Friends

I can still see them in my mind's eye.

The big strapping traffic policeman. The thin frail bearded man next to him.

They were standing outside the JSK clinic at the end of a day.

They had been friends in college.

Manish (not his real name of course) - the thin man - has HIV. His wife died of the disease. He has a teen-age daughter and a young son.

Manish is from Nagpur. He had started ART medicines from the govt. hospital there. A month ago he got into an argument with his brother's family. He told them that he could look after himself. He had lots of friends in Bombay.

And so he came to the big city.

Manish has been invovled in the film industry. He used to write songs. Sing them too.

Now he has TB.

He got a letter transferring his ART from Nagpur to Mumbai. But the Mumbai ART centres refused to honour it. Because Manish does not have a home. A permanent place to stay.

And he really does not.

Manish did stay with friends. But it was harder than he thought. The good pals from before were far less than he remembered. The good times had dried up.

Frustrated and alone he was brought to JSK. He brought two cloth bags with him. Slightly frayed. Everything he owned at this point.

Over the day he was with us we talked to Manish. His friend in Ulhasnagar - the last place he was staying - had left town. He had nowhere to go back to.

We talked to Manish.

We talked about going back home. About starting again on his ART. About starting on TB treatment. We talked about him getting a ticket to Nagpur the next morning. We talked about being linked up with ACCEPT - folks who were doing work like us in Nagpur

He was going to go and stay at the railway station for the night. One of our male staff was willing to stay with Manish at the JSK centre instead.

Then Manish's police friend answered the calls he had been giving him. The big strapping policeman came over to the centre to pick him up and put Manish up for the night.

I left the centre with the two college mates standing next to each other. Talking.

What twists our lives take. Who is finally ready to help when help is really needed.

A friend in need - is a friend in deed! Indeed!

Space dreams

Technology will save the day.

In the late 70s I spent a vacation voraciously reading old copies of Popular Science magazines from the 60s. They had articles telling about what would happen in the future - complete with illustrations of planetary colonization and various other utopias.

Technology - and specifically space travel for humans - was going to make it all possible.

As a kid I keenly followed the 'space shuttle' programme - delighted at the idea of a craft that would go up on a rocket - circle the earth - and then return penetrating the atmosphere before gliding to a landing on earth.

All that changed 25 years ago. The space shuttle "Challenger" exploded. A 'routine' launch on a clear day - watched by millions. Seven astronauts obliterated in the eerie silence and white vapour and smoke 73 seconds after their craft had left the earth.


I was not one of those who saw the unexpected horror on TV - but the pictures made their way out to my 11th grade class at Woodstock School soon enough. It was particularly poignant since one of the crew members was a school teacher who had been selected for the mission through a rigorous and highly publicised selection process.

This was not supposed to happen.

We were close to the end of the cold war (how close to the collapse of the USSR was not known to us then) but the Americans with their spiffy and squeaky-clean space programme (lots of gleaming white as I recall - while the Soviets always seemed grey and grimy) were being touted as the saviours of the world.

A whole industry has emerged - with multiple theories about what went wrong in the Challenger explosion. Most focus on the infamous 'o-rings' - rubber rings whose characteristics changed at sub-freezing temperatures. The concerns of some of the engineers involved seem to have been over-ridden by the management in their desire to get the mission into space a.s.a.p.



What the accident did was to start to pull the plug on the shiny-happy optimism of space flight. The plug finally got pulled when the Space Shuttle Columbia disintegrated during reentry in 2003. To make the matter even more piognant - this mission had another charismatic lady on board - the Indian-born Kalpana Chawla - whose story had inspired millions of girls about what possibilities they could achieve.

Barring some completely game-changing space technology - I really do not see much manned-flight off our planet (even over to our own lunar satellite) in the next 50 years or so. Maybe a prestige shot by China in about 20 years from now - but little else. The costs seem to high - both in terms of the sheer massiveness of the whole endeavour - as well as the human costs. After losing 14 astronauts in the two shuttle disasters - the Americans and others have busily sent robotic vehicles into space - and that is where I think it will remain for the next half century at least.

Pity. At the base of it all is the romance of thinking of leaving this planet and moving somewhere else.

Technology was supposed to take us there. Something got 'bugged-up' along the way.

A quarter century ago an almost beautiful plume of white vapour on a clear blue sky marked an end of a certain kind of wide-eyed-innocence.

Our dear planet earth. Looks like we are going to be here for a lot longer than some had hoped.

Mukteshwar

A quarter century ago a few young lads played a version of Pink Floyd's classic 'Comfortably Numb" in Parker Hall of Woodstock School. On other occasions - playing under the name of Silmarillion - the fellows cranked out covers of Kansas and Petra anthems. I was a year below these tunesters.

One the fellows continued in music - and in exploring a faith devoted to Jesus Christ - and expressing his following of Christ within various Indian devotional traditions.

Chris Hale is the man in question - and over the last decade he and Peter Hicks have formed the core of Aradhna. Their new album Namaste Saté has just been released and here is a track from it called Mukteshwar.

Be blessed.




Blessed are the merciful for they will be shown mercy
Those who are poor in this world
Blessed are they, blessed are they
For the kingdom of heaven is theirs
Blessed are they, blessed are they
They who mourn in this world, will have peace
The meek in this world, will rule
Blessed are the merciful for they will be shown mercy
Those whose hearts are pure in this world will see God
Those who make peace will be called the children of God - Sri Yeshu Ji

50 years of the German School Mumbai!

This evening was a special treat for me.

I got to stroll through one of my schools. It turns out that it is the youngest of them all. The Deutsche Schule Bombay (DSB) was founded primarily to meet the needs of German-speaking ex-patriates in 1961. My other schools Cathedral and Woodstock turned 100 last year and 157 respectively, while my universities of Taylor and Yale are blushingly 157 and 300 plus years old. So the DSB is the spring chicken of the lot!

The school has changed dramatically in some ways - it now is mainly English speaking and caters to many different nationalities - but most of the classes are still held in the charming little building next to the old American Consulate on Warden Road.

It was charming to see where Stefan, Premi and myself had been formed in so many ways. The teachers at DSB were top-notch - pouring themselves into us. There were not many of us to pour into - my class was a 'big class' of 7 students in those days - the class below me had all of 4 students. But how we benefitted from their attention. The names of Herr Meister, Frau Doongaji, Herr Heuser, Herr Keuhne, Herr Fischer, Herr Ranft, Frau Chraiath, Herr Sipple still fill me with a great wave of thanksgiving.

I was hoping to meet one of these legends at the School Fair, but was stunned to meet - of all people the hale and hearty bear of a man - Herr Guenther Pankoke and his wife Frau Pankoke. Here he was - larger than life - a man of 80 years old and full of the same joy as he had been when he kindly admitted us into the DSB 31 years ago!

Herr Andi Eicher, Herr Pankoke, Frau Christa Eicher und Frau Pankoke - at the 50th Anniversary School Fair

Herr and Frau Pankoke have continued coming to India - especially to keep up the long-term relationships they have with local charities such as Mobile Creches. This year they plan to add a trip to Arunachal Pradesh to their itinerary!

What do I remember most from my years at the DSB?

Obviously there was the initial shock of coming to such a luxurious school (air-conditioning in the early 80s...) and having the odd teacher who smoked in school (the odd student too - it was not banned officially - but there was a strong peer pressure not to smoke).

Since German is my mother's tongue - while my mother-tongue is English - it too a long time for us to get up to speed with the medium of instruction. But immersion helps. Within a year we were being graded with the others (special patience for us in the subject of German however - I always did poorly in that).

What stands out is the joy our teachers had in teaching. I still remember Herr Meister's history classes. Herr Heuser taking us into the mysteries of the DNA. Frau Doongaji in her elegant way unravelling the mysteries of art and music (and drilling French into my unwilling head). How much any of my teachers will remember me - I do not know - but on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the DSB I am just so grateful for their inputs into this person-who-I-am.

Herzlichen Dank!

Impossibilities

Each week we meet as a team to discuss our work at Jeevan Sahara Kendra. Friday afternoons are set aside for this. It isn't always easy listening.

Our four home-based care teams tell us who they consider their 5 "priority families" for the coming week. Of the 25 odd HIV affected families each team is assigned - which ones they consider most in need at any level - physical, emotional, relationally, spiritually...

Today we wrote down the names on pieces of paper and put them on the floor in the middle. 20 names. Each one such a complex maelstrom of challenge. And yet so many common strands.

Alcohol abuse being one that cropped up regularly today. The cause - and the reaction to - so much misery. Poor relationships between spouses. Fatigue at looking after family members who are constantly sick. All the three mixed together. And more.

It all just looked so daunting. And yet the names on the slips of paper were real. Our staff meet with these families regularly. They are not just characters in a book. Not just made-up folks for a role play or a cosy case-study discussion. Each name is a living breathing person. Each set of misery is being played out through the gossamer strings of relationships.

At the end of the day - each person is precious - no matter how twisted their circumstances - no matter how rocky their own lives may be.

This afternoon we broke up into groups of 2 and spent time praying. Each group grabbed 3 pieces of paper to pray for. 3 names. 3 different families. 3 unique trajectories of misery and care. Seeming hopelessness and stubborn hope.

Our prayers are being lived out by the daily visits our teams make.

What seems impossible for humans...

A day to remember

10 years ago - at 10.10 AM - on the 16th of January we heard the sweetest sound.

A small muffled cry.

The very first time we heard our daughter Asha Esther Alice Eicher.

A decade. A whole decade has somehow slipped by.

Sunday was a day of festivities!

We started early in the morning with the traditional Eicher family thanksgiving prayer - followed by a treasure hunt for the birthday gifts.

Asha was decked out for the day in her new ghagra-choli.

It was great to have 'Oma' with us - 'Opa's' presence, however, was sorely missed as he is supervising the repairs of Shanti Kunj in Mussoorie.

Hugs for Daddy afterwards were much appreciated!

Being a Sunday - we all trooped off to church - our house-fellowship which meets in Jolly and Suma's home. After a super time of worship and learning - we were fed physically as well with a delicious Malayali meal afterwards - courtesy of Suma (with inputs from Rachael Reddy too).

Our Asha being Asha - she had asked for rice and dal - which was made specially for her amidst the mounds of other delights...

In the afternoon the festivities took the kiddy turn!

A birthday cake had been prepared - with Asha's fledgling interest of badminton in mind:


It was no problem getting our birthday girl to pose!

Soon the house was overflowing with Asha's friends.

Games are of course the core of any party - and we had a rip-roaring set in hand.

As the kids are growing - so is their sophistication (and competitiveness of course).

The boys vs. girls blanket-drop rapid-identification proved quite a hit!

(photos from here on courtesy Dr. S.P. Matthew)

And then the action moved to the terrace. We are blessed to be on the 7th floor - and just below the terrace. During the summer we roast - but on a late winter afternoon it is just perfect for games.
Integral to any competition - the choosing of teams - here we chose by arranging everyone in the order they were born in. Asha being Jan 16th was first in the line of course - followed by Enoch whose B-day is coming up on the 19th of Feb.

And then the games began in earnest.

The grand game of passing a baloon back - and then having the last person run forward with it - only to pass it back again - proved a winner. What with the wind catching the baloons and taking them places - and all the kids earnestly pouring their hearts into their teams...

The result was almost too close to tell - but one result was clear - there was a lot of laughter and cheering - just what the game was meant to do.
A slightly more challenging game was the blind-horse riding relay.

With the 'horse' blind-folded and the rider giving directions - it was supposed to be a combination between skill and hilarity.
Yours truly demonstrated it to the eager masses.

And then they were off.

The problem was not a lack of participation, but an overenthusiastic bunch. The dear blindfolded 'horses' did not pay much attention to what their 'riders' were saying and charged straight ahead. One minor mishap... but the game was still on. Then we had two eager 'blind' horses collide at full speed. Head on. End of game.

Tired and a tad sweaty (with one or two teary eyes) but with high spirits the crowd trooped back down to a time of sharing from God's word - and a prayer for our birthday girl.

The cake was brought out:

The traditional 'birthday song' was sung and all gathered to help Asha blow out the candles and cut the cake.


Eager hands then cut it up and added it to the other goodies - with hot samosas getting pride of place. Lots and lots of them.

And from then on its the "feed the cake to everyone" game - masterfully played with Asha in the lead role.

Asha has given us all so many smiles over these years. As we look back on a decade-worth of joy we are so glad. We gave her the name of Hope because we believe that even in the darkest days God's hope shines through - and gives us a reason for moving forward.

It was appropriate that we chose Ps. 23.1 for Asha this year - The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. The writer is not saying that there will never be problems - but that God will take care and look after him. That has been our experience as a family - and with Asha in particular.

Having so many of our friends - young and old - together on this special day reminded us of the wonderful extended family God has blessed us with. We feel alone at times - and on occassion are prone to feeling sorry for ourselves - but just seeing the dear ones who came to be with us was such a blessing!

Along with Asha - I also sometimes wish we could celebrate her birthday more than just once a year!

And now for something completely different...

Growing up in the more than faintly 'commune-style' world of my parents mission - one of the hallowed events of the week was the Friday Evening Prayer meeting. It was a time of worship (lots of guitars and tamborines - we were still in the days of the 'Jesus people') and much focussed and spontanteous prayer.

Though I don't remember any specific statement - I know what we were putting ourselves up against - the 'dead ritual' of reading litanies and prayers from prayer books and orders of service used by 'traditional churches' (almost synomymous with 'dead churches' in our minds).

It was only years later that I realised how ritualistic our own 'unstructured' worship was. The same songs. The same prayers. The same styles. Words like "we fall down in worship" etc. etc.

This video has been around at least a year - but I think it says alot about the manufacturing of church.




At the end of the day we serve a gracious Master who accepts the prayers and praises of His people. They are very precious to him. Be they the lisping of the smallest child - singing simple Sunday-school songs. To the final hymn sung off-tune but with gusto by the bed-side of the dying. To the racous joy and dancing of some and the silent formal prayers of others - our Lord is big enough to accept the broken offerings of contrite hearts.

Its not the package, its not the wrapping, but the gift inside that counts...

Oh praise Him.... Hallelujah...