Indian Antics IX

Hello everyone, and welcome to my last Indian Antics. Today I'll take you on a trip from the rural setting of Malkangiri into the bustling city of Mumbai (Bombay). Here we'll visit the slum areas, meet lots of interesting people as well as see some of the work being done in and around Mumbai by Churches of Christ partners. Then, all too suddenly, it will be time to conclude our Indian experience and come back to the familiarity of home. So, sit back and enjoy your last few days in India.

Recent News
I've been back in Australia for five hours now. Everything feels so surreal. The reality of sweet little Devonport just doesn't seem compatible with the reality of my last few months in India. They really are worlds apart - and I'm stuck with a foot in each. But this is a unique position and will not last long, so I want to write while everything is still fresh in my mind.

Farewell Malkangiri
Last Wednesday, my last day in Malkangiri, will remain in my memories forever. Together with all the RHS staff and about 50 local kids, I trooped down to the lakeside for another picnic. With most of my packing done, I was free to relax and enjoy everyone's company. Many of the children I was already familiar with from my neighbourhood, and I easily bonded with the others. Many of the kids begged me to stay on longer and were sad to see me go - the feelings were reciprocated. So it was with a certain sense of urgency that I made sure to make the most of every one of my last minutes in Malkangiri with my new friends. Rice, dahl and chicken curry on banana leaves, singing along with the bongo drum, splashing down at the water's edge, photos, fun and more photos. Dark bodies glistening in the hot sun, hands reaching out for my attention, sparkling white teeth flashing within their cheeky smiles - oh, I loved these kids. It was a fantastic afternoon, but all too soon it was time for the kids to be taken home . Waving goodbye as the van crossed the dam wall into the distance, I knew I'd miss them.

After packing up the rest of our picnic site I started walking back towards town along with a few of the other RHS staff. The sun sunk down over Malkangiri as we walked west. By the time the van had returned to get us we were walking by the moonlight. Back in town, I found out my photos were ready to pick up from the police (not a minute too early). Hopping on the back of the motorbike with Laban we had soon safely returned with those questionable photos – all clear!. Taking the opportunity to visit all the staff I started out again on the motorbike. Stopping first to see Joyti, her husband and two children, we enjoyed a hot cup of Indian tea and a good chat. Next stop was the 'bachelors' house. Along with Probakar, Ramesh, Laban and Amid were Antony and Sapan also. Sitting around on the cement floor of the single room all four of them called home, we ate left over rice and chicken from the picnic. Half way through our meal, the power failed, so our last meal together turned out to be by candlelight (quite appropriate). Crossing the road to the hospital grounds, I found Prakash, his wife and children, also eating in the dark. After saying farewell I followed Sapan back to his house and family. His daughter Ruth, and son Immanuel were already sound asleep, but I whispered goodbye to their peaceful sleeping bodies. By the time the rounds had been completed it was quite late, so I got into the rest of my packing - still by candlelight.

Malkangiri - Vizakapatnam
On Thursday morning the bus to Vizakapatnam was scheduled to leave at 4:00am. With my alarm set for 3:15am, I felt sure I'd have plenty of time - I didn't account for the possibility of sleeping straight through it. I was woken at 3:45am by a knock on the door, Dr Iris had come to see me off. Throwing on some clothes and shoving the rest of my things together I rushed out the door. Somehow I made it to the bus stand on town and was soon bouncing down the rough road in the cool darkness. In between dozing, I watched the sun rise and bring the beautiful countryside of Orissa into colour. Bouncing along on the bench seats, my pack between my legs and my stash of food beside me, the bus ride was a comfortable as a 10 hour bus ride can be on a pot-holed dirt road. After another bus ride I hopped into an auto-rickshaw in Vizakapatnam on my way to the Raj Kumar family's house. Here I spent the evening sitting on the roof playing chess with Ruth, their 20yo daughter. The sun slowly faded into the hazy horizon leaving me sitting in the darkness looking over the sprawling grey city and reflecting on my last days in Malkangiri.

Vizakapatnam - Mumbai
Friday morning I was off early to the airport. Due to bad weather the flight didn't leave until after 11am, so by the time I arrived in Mumbai and negotiated my way to the Bombay Christian Centre, it was already mid afternoon. Bombay Christian Centre is the base for outreach into the slum areas of Mumbai. It also has a boys hostel where guys from outside Mumbai can come and stay while the settle into work. The thirty guys from all around India stayed in five dormitory rooms. Back in Australia it is very unusual to find unmarried adults sleeping in the same room. But here in India, most people have never slept in a room alone – and most would prefer not too (scared of the dark). They’ve always had family members (often the whole family) sleeping in the same room, right up to when they leave with their marriage partner (and sometimes after). The auto-rickshaw ride through the outskirts of Mumbai had given me an interesting look at the world's second largest city. The mad traffic, the masses of people, luxury cars driving past congested slum areas, dirt and cows.

Friday evening I was able to visit a slum in the Sahtenoggar area. Arriving at the slum I was struck by the orderliness of it. From a distance it had seemed luck a pile of cast-off building parts scattered around. But close up, I found that these cast-off building parts were as ordered as they could be given the population density. Walking slowly down one of the larger streets, the shops looked amazingly like those in Malkangiri. Small, simple brick huts displaying colourful wares, each lighted by a single bare bulb hanging from a pole. Turning off onto a side lane no wider than a footpath, I walked into a residential area. Here I was approaching the edge of the slum area. The path had been built up 1.5m over the last couple of years to stay out of reach of the annual floods. The adjoining houses had not be raised with it however, so the houses were now half underground, small steps cut out leading down in the doorway of each house. After a while I was shown into one of these houses. Entering the single 3m by 6m room, I was seated on the only bed/seat/table. Behind my head was a TV, a cable channel showing the latest India vs England cricket game. A wash area in one corner, with the small gas stove just beside it. A family of ten lived here: Father, mother, one son, five daughters and the two baby children of these. One daughter sat in the back corner cutting up vegetables, the mother squatted before the stove, the eldest daughter fed her 3-month-old son, the other children sat on the ground. Before long we were joined by a group of children from the slum church and nearby streets. The smiling kids, dressed brightly in relatively clean clothes, enthusiastically entertained me with Hindi songs and smiles. After drinking a hot cup of chai, and spending a bit more time with the family I said goodbye, promising to come back on Sunday to visit their church.

Indian Republic Day
Saturday, Feb 26, is Republic Day. Walking the streets of the Chembur district I saw Indian flag after Indian flag, as the deeply patriotic people turned on their best colours for the holiday. Today was also the first day of a visit by a revered Sikh saint to Mumbai. A large festival area was set up for him, posters were distributed and big lighted images of him were all over the city. In the afternoon I was going through town with Sudhakar, a guy from Bombay Christian Centre, when we passed a huge parade. At first I thought it was for Republic Day, but then I saw a bearded, turbaned man sitting astride a mobile shrine. Behind the saint, thousands of Hindu devotees followed as the procession moved slowly though the streets. I wondered what was going through this man’s mind, as he received praise fit for a god – indeed, that is what he believed he was!

Together with Sudhakar I attended a Bollywood film called 'Khabi Khushi Khabie Gham' (It's all about loving your parents). A Hindi film, with snippets of English throughout, it was 3.5 hours of intense Indian drama. Typical of Indian film, the acting and huge amounts of music and dance make it more like a stage musical put on the screen. Also typical of Indian film, the story line reflected totally an Indian fantasy world, with very little resemblance to any of the parts of India I've seen. But as I sat in the theatre with the middle and upper class viewers sobbing their hearts out, it was a cultural experience in itself. The star actors and actresses developed a story in which a boy from a rich upper-caste falls in love with a low caste peasant (dressed better than I’d seen any Indian dress), only to be kicked out of his family. Years later when his brother comes to find him, he falls in love with the peasant girl’s sister but to the dissatisfaction of his father. In the end it they are all reunited and live happily ever after. Unfortunately, the prejudices such as caste and colour (lighter is better), are so ingrained in Hinduism and the Indian culture they w ill not be easily broken down. Even in solid Christian and other non-Hindu circles, most people would not think of marrying outside their own caste community. So, while government help to the underprivileged castes have helped, there is still a long, long way to go.

Slum Visits
On Sunday I had the opportunity to visit a number of churches in different slums. It was among these simple, friendly slum-dwellers that I felt most at home here in Mumbai. Walking through the narrow lanes I watched a group of three children pluck a small puppy out of the muddy drain and dry it off in the sun. As they squatted around the shivering puppy I couldn't help admiring the innocence and beauty of childhood – totally independent of race, colour or religion. Later that evening I enjoyed some north Indian food - chapatti, naan and papadams. In Orissa I'd been exposed to lots of rice and hot curries, but not to the milder curries and the breads of north India. So it was a nice change to have this north Indian food.

Off to Pune and Daund
Early Monday morning I set of by bus down to Pune. The rough journey through the steep hills took about four hours. In the city of Pune I met Dr Kolkator and his wife. A retired doctor from a mission hospital, he and his wife reminded me of my own Papa and Granny in Sydney. Before meeting another younger doctor for lunch we walked the streets of Pune looking at the shops. I was amused by the variety of security guards here. Outside one shop and uniformed guard sat, tapping a hockey stick across his knee. In front of another bank and guard sauntered with a five-foot double barrel shotgun. At the YMCA building I met Dr Philemon, the Indian doctor from the mission hospital in Daund that was started by Australian missionaries. Before making our way toward Daund we called in briefly at the Pune Church of Christ. The son of the minister here brought out a set of 'tabla' drums, a traditional Indian instrument. At only 12 years old he's completed all his exams on it and will get a tertiary degree in this art form next year. His hands moving like lightning, the demonstration was breathtaking. So many different sounds could be drawn from the two drums, so the variety of beats was endless. Making our way by Jeep to Daund we arrived at the hospital compound late in the evening. After meeting Dr Philemon's wife Shalini and his family, I was shown to an old residence out the back.

Ashwood Memorial Hospital, Daund
Tuesday morning was quite chilly as I took a morning walk around the complex. The place I'd stayed at was built in 1927, and was home to the first hospital staff, when the Ashwood Memorial Hospital opened in 1929. Since this time, multiple Australian missionary doctors have served the region. Now Australian doctors cannot work full-time at a mission hospital, so the only way for them to work is as volunteers. Now staffed by three full-time Indian doctors and many nurses, the hospital has around 30 beds including a basic ICU, theatre, X-ray and ultrasound facilities. As I got the grand tour I met many different patients, including one woman who had 25% burns after trying to commit suicide – an all too common event in India, which has such harsh expectations and stereotypes for the women to conform to. I also watched some work in the operating theatre and helped out in outpatients, noticing the cases were much more typical of the higher developed area. Many of the senior staff I talked to had memories of th e last Australian missionaries. Time and time again they told me that everything I saw happening here was the fruits of the first missionaries.

In the afternoon I was taken out to Shrigona Girl's Home. Started in 1918, it first provided homes for children of the 1918 encephalitis plague victims. Since then it has expanded to provide a home for 150 orphaned or poor girls, giving them good education. The boys are now at a separate boys’ home elsewhere. Leading the way in education for girls since its inception, now the school is now open for non-residents from the nearby towns. I was welcomed by the entire Junior school with flowers, music and dance. Touring the classrooms I met all the junior and senior schoolteachers. The new dormitories had been completed almost two year ago with the support of Churches of Christ Victoria and Tasmania, particularly the Women's Fellowship. It was great to see the direct results of the work, which seemed so remote to me while in Australia. Mrs Bonsle, the current head mistress, grew up as an orphan here and has fond memories of the first Australian missionaries who started up the centre.

Virtually all of the missionary work here was started as pioneering projects. For example, when opened in 1927, Ashwood Memorial Hospital was the only medical facility in the district. Now there are many other competing medical facilities, providing good quality care. However the mission hospital must still take responsibility for all the poor population, using the other fee-paying clients and some external funding to help subsidise medical care. So there is constant friction between providing quality care for low cost and attracting fee-paying clients to provide for these subsidies.

Back to Mumbai
Wednesday morning I said goodbye to the staff at Daund's Ashwood Memorial Hospital, and left for Mumbai on the train. I was glad I'd had the opportunity to see the work of a mission hospital here, and wondered about the possibility of coming back to a place such as this for my fifth year elective or internship.

Back in Mumbai in the afternoon, I had nothing planned for the remainder of my time in India. Taking my camera I decided to go for a walk. After fifteen minutes I came to the edge of the suburb's residential area and looked out over a slum city. With some nervousness I decided to intrude and have a look around. I crossed over onto the edge of the slum, passing a group of boys playing marbles in the dirt. A young girl was washing some cooking pots; she looked up and smiled as I took her photo. As I went a little further a woman came up and started talking to me with great animation. Soon a group of young guys had come up to join us. She apparently thought I was lost, so the boys offered to take me back to where I'd come from.

Walking across the edge of the slum, I proceeded slowly, trying to look around and take it all in. Passing through a game of cricket, we left the far end of the slum area. A group of about fifteen boys followed me all the way back to Bombay Christian Centre, talking with me in halting English about Australia, about me but mostly about cricket. I took their photo, much to their delight, then waved good-bye, glad I'd got up the courage to enter their slum neighbourhood. The slums were still very confusing for me; everyone seemed so comfortable living in such dirty, congested conditions. I saw more joy in my short time in the slums, than in rest of Mumbai. Indeed, I saw more satisfaction and graciousness here among piles of junk and rubble, than in half the spacious, well-built churches I’ve visited. The rest of the evening was spent repacking my gear and spending time with the other guys staying there. By the time I got to bed it was almost midnight.

Flight Home to Australia
My flight on Thursday left at 7:00am, so I'd set my alarm for 3:30am. Yet again I slept straight through it (could this be some sort of message), and didn't wake until 4:15. Washing quickly, I still managed to get out to the airport by 5:00am. After checking in I had time to spare so I went to freshen up. Unfortunately, while I was in the toilet my camera was taken from beside my bag. It took me a few minutes to realise, and by that time so many people had been in and out of the toilet I could do nothing. After going to the Airport Manager, I found that they could not register an official complaint, and was sent to the police. Running out of the airport to the closest police station, it was a race against time – and being in India, I knew the odds were heavily stacked against me. After sitting in the police station for almost fifteen minutes while the officer in charge went to the toilet, washed his face, did some stretches, made tea, checked news in the newspaper, the correct bits of paper were finally found and slowly filled out. I was caught between the urgency of the situation and irony that I should leave India on this note - saying goodbye to a Mumbai police officer, the worst possible stereotype of Indian corruption and laziness. Fortunately our encounter involved no bribes and I was able to run back to the airport in time to join the tail end of people boarding my flight.

The rest of my flights were uneventful. A two-hour stop over in Singapore - best airport I've ever seen - then back into Melbourne on Friday morning. A cool electrical storm flashed lightning around the plane on the way from Singapore. It was followed up by a beautiful sunrise painting the clouds in shades of pink and purple – a beautiful welcome to Australia. Before my trip I'd told my family I was coming back on Saturday Feb 2, and they'd efficiently passed it on to everyone else. I’d LIED! So as I turned up home at 10am on Friday, I successfully surprised them all. So sorry for lying to you all, but I think Mum appreciated the shock - it allowed her to avoid another 24hrs of worrying.

I have three week home in Tassie. My photos won't be ready for a while, but I'd like to invite you all (no matter if you know me well, or hardly know me at all) to get in touch with me and visit. Thank you for being apart of my experience, hopefully I have been able to pass on to you some of the many benefits I've received through these experiences. Please continue to remember India in your prayers, particularly Dr Iris Paul, the people of Malkangiri, and the work in Mumbai supported by Australian Churches of Christ Mission Board.