Help

A young man called up asking for help two days ago.  There was a destitute man at the railway station who had been suffering from TB.  Did I know any place where he could be treated.

I gave a name or two - not having their phone numbers I suggested a website address.  Its a tragedy that in a mega-city of 16 million there are so few places that will care for the destitute.

Today the young man called again.  He said that the man was really not feeling well.  What medicine should he take.  He was sweating.  Should he give an oral rehydration solution.

I told him to bring the man to our centre.  He was brought in with the barest hint of a pulse.  Emaciated. Semi-coherent.  The only paper he had on him showed that he had taken some TB treatment from the Thane government civil hospital.  He was from out of town and didn't seem to have people around to help.  The young good samaritan had put the man in an auto-rickshaw with the help of some bystanders and brought him to us.

We could see that the man needed admission at an ICU immediately.  There was very little hope - but we referred him to the nearest hospital for emergency admission.  Giri - one of our JSK staff joined.  The hospital  refused saying that the man did not have anyone ready to take responsibility for him.  So our friend and Giri took the man back to the Civil Hospital to try and get him admitted.

The man died there.

Another unsung death.  Who does this man know.  Are his relatives wondering where he is?  Will they know about his passing away?  What happened to his family in the first place?  Did he fight with them? Has he been away from them for a long time or for a little.

Giri and Santosh (another staff who joined the group at Civil hospital), helped our young friend with the police report.  Another destitute death.  A post-mortem was performed and the body handed over to the authorities for cremation as an unknown person.

All this in the city that never sleeps.  In the place where people fly in from Africa to get surgeries done.

I feel sad and helpless tonight.  To know that a life has slipped by and we were not able to stop its merging into death.

And yet one of the glimmers of hope is the heroic behaviour of the young man whose heart went out for this destitute man.  The youngster is attending college in Mumbai.  Most of his friends are busy zoning out to their private pleasure-lands of music or are honing in on the rough-and-tumble ladder to success.  And here he is, caring for the person whom noone chose to notice.  Holding his hand, encouraging him, talking with him, praying with him.

Its the story that Jesus told of the 'good samaritan' come to life.  It doesn't have a happy ending - the man being helped died this afternoon - but it does shine some sparkles of hope into a melancholy night.

Independence Day Poem

Village in a city

After four days and nights,
the train finally spills them
into the city, these villagers
with mud inside their nails
and blood. Tucked
into crannies, crowded

quarters, they tend to floors
as they did their farms,
sweeping dust that needs
no watering. In the kitchen,
they peel and cut fruit
and vegetables, long since
cut off from the stalk.
Where once open fields
joined them to the sky
and one another, concrete,
special plates, spoons and mugs
keep them apart. Yet,
once a year, they meet up
on Independence Day,
under trees, transplants,
like themselves in Lalbagh,
spread of green amidst gray smog,
coalescing from all over the city--
to chat, eat roasted butta,
stand tall as the trees,
bare feet caressing
the red earth.

 

- Athena Kashyap 

 

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Athena is a writer who recently published a book of poetry - Crossing Black Waters.  Many moons ago we studied together in 5th standard at the Cathedral and John Connon School  in Bombay.

Specs

Right.  With one fell stroke both of us have joined the ranks of those with extra eyes.

It started with Sheba's severe head-aches - and my realising about 2 weeks ago that small text was now blurred.  A quick visit to the opthalmologist at Bethany Hospital showed that we both needed reading glasses - and I also need specs for seeing at a distance.  

So on Wednesday Sheba got her reading specs and today I picked up my variable ones.  Its quite an adjustment for me.  I am less than thrilled with what seems to worse than before.  Yes I do see better when reading, but the closing in of my field of vision to a few spots of clarity seems jarring.  There is constant desire to take the things off and 'carry on without'....  Alas! I feel like I have become a card-carrying member of the middle-aged-club.

O Freunde, nicth diese Toene,
Sondern lasst uns angenehmere anstimmen
und freudenvollere!

almost the last stitch

Lets look instead at what Sheba has been working on recently.  

One of the reasons for her headaches is her work on her latest cross-stitch project - of which the majority was done through a blurry haze.  

With the coming of the specs Sheba finds herself able to read small text again.  

The current project based on a set of flower patterns sourced off the internet.  These sweet-pea flowers have been framed by Sheba with the verse 'Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.'  (Mathew 5.8).

Fear

The phone rang last night.  It was one of our new interns from the Union Biblical Seminary.  He had got a phone-call from home in Manipur.  They wanted to know if he was alright.  They had seen images on TV of people from the NorthEast fleeing from Pune and Bangalore.

I have lived in the town this young man comes from.  It is not the most peaceful place on earth.  I have heard gun-shots fired between security forces and local insurgents during a terror attack - and an army rampage afterwards.

So here are people from this town calling Thane to find out if their son is safe and sound.

Why?

Because for the last month a terrible struggle has been going on between immigrant Muslims and the Bodos - a tribal group - in Assam.  Last Sunday a large group of Muslims protested this at Azad Maidan in south Mumbai.  The police was out in force as they had been requested to provide security for a peaceful protest.  But then things got out of hand.  A section of the crowd started attacking the police and the press.  Vans and busses were burned.  A baton-charge took place.  People were running here and there.  Firing took place.  Two were killed.  One had a long history of such violent agitations - and had been externed from his area a number of times by the local police.

Now here is where the tale takes off.

The Mumbai police - to its credit - managed to diffuse an explosive situation.  The two men were buried quickly and carefully with the help of local religious leaders.  The press remained fairly neutral (a certain vernacular rag of course did not - but was not able to fan the flames too much).  Prominent leaders from the Muslim community immediately distanced themselves from the actions of the rioters.

But in Pune - of all places - the next weekend people from the North East started to be singled out for beatings.  Young men who looked like they were from the north-east were attacked by mobs.  It seems that clips of alleged violence in Assam (shown to be spliced images of attacks on Tibetans and Thais) have been circulating with calls to 'rise up and fight the Chinis.' 

And this seems to have put the whole situation out of kilter.  People from the North East of India have always received the brunt of 'main-land' opinion - ranging from sheer ignorance (are you Indians or Chinese? - you must be from Nepal) to various shades of racist stereotypes.

Then the SMSes started.  In Bangalore (oops make the Bengaluru) and in Pune people started receiving SMSes saying the fresh attacks on NorthEasterners are expected.  It was too much for many.  They packed up.  And left. Hundreds and thousands of them.  Packing the airport.  Overflowing at the railway station.  As we write those packed trains are trundling towards Guwahati in Assam.

The government response?  Order another train!  And then tell people that they are safe.

It speaks a lot that rumours can spark such an exodus.   It speaks a lot of the very fragile trust that our countrymen have for the government.  We are a huge country - with massive armed forces and a long history of constitutional elections, with courts and government structures galore.  But when it comes down to trust in what the authorities say - people clearly voted with their feet.  Call it hysteria, call it fear - it shows how much work remains to build the civil society that our forefathers dreamed of.

So I talked to my friend.  We agreed that not a single incident of violence towards people from the NorthEast had taken place in Mumbai or Thane.  We decided that he and his colleague would remain with us.  We will pray and continue to serve.

Independence Day blues... then greens

For the last 2 weeks I have been taking Enoch an hour early to school each day.  He was chosen to be part of the group to sing at the flag-raising on Independence Day - and to read out a short speech.

Yesterday it happened.  Well, actually it didn't.  At least not what was planned.

Yes, another August 15th showed up.  India has now completed 65 years of Independence from the British Raj.  We have now achieved the average age of an Indian born today (those born in 1947 only expected to live 37 years on average!).

And yes, we did get up early and go over to the school at 7 AM for the flag hoisting and programme.  Only to find that the programme had been cancelled.

Why?  Because an ex-chief minister of Maharashtra had died the day before - and the government had notified a 'day of mourning.'

That is all well and good - and no desrespects for the dear-departed - but how can you impose 'mourning' on our Independence Day celebration?  It was the oddest thing - to see kids arrive at the school dressed up beautifully in costumes for the dances and other parts of the programme then to be told that the whole programme had been cancelled.

Jai Hind!  The rousing strains of Jana Gana Mana being sung

Yes, we did hoist the flag and sing the stirring national anthem, and a patriotic song was sung by one of the choirs, but a bitter taste remained.  The whimsy of the state - that trumps the basis of our nation.  

Yes, some of the 'patriotic' themes that are trotted out every are treacly.  Yes, there are so many things that we need to address with all our heart and strength.

Yes, just singing a patriotic song will not take away the sting of poverty - or send a mars mission aloft.  But here is one time when we can genuinely stand together - and our youngsters are being taught that all of this can be set aside - in order to 'honour' a dead politician.  The cult of the person overrides the tenous threads which can weave us together.

I don't think a single child shed a tear for the departed ex-Chief minister of Maharasthra.  But I am sure tears were shed because a beautiful programme was squashed thanks to an edict from the state govt.  And for those who didn't cry - another small erosion of trust took place.

So what did we do instead?


We took our lovely lad for a walk.

Not far from where we used to stay in the 'Happy Valley Homes' is a park that the municipality has made at the edge of the national Park.  It is quite inaccessible to most people with no bus service anywhere near and far off from the main pockets of habitation - though right next to a large expensive gated community.

When it was first commissioned about five years ago it was sparkling with swings and children's jungle gym type toys.  As with much it has fallen into neglect.  Every movable out-door toy is broken - and even some of the static ones are twisted relics of what used to be so shiny.

But at least the grass and the trees regenerate.

The monsoonal green is balm to the soul.

And what can be better than seeing flowers like these?

We returned home to a celebratory breakfast (August 15 being Stefan's birthday too) with our dear friends Arvind and Putul Singh and their lovely children Urvashi and Rishav.  In keeping with the Independence Day time - we had a half-night of prayer the previous night - and Arvind and family stayed over with us and participated in a special programme for our Jeevan Sahara Kendra children later in the day.

We are grateful for our country of India - and long that our children will grow up in a land where freedom and truth will blossom. There is a lot of work... maybe even generations of work to be done.  But we can start now.  May our blues be greened!




 

Jimmy

The wonders of cyberspace.

A few weeks ago a man fed in the name of 'John V. Rao' into his computer.

Up popped our Chai Chats blog.

And so Jimmy came into our lives - again for Sheba and the first time for me.

Jimmy, Julie and Jessie David grew up with Daisy, Sheba, Sarah and Peter in Rourkela. They were part of the same church fellowship. They went to the same schools. Their lives were intertwined at many many different levels.

The younger generation of Davids went on to higher studies and moved to the US - and after the tragic death of their father in 1995 - so did Auntie David.

And that was where the story ended.  Sheba had told me about her friends a number of times - and we always wished that we could somehow get in touch again.

Well we did - with Jimmy walking in our door on Saturday!  What a joy to see him.  It was the first time for me - and for Sheba it was after 20+ years.

Jimmy is no stranger to Thane - he has passed by our town a number of times in recent years.  Each time his company sent him to their project in Pune his taxi from the airport whizzed past Thane.

But what got us connected again was the name of the senior elder of the Bethany Fellowship in Rourkela - the church that Jimmy and Sheba grew up in.  John V. Rao had married Amma and Appa - and he married Sheba and myself.  He is still alive and still soldiers away (appropriately since he is an ex-army-man) in the assembly in Rourkela - over 50 years since he helped start it as a young man.  JVR has his rough edges - some which have been on display for years - but we are grateful for his endurance and passion.

For me to see Jimmy was to see a bit more of Sheba's world.  And also to see the grace of God who has fashioned such a winsome man - happily married to Ayako from Japan - and with two lovely kids who are growing up speaking Japanese and English where the family lives in Michigan.

We are so grateful that Jimmy took the pains to follow up the emails with actually being with us.  We hope that this starts a new chapter in the wonderful story of our families long walk together.

Fastest 100 m in history

To say the Olympics have been breath-taking is an understatement.  Whatever you may feel about the hype and the bucks and the razzmatazz - the sheer thrill of seeing the best go at it makes you want to eat your hat.

Our man Bolt did what he said he would.  The final of the 100 meters saw everyone finish the race in under 10 seconds - except for the injured Asafa Powell.  Unbelievable - and at the end of the race who was in front - but our own lightning Bolt.  He may have a huge ego - but lets look at him in lego.

Bolt blazes away to glory - recreated with lego by the good folks at the Guardian.