (commonly called 'ciplin' or 'septran' or 'bactrim'). The cost? Rs. 11.

Today two of our staff visited Mr. Hari and his wife. He is *so* much better. He is *so* grateful not to have the chronic diarrhea he has suffered from - and because of which he has stopped working.

We have some of the cheapest drugs in the world in our country. We also export doctors like nobody's business (and nurses and other para-medicals too) while still having lots who are making a packet. You just have to examine what the dowry rate for a Malayali doctor is to understand how much people expect them to earn.

But what of the terrible cost that all of this has on the trust that once seemed so intrinsic to the medical profession?

We are so privileged that Sheba has the freedom to practice ethical, people-oriented whole-person care. What a joy to be able to listen and pray, share and educate - especially when all around what people hear is so negative and cold.

At the same time, we are humbled when our simple steps bear fruit.

The battle is not over yet for Mr. Hari. He has a long road still to go, but we are glad to have made such a dramatic impact in such a short time.