Enoch asked me earlier today: "When you get old - are you going to be still working with HIV?"
How much our kids have heard about our work. We try not to talk too much about it at home - but it seeps in.
What does my 7 year old son know about HIV? He has seen plenty of our friends with it. He has played with kids who are HIV positive. We have all eaten meals together with people with HIV - sometimes in our home, sometimes on camp. He has sat in on Mummy and Daddy's trainings - reading his books in the background while we seek to prepare church members to care...
A lot of exposure of words (and some works) for a little fellow of 7.
I told him: "I don't know. It all depends whether God wants us to be doing then..."
Saturday, 13 March 2010
Refractions
I have had the privilege of reading Makoto Fujimura’s elegant book Refractions twice. The first was conventionally – at home – sprawled in bed and draped over our settees while various cups of tea for company. The second reading of Refractions was while travelling without a reservation on a rattling train cross India from west to east. Most of the book was read scrunched up on a tiny bit of space –while my family slumbered on the floor of the train – with Fujimura’s words illuminated by the light of a weak lamp.
Refractions is a collection of essays that Fujimura originally wrote for his blog. Their quality makes their transition to the printed page seamless.
Throughout the essays we see a constant thread woven in and out of Fujimura’s life as an artist – his quest for beauty and his celebration of his craft. Fujimura is an American of Japanese origin who chose to apprentice with a master painter in the Nihonga (Japanese-style) painting tradition. As an outsider – being American – he managed to gain an unprecedented acceptance into an advanced course of study led by a doyen of this painting style with clear roots back to 14th century Japan.
Refractions uses words to flesh out the colours and textures of Fujimura’s experiences. He paints with reverence – celebrating both the texture and quality of his papers and hand-crushed dyes – but also expresses his reverence for his Creator who his Christian faith allows him to celebrate through his art. While most of Fujimura’s art is more about colour and texture than exact representations – his concerns see to it that his art reflects on the human condition – and the concreteness of history.
The major event resonating through this set of essays is the catastrophic attack on the World Trade Towers in New York City on Sept. 11 2001. Fujimura experienced this terror first hand – and many of his thoughts in this volume reflect back on the terrible events and aftermath. Faced with the chaos and hurt, with the swirling uncertainties and dust, Fujimura the artist responds with beauty and prayer and reaching out through creating safe places for expressing the inner.
A second strand that is woven through the essays – and which appealed deeply to me – is the novelist’s eye Fujimura shows when describing his travels – especially in the Japanese countryside. This delight in the beauty of things, the essential wonder of the material may have been accentuated for me due to its contrast to my dingy conditions during my second reading on the train. But Fujimura’s faculty in distilling the essential – and instilling a rounded image in the mind makes the book worth a read in itself – even without his meditations around these images.
The final strand which stands out golden is that of Fujimura’s ruminations on his Christian faith. As an artist Fujimura believes that the world is pregnant with meaning. As an adult follower of Christ he approaches life with the twin lenses of a faith the seeks to make sense out of chaos and one that seeks expression of his deepest issues through his understanding of the person of Jesus Christ. The fact that he expresses these aesthetically not in the classical tradition of representative western religious art – but through the his own Japanese-rooted Nihonga style makes it all the more refreshing to me.
If I have any bone to pick with Refractions as a book, it is in the visual representation of Fujimura’s art. For one who makes such vivid images, the pictures in the small volume I have seem strangely small and dark – almost faded. I wish I could see more. Perhaps the publisher needs better paper? Or a more compelling layout designer?
I came away from the book feeling that I have nibbled a bit into the person who Fujimura is. His ruminations about image and meaning – and his taking me along with him through some of the fascinating circles he treads has stretched my world a little more. Whether it be while drinking chai at home – or reading while hunched over sleeping forms while hurtling through the night on a cold train – journeying with Fujimura to lands of expressed aesthetics left me all the more richer.
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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from NavPress Publishers as part of their Blogger Review Program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commision's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Blood speaks
Uncle Madhusudan Das came to visit yesterday. It has been years - absolutely years - since we had a decent conversation. Yesterday erased a small part of the great deficit in communication that has grown over time...
many of the OM faithful at Uncle Madhu and Aunty Esther's wedding - the happy couple in the back row of course. Yours truly second from right
Both my parents were are single children. We grew up with no biological uncles or aunties to speak of. Our parents' cousins were distant - sprinkled lightly across the US and Germany other foreign lands.
We did have many 'uncles' and 'aunties' though. Growing up in OM - the commune-like Christian mission that shaped my parents (and was shaped by them in turn) - we were literally part of a large family. Anyone 10 years older to me was an Uncle (or an Auntie if the person was a she).
Uncle Madhu was one of our favourites. He always had a joke and a story to tell. His cooking skills were legendary. His big smile and hugs were looked forward to. Hailing from Orissa - his shape soon enough fit his jolly nature. My earliest (admittedly faint) memories of Uncle were of a thin man - but most of our growing-up years Uncle's shape got him frequent good-natured ribbings to join the "skinny club."
many of the OM faithful at Uncle Madhu and Aunty Esther's wedding - the happy couple in the back row of course. Yours truly second from rightWe did have many 'uncles' and 'aunties' though. Growing up in OM - the commune-like Christian mission that shaped my parents (and was shaped by them in turn) - we were literally part of a large family. Anyone 10 years older to me was an Uncle (or an Auntie if the person was a she).
Uncle Madhu was one of our favourites. He always had a joke and a story to tell. His cooking skills were legendary. His big smile and hugs were looked forward to. Hailing from Orissa - his shape soon enough fit his jolly nature. My earliest (admittedly faint) memories of Uncle were of a thin man - but most of our growing-up years Uncle's shape got him frequent good-natured ribbings to join the "skinny club."
------------------------------------
Today Uncle Madhu serves in various capacities - speaking, networking, encouraging Christian work across the country.
We were talking about our work with people with HIV and Madhu told me a story.
Some time ago a person had come to Hyderabad for some complicated heart surgery. Madhu helped organise various aspects for this person. He was told that they needed a lot of blood before the surgery and so put out an appeal to OM folks to volunteer. In a short time he had 6 men step forward and so took them to the blood bank.
After the testing had been done the lady doctor in charge asked Madhu to come and meet her. "Are you Chrrristians?" she almost snarled. Taken a bit aback, but still maintaining his composure, Madhu answered "Yes, we are ... have we committed a crime?" "What is the 'OM' you are part of?" the medico continued. Madhu explained how young people came together to live with each other and share about the person and love of Christ. "Hmmm" said the doc and dismissed him - telling him to come tomorrow for the actual donation.
The next day the six came and donated their blood. After this was over the main lab tech motioned to Madhu. "I can tell you why the doctor was reacting that way yesterday" he told Madhu.
Apparently at just about the same time as Madhu had brought his posse of donors, carers for another patient from Vijaywada had brought 8 donors to give blood. In the pre-donation screening (usually done under the guise of 'testing compatibility') 6 out of the 8 were found to be HIV positive! The lab techs could not believe it and retested the lot - only to find the same results.
None of the 6 donors that Madhu had brought were HIV positive. All the blood they gave was used - in fact 2 units were left over and Madhu gave permission for it to be used for other patients.
"Blood speaks" said the lab tech.
Indeed it does. The words he said that day burrowed into Madhu's mind. He immediately told the lab tech how true his words were.
The first family recorded in the holy writ saw the terrible murder of brother by brother. Afterwards Abel's blood cried out to God. The scarlet line of blood twists through scripture in various forms. The blood of animals in sacrifices, the various laws forbidding the drinking of blood since people believed it contained a life-force.
Most importantly for Christians - it is the sacrificial blood of Christ that gives hope of redemption. The blood that gives hope that the terrible consequences of our rebellious acts have been paid in full - and that our own spurning of our Loving Father is fully forgiven.
"Blood speaks". It does. Little did that lab technician know the depth of what he said.
Today Uncle Madhu serves in various capacities - speaking, networking, encouraging Christian work across the country.
We were talking about our work with people with HIV and Madhu told me a story.
Some time ago a person had come to Hyderabad for some complicated heart surgery. Madhu helped organise various aspects for this person. He was told that they needed a lot of blood before the surgery and so put out an appeal to OM folks to volunteer. In a short time he had 6 men step forward and so took them to the blood bank.
After the testing had been done the lady doctor in charge asked Madhu to come and meet her. "Are you Chrrristians?" she almost snarled. Taken a bit aback, but still maintaining his composure, Madhu answered "Yes, we are ... have we committed a crime?" "What is the 'OM' you are part of?" the medico continued. Madhu explained how young people came together to live with each other and share about the person and love of Christ. "Hmmm" said the doc and dismissed him - telling him to come tomorrow for the actual donation.
The next day the six came and donated their blood. After this was over the main lab tech motioned to Madhu. "I can tell you why the doctor was reacting that way yesterday" he told Madhu.
Apparently at just about the same time as Madhu had brought his posse of donors, carers for another patient from Vijaywada had brought 8 donors to give blood. In the pre-donation screening (usually done under the guise of 'testing compatibility') 6 out of the 8 were found to be HIV positive! The lab techs could not believe it and retested the lot - only to find the same results.
None of the 6 donors that Madhu had brought were HIV positive. All the blood they gave was used - in fact 2 units were left over and Madhu gave permission for it to be used for other patients.
"Blood speaks" said the lab tech.
Indeed it does. The words he said that day burrowed into Madhu's mind. He immediately told the lab tech how true his words were.
The first family recorded in the holy writ saw the terrible murder of brother by brother. Afterwards Abel's blood cried out to God. The scarlet line of blood twists through scripture in various forms. The blood of animals in sacrifices, the various laws forbidding the drinking of blood since people believed it contained a life-force.
Most importantly for Christians - it is the sacrificial blood of Christ that gives hope of redemption. The blood that gives hope that the terrible consequences of our rebellious acts have been paid in full - and that our own spurning of our Loving Father is fully forgiven.
"Blood speaks". It does. Little did that lab technician know the depth of what he said.
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Sad cheers
My mobile is lost. Somewhere between 5.45 and 7 PM tonight.
At a late dinner Enoch said "Two sad cheers for Daddy's mobile".
My sentiments exactly.
-------------------------------
post script: late that night I found it. You can call me again! Amazing how much relief I had when the lost was found...
At a late dinner Enoch said "Two sad cheers for Daddy's mobile".
My sentiments exactly.
-------------------------------
post script: late that night I found it. You can call me again! Amazing how much relief I had when the lost was found...
44
He works as a clerk at a local railway station.
I see him sometimes - he normally asks me to come back and jump the queue. I have escaped this most of the time - though he got me once to come back.
He is HIV positive and lives out in the hinterland - commuting in on the same railway he works for.
He and his wife have not had it easy - made worse by his drinking and the mental imbalance. But somehow he has held on to his job. His HIV medications and his psychiatric treatment have carried on over the last few years. He has hardly been the considerate husband. Their 11 year old daughter has seen and heard many, many, many fights.
And now the HIV meds don't seem to be working much. His virus seems to be resistant to them. His most recent CD4 count is a paltry 44. He basically does not have an immune defence at this point.
He still comes to work. We are trying to get him onto the next line of anti-retroviral therapy. The govt. hospital in Mumbai which dispenses this has a constant demand for the therapy - which is about 5 times as expensive as the first line meds.
No easy solution for this couple.
44 is a paltry figure. Would that it be more.
Monday, 8 March 2010
Rowdy
Asha has been bullied by a boy. Lets call him "Manoj". Manoj studies with Asha in 3rd standard and has been pushing her and poking her. Last week it got a bit too much and Asha told Sheba about it.
Sheba wrote a small note to the teacher in Asha's diary and that seemed to settle the matter.
Yesterday evening - as we were catching up on the week with each other Sheba mentioned this to me. A few minutes after we talked, Sheba got a call from a parent saying that he would like to come and meet us at home along with his son.
Sheba said that it was ok to come over.
About 1/2 an hour later our doorbell rang.
We looked out to see a small crowd. A man, two women, two teens, and two kids Asha's age. I thought that they were coming to collect some donations for a festival or something. We opened the door and they came in.
The kids were Asha's classmates. The adults the parents of one of them and the mother of another. The teens were older siblings - one per child. The Indian upper middle class has been scrupulous in following the Hum-do-hamara-do family planning formula (the Eichers being another piece in this giant jigsaw of our country).
What unfolded next was not what we expected - Manoj's father coming to challenge us about what we had written to the teacher. Rather it was the parents another boy who had been scratched up by Manoj - and the mother of a girl who sits next to Manoj and gets another variety of the same.
Sheba has been the class Parent Teacher representative for most of this year - and now at the fag end of the year we have received our first request to do something. The parents had brought a letter that they were going to submit to the principal. They seemed concerned for Manoj - as much as they were concerned for their children.
In the course of our conversation a small picture of urban upper class India emerges. A well-to-do family where the father is not seen. Is he dead? In Dubai? In the army? Starting a new factory? The parents who came said that different people have told them different things.
A mother who has tried to get Manoj's elder sister into modelling. A mother who says that Manoj has done no wrong - and that it is all the other children who are tormenting him. A mother who calls the other children up and tells them not to be bad to Manoj, but hangs up quickly before the children can give the phone to their parents.
The flip side is also there. Parents who network amongst themselves - comparing notes - triangulating the lives of others. All deeply concerned about their children's future and well being. Mothers who strive to speak in English and somewhat sheepishly slip into Hindi when they get animated. Older siblings eager to put in their two bits. The drama of the Indian extended family (we missed the grand-parents on this visit - but they would surely also add their vim and vigour to the mix were they physically present).
We were a bit taken aback by all of this. All we could say is that they were welcome to share their concerns with the teacher and authorities at the school - and that Manoj and his family are in need of care and understanding. Sheba hopes to meet the teacher about this today and may end up meeting Manoj's mother too.
So much of our outward behaviour mirrors what goes on inside our hearts, mirrors the sad pallid dramas that are played out inside our 4 walls. So many of our little ones act out what they see happening at home. How much of the rowdy behaviour is a plea for help? Is a deep desire to be touched and loved?
Sheba wrote a small note to the teacher in Asha's diary and that seemed to settle the matter.
Yesterday evening - as we were catching up on the week with each other Sheba mentioned this to me. A few minutes after we talked, Sheba got a call from a parent saying that he would like to come and meet us at home along with his son.
Sheba said that it was ok to come over.
About 1/2 an hour later our doorbell rang.
We looked out to see a small crowd. A man, two women, two teens, and two kids Asha's age. I thought that they were coming to collect some donations for a festival or something. We opened the door and they came in.
The kids were Asha's classmates. The adults the parents of one of them and the mother of another. The teens were older siblings - one per child. The Indian upper middle class has been scrupulous in following the Hum-do-hamara-do family planning formula (the Eichers being another piece in this giant jigsaw of our country).
What unfolded next was not what we expected - Manoj's father coming to challenge us about what we had written to the teacher. Rather it was the parents another boy who had been scratched up by Manoj - and the mother of a girl who sits next to Manoj and gets another variety of the same.
Sheba has been the class Parent Teacher representative for most of this year - and now at the fag end of the year we have received our first request to do something. The parents had brought a letter that they were going to submit to the principal. They seemed concerned for Manoj - as much as they were concerned for their children.
In the course of our conversation a small picture of urban upper class India emerges. A well-to-do family where the father is not seen. Is he dead? In Dubai? In the army? Starting a new factory? The parents who came said that different people have told them different things.
A mother who has tried to get Manoj's elder sister into modelling. A mother who says that Manoj has done no wrong - and that it is all the other children who are tormenting him. A mother who calls the other children up and tells them not to be bad to Manoj, but hangs up quickly before the children can give the phone to their parents.
The flip side is also there. Parents who network amongst themselves - comparing notes - triangulating the lives of others. All deeply concerned about their children's future and well being. Mothers who strive to speak in English and somewhat sheepishly slip into Hindi when they get animated. Older siblings eager to put in their two bits. The drama of the Indian extended family (we missed the grand-parents on this visit - but they would surely also add their vim and vigour to the mix were they physically present).
We were a bit taken aback by all of this. All we could say is that they were welcome to share their concerns with the teacher and authorities at the school - and that Manoj and his family are in need of care and understanding. Sheba hopes to meet the teacher about this today and may end up meeting Manoj's mother too.
So much of our outward behaviour mirrors what goes on inside our hearts, mirrors the sad pallid dramas that are played out inside our 4 walls. So many of our little ones act out what they see happening at home. How much of the rowdy behaviour is a plea for help? Is a deep desire to be touched and loved?
Sunday, 7 March 2010
Prayer for Pankaj
Sheba came back last night after having done rounds at the JSK centre. We only have one person admitted - Pankaj - and she said that he is really ill.
It had been a good day for us as a family - we went out to Dombivili for a time of common worship together with others from the various house-fellowships we are part of. It was a challenging and uplifting time - and wonderful to meet up with some dear friends again and make new ones too.
After a late afternoon nap I was with the kids while Sheba went over to do her rounds.
Pankaj had come to us as a last resort after his uncle in Kerala tracked JSK down on the internet. His immunity is very low and we admitted him at the Jeevan Sahara centre late last week. Sheba has diagnosed him to be suffering from tuberculosis - among other things. Pankaj continues to have high fevers - but has regained his appetite and is sleeping well for the first time in months. With the loving care our nurses and others are giving him - as well as the listening and prayers we are hopeful, but still conscious of the grim fact that Pankaj could pass away soon.
It was this feeling that Sheba came back with last night. She asked me to go over and pray for him. And to anoint him with oil.
I did.
Walked over in the darkness of a Thane night, past vegetable vendours at the corner and people across the street digging into samosas and bhel puri, past the motely huddle of rough-and-ready shops that abut the JSK centre. Walked through the bright blue sliding metal grille of JSK and into the small space where our inpatients are cared for.
I had just started talking with Pankaj and his father when the mobile went off. An unknown number so I decided to take it - and walked outside into the night to talk. It was an acquaintance who said that he has a friend with HIV who is very sick. Can he bring him for treatment. I told him to come on the morn with his friend and all the medical papers he had. Then headed back in to be with Pankaj and his Dad.
Pankaj is a large young man. Mid thirties. Well built - looking bloated and pale. His skin a maze of rashes. His moustach full but drooping. Sad, veiled eyes. He was lying in the bed. His small father seated on a chair - hand wearily on head.
We talked. I told him that we were hopeful but also concerned. I told him that Sheba had asked me to come and pray for him and asked his father to read out a passage from the Bible in Malayalam. The copy we have has very small text so the Father said he could not read it. I handed it over to Pankaj who read halting the while lying down the following words which we find James 5.13-16:
Is any one of you in trouble? He should pray. Is anyone happy? Let him sing songs of praise. Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.
I explained that our heavenly Father loves to hear us talk to Him - just like I love to hear Asha and Enoch talk to me. And even more so when they are in some kind of problem. I also shared that we are told to ask church leaders to come and anoint with oil and pray. Not that there is any 'magic' in the oil - I told them - but because God's word says so and we want to humbly obey what it says.
I had a small container of oil with me (coconut oil from the tree outside Amma and Appa's house in Vishakapatnam - prosaically stored in an old Ponds cold cream container). I told Pankaj and his Father that the leadership of our churches had asked me to be one of the leaders and so I wanted to pray for him and put the oil on him. He was willing. I did.
I walked back out into the night. The prayer of faith will make him well. How big is my faith? Pretty small. But I want to obey my Master. And know that if he can accept the faith of a small child - he can accept the desperate prayer for healing this dear sick man.
It had been a good day for us as a family - we went out to Dombivili for a time of common worship together with others from the various house-fellowships we are part of. It was a challenging and uplifting time - and wonderful to meet up with some dear friends again and make new ones too.
After a late afternoon nap I was with the kids while Sheba went over to do her rounds.
Pankaj had come to us as a last resort after his uncle in Kerala tracked JSK down on the internet. His immunity is very low and we admitted him at the Jeevan Sahara centre late last week. Sheba has diagnosed him to be suffering from tuberculosis - among other things. Pankaj continues to have high fevers - but has regained his appetite and is sleeping well for the first time in months. With the loving care our nurses and others are giving him - as well as the listening and prayers we are hopeful, but still conscious of the grim fact that Pankaj could pass away soon.
It was this feeling that Sheba came back with last night. She asked me to go over and pray for him. And to anoint him with oil.
I did.
Walked over in the darkness of a Thane night, past vegetable vendours at the corner and people across the street digging into samosas and bhel puri, past the motely huddle of rough-and-ready shops that abut the JSK centre. Walked through the bright blue sliding metal grille of JSK and into the small space where our inpatients are cared for.
I had just started talking with Pankaj and his father when the mobile went off. An unknown number so I decided to take it - and walked outside into the night to talk. It was an acquaintance who said that he has a friend with HIV who is very sick. Can he bring him for treatment. I told him to come on the morn with his friend and all the medical papers he had. Then headed back in to be with Pankaj and his Dad.
Pankaj is a large young man. Mid thirties. Well built - looking bloated and pale. His skin a maze of rashes. His moustach full but drooping. Sad, veiled eyes. He was lying in the bed. His small father seated on a chair - hand wearily on head.
We talked. I told him that we were hopeful but also concerned. I told him that Sheba had asked me to come and pray for him and asked his father to read out a passage from the Bible in Malayalam. The copy we have has very small text so the Father said he could not read it. I handed it over to Pankaj who read halting the while lying down the following words which we find James 5.13-16:
Is any one of you in trouble? He should pray. Is anyone happy? Let him sing songs of praise. Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.
I explained that our heavenly Father loves to hear us talk to Him - just like I love to hear Asha and Enoch talk to me. And even more so when they are in some kind of problem. I also shared that we are told to ask church leaders to come and anoint with oil and pray. Not that there is any 'magic' in the oil - I told them - but because God's word says so and we want to humbly obey what it says.
I had a small container of oil with me (coconut oil from the tree outside Amma and Appa's house in Vishakapatnam - prosaically stored in an old Ponds cold cream container). I told Pankaj and his Father that the leadership of our churches had asked me to be one of the leaders and so I wanted to pray for him and put the oil on him. He was willing. I did.
I walked back out into the night. The prayer of faith will make him well. How big is my faith? Pretty small. But I want to obey my Master. And know that if he can accept the faith of a small child - he can accept the desperate prayer for healing this dear sick man.
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