I love him. Basically, he is awesome. In America, I would estimate that 99.99% of people do not have the pleasure of having a watchman at their place of residence, but in India it is quite common... and it is lovely, especially if you are a weirdo like me who likes to muse about these kinds of things and make connections to life and love and God from the simplest of realities. And I really do.
We can't really communicate that well... or can we? My night watchman works from I think around 7pm to 7am. He speaks Marathi and Hindi, and I well... don't. I do speak a little Hindi actually... I studied it in college... but I have pretty much exhausted the BICS conversations with him (if you are an ESL teacher reading this, you just really appreciated that reference, so you are welcome). [BICS= Basic Interpersonal Communication Skills]
Anyways, I diverge. He is the sweetest man ever and takes his job very seriously. Each night when I come home, he eagerly jumps up from his chair, smiles and waves, and runs into the foyer to press the elevator button and hold the door open for me. This is a glorious moment I cherish each evening. How wonderful to have this man waiting for me, eager to invite me home and ensure my safety. He always says hello and I make the grandest effort to infuse my smile and simple greeting with as much respect and honour and friendliness as I can muster.
The other night something amazing happened: he offered me some of his evening meal. He motioned for me to walk over saying, "Come, come." He pointed to his bowl and said, "Chawal," which means "Rice." He handed me a piece of his chapati (bread) and motioned for me to dip it in his rice and vegetable soup. I gratefully did, knowing that this was a gesture of friendliness and community. I asked him how he was as I sat on the floor next to him, and he smiled and nodded. I said, "Ye khana bahut acha hei" (This food is really good.) He smiled and said again, "Chawal," wanting me to take more rice.
It seems I have a new friend. He loves that I try to speak Hindi to him... I honestly cannot WAIT to give him his Diwali present next week. (It is customary here to give a monetary gift for the holiday.) My roommate made him a Diwali lamp, and I'm going to bring him a Marathi Bible since I know he recently visited a new church and I don't think he has one in his mother language (it's a surprise... don't tell him!). :-)
I have a new understanding of the Scripture that says that the Lord watches over our "going out and coming in". We have 24 hour protection, someone looking out for us while we are far away asleep. No need to worry... "Daddy don't sleep... Daddy don't slumber..." Rest and know you are welcome home, nothing will hurt you tonight. God bless, dear ones.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Puking in Pune
It isn't as glamorous as you might imagine. I mean, I know all of you wish it were you, but only some of us can be so lucky.
It all started around 4am. Or more accurately, I guess it started 8-12 hours before 4am, eating a lovely dinner at a fantastic restaurant here in Pune. Some monster of a bacteria must have slipped in somewhere and took residence in my stomach.
I have never been more disgustingly ill in my life. I will skip over the horrid details, but just imagine some terrible picture of the worst stomach virus you can think of, and that was me.
At one point in the afternoon I woke up from having apparently passed out and sat up in my bed, sort of looking around trying to figure out what was happening. I looked to my left, saw some curtains and palm trees out my window. "Am I in INDIA?!?!" Yes, I was. I looked to my right, searching for other answers. Nothing over there. Then my stomach spoke up, and turns out he was not happy about the whole sitting-up thing, so I sort of moaned and crumbled over to my right side.
This is the position my roommate Lucy found me in later in the evening. "Do you want a pillow?" she asked me, confused as to why I was lying in such an awkward manner. "Oh yeah, there's one over there," I said flinging my left arm in the general direction that I thought the pillow was. I sort of started pathetically crying at that point. "I've never been so dehydrated in my life," I whined. "All I want to do is drink a gallon of water, but I can't." Sniffle sniffle. Tears, tears. She comforted me and assured me that this happens to every foreigner at some point. She related story after story of hospital stays caused by malicious viruses and other general medical misfortune encountered by her and others since her time in India. I listenened eagerly, beginning to feel as though this were some sort of induction into my new life here, and if I could only get through it, I would... I would... be a part of the club or something. Which is better than being alone and sick and nothing you can do about it, I suppose.
A little note on dehydration, while I am on the topic: it is a serious problem. If you ever get severely dehydrated, get to the doctor. Don't fool around. I mean it. On that note, I'd like to take a minute to apologize to my kidneys for this whole incident: Kidneys, I am so so sorry. I never realized how vital you truly were. Thank you for all you do, and I'm sorry you were forced to try to do your job with not one ounce of water. I will do everything in my power to ensure this never happens to you again. Thank you again for your superb work, and I hope we can continue our longstanding relationship. I don't want to lose you; please forgive me.
***SOAP BOX ALERT***
Also, in my delirium I started thinking about the whole health care debate in America (strange, I know, but what can I say), and I suddenly had a new perspective (shocking). I thought, Could we all just stop, take a minute, and thank God for the health care that we do have in America? I am so grateful for good food and clean water, and for access to some of the most amazing hospitals and doctors in the world. I am so thankful for medicine like antibiotics and... electrolyte compounds. I know the debate is long and premiums are high, but I don't think it would hurt to put all politics aside for a moment and all collectively say, "Thank you." (Now would be an okay time to stop reading this and do that, if you don't mind and you have a few seconds to spare.)
So thank you (God).
And thank you (reader).
Wishing you health.
It all started around 4am. Or more accurately, I guess it started 8-12 hours before 4am, eating a lovely dinner at a fantastic restaurant here in Pune. Some monster of a bacteria must have slipped in somewhere and took residence in my stomach.
I have never been more disgustingly ill in my life. I will skip over the horrid details, but just imagine some terrible picture of the worst stomach virus you can think of, and that was me.
At one point in the afternoon I woke up from having apparently passed out and sat up in my bed, sort of looking around trying to figure out what was happening. I looked to my left, saw some curtains and palm trees out my window. "Am I in INDIA?!?!" Yes, I was. I looked to my right, searching for other answers. Nothing over there. Then my stomach spoke up, and turns out he was not happy about the whole sitting-up thing, so I sort of moaned and crumbled over to my right side.
This is the position my roommate Lucy found me in later in the evening. "Do you want a pillow?" she asked me, confused as to why I was lying in such an awkward manner. "Oh yeah, there's one over there," I said flinging my left arm in the general direction that I thought the pillow was. I sort of started pathetically crying at that point. "I've never been so dehydrated in my life," I whined. "All I want to do is drink a gallon of water, but I can't." Sniffle sniffle. Tears, tears. She comforted me and assured me that this happens to every foreigner at some point. She related story after story of hospital stays caused by malicious viruses and other general medical misfortune encountered by her and others since her time in India. I listenened eagerly, beginning to feel as though this were some sort of induction into my new life here, and if I could only get through it, I would... I would... be a part of the club or something. Which is better than being alone and sick and nothing you can do about it, I suppose.
A little note on dehydration, while I am on the topic: it is a serious problem. If you ever get severely dehydrated, get to the doctor. Don't fool around. I mean it. On that note, I'd like to take a minute to apologize to my kidneys for this whole incident: Kidneys, I am so so sorry. I never realized how vital you truly were. Thank you for all you do, and I'm sorry you were forced to try to do your job with not one ounce of water. I will do everything in my power to ensure this never happens to you again. Thank you again for your superb work, and I hope we can continue our longstanding relationship. I don't want to lose you; please forgive me.
***SOAP BOX ALERT***
Also, in my delirium I started thinking about the whole health care debate in America (strange, I know, but what can I say), and I suddenly had a new perspective (shocking). I thought, Could we all just stop, take a minute, and thank God for the health care that we do have in America? I am so grateful for good food and clean water, and for access to some of the most amazing hospitals and doctors in the world. I am so thankful for medicine like antibiotics and... electrolyte compounds. I know the debate is long and premiums are high, but I don't think it would hurt to put all politics aside for a moment and all collectively say, "Thank you." (Now would be an okay time to stop reading this and do that, if you don't mind and you have a few seconds to spare.)
So thank you (God).
And thank you (reader).
Wishing you health.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Side by Side
I wasn't ready. In fact, I had a near panic attack on the way to the airport (or maybe that was the malaria medicine). I'm going to make a shocking analogy now, so prepare yourself.
I felt much like I imagine Bethenny Frankel-Hoppy (if you don't get the reference, it doesn't matter) must have felt when her water broke a month early. She had no "birth plan," the nursery wasn't ready, and she had learned how to put a baby in a car seat just the day before. Babies don't come when YOU are ready.
But when exactly did I get pregnant? (Still in the analogy here, take a breath.) I suppose it was back in March when I took a job working for a non-profit in India. But no amount of practical preparation could have made me ready for this. Or at least that is what I think my body was trying to tell me as I struggled to catch a breath as my poor father tried to comfort and distract me on our way to IAH.
On my first leg to Detroit I sat next to a quiet, bookish girl who said hardly a word to me, yet her presence began to give me enormous peace. I thought, "I love this stranger. She understands the unspoken, yet incredibly important, sitting-next-to-someone-in-an-airplane guidelines." She just sat there, quietly reading her book, minding her own business, only briefly flashing me a friendly "this is awkward to be sitting so close to you when I don't even know your first name" smile. I understood completely. She only piped up to tell me kindly, yet firmly, that I was indeed stepping (quite forcefully) on her foot. "Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry!" I said again and again. This was a breach of contract: you are not supposed to physically harm fellow passengers due to your idiocy. She laughed nervously and dove back into her book.
But there we sat, and there we flew, side by side, and I suddenly felt less alone. I remembered that on the other side of my travels, there would in fact still be... people. I am not alone here, or ever. A nervous smile, a stepping on the foot, these are the actions that can tie us all together when there seems to be nothing else.
I felt much like I imagine Bethenny Frankel-Hoppy (if you don't get the reference, it doesn't matter) must have felt when her water broke a month early. She had no "birth plan," the nursery wasn't ready, and she had learned how to put a baby in a car seat just the day before. Babies don't come when YOU are ready.
But when exactly did I get pregnant? (Still in the analogy here, take a breath.) I suppose it was back in March when I took a job working for a non-profit in India. But no amount of practical preparation could have made me ready for this. Or at least that is what I think my body was trying to tell me as I struggled to catch a breath as my poor father tried to comfort and distract me on our way to IAH.
On my first leg to Detroit I sat next to a quiet, bookish girl who said hardly a word to me, yet her presence began to give me enormous peace. I thought, "I love this stranger. She understands the unspoken, yet incredibly important, sitting-next-to-someone-in-an-airplane guidelines." She just sat there, quietly reading her book, minding her own business, only briefly flashing me a friendly "this is awkward to be sitting so close to you when I don't even know your first name" smile. I understood completely. She only piped up to tell me kindly, yet firmly, that I was indeed stepping (quite forcefully) on her foot. "Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry!" I said again and again. This was a breach of contract: you are not supposed to physically harm fellow passengers due to your idiocy. She laughed nervously and dove back into her book.
But there we sat, and there we flew, side by side, and I suddenly felt less alone. I remembered that on the other side of my travels, there would in fact still be... people. I am not alone here, or ever. A nervous smile, a stepping on the foot, these are the actions that can tie us all together when there seems to be nothing else.
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