जून १, २००९ ७.१.२००९
July 1, 2009 - Happy Canada Day!
antibiotics are going down as a precautionary measure. That number from the previous post is not mine, i have my cell phone with me. It belongs to Manoj. a 17 year old boy who lives in the street, Leah cared for him and his family 9 years ago when she was last here..he was just a little brat she says. The tables have turned, he's a man now, and is capable of caring for others..
The story is..and i haven't told anyone at home yet, i don't want my husband especially to worry. We went to the ghetto where Leah volunteered and worked the first night we were here. the chai walla, sidewalk tea vendor recognized her instantly. This is a place where the poverty is overwhelming.. it's a place where tourists stay, so the kids run in this neighbourhood because they can get money from westerners. This is where they eat, sleep, everything. Some of them have mothers and many siblings here too. They just do their thing, it is their place, they were born into this caste. the displaced.
Then Rajesh walks up, one of the boys..and we find out that many of the others are around still, and some have passed away? Painful stories, but he dives right in and talks. she calls one boy who lives in a house now, and has a cell phone..we have no idea how this will unfold. I make photos the whole time.
We have this wild idea to eat food late, and a male friend comes by to walk us the one block to the restaurant..it's dark, and they want to meet our every need, these great friends we have here. We are waiting for dinner, and his cell phone rings. it is her dearest dearest boy from her old days. They had kept the cell phone # from when we had called earlier, and Lala--who is some kind of disabled, born on the street, and maybe brain-damged? but a life of tragedy was not meant to be--is on the phone.
This is so beautiful to watch these boys. They love her so much, still..and have not heard from her in 9 years. I have photos of everything. We plan to meet them the next morning..Leah and I by ourselves.
We arrive, and sit down with tea on the two by four balanced on bricks at this chai walla's shop and at the exact time, Lala arrives. It is not ok to hug the street boys, but Lala comes with his arms wide open to her. I don't think the rules apply to him. We have tea, and they get on like no time has passed. His sister died only one month ago she was 17, handicapped also and riddled with health problems. He takes us to his mother to the place his family sleeps outside the Indian museum.
Picture it..two very obvious western women walking down streets that belong to these kids..and picking up more kids on the way.. Lila, Lila they say. Lala calls her Lila, not Leah. Lila is "song" in Bengali. All of the kids know the Lila of Leah. She has left her mark here. A great big mark from her great big heart.
So we arrive at Lala's mother, she is in rough shape from this life. She sees Leah and breaks into tears. Everyone is sad for a moment, and i quietly make photos. These kids are in love with my camera, so i give it to them and teach them how to make a frame with it. They mostly make photos with me in it, and then everyone gathers together for photos. Lala's mother Saraswati put her hand on my arm and says, "help." I tell Lala that when i find the right method, it will happen. I don't know all of the rules, but Leah has a PHD in this. A hard won degree in Sudder Street life. I have to talk to her first about what is right.
And then we are off they say, to do something for his mother, to help her pain. They hail a taxi, and 7 of us pile in. These taxis are 40 year old Austin Martins. There are no seat belts anyway, so this is common to see families with two children on laps in the front seat. It is just as Leah has described. We have no idea where we are going, but are happy to go.
We get dropped off at a place Leah does not recognize. People are everywhere doing pujas, making offerings, lighting lamps and doing ceremony of their own choice. It is the most colorful place I have seen yet. The kids tell me this is a place people go to honor the dead, when they have no grave site to visit. And they tell me it's ok to take pictures. (we have met for the first time maybe 2 hours ago and they already know me :))
We walk through the doorway of this huge facade, and inside many more men doing pujas and altars, flowers are lain, and there are places you could just pull up a piece of concrete and do whatever you had to do. We keep walking and are now outside, where instantly i know i have arrived at the river. The mother Ganges, or Ganga in Bengali. I am speechless. I didn't even have to ask to come here, and i am here. It was my only request of my trip to India. To go to the river.
It is more beautiful and amazing than i had imagined. Large cement ghats (stairs) like in all of the photos...and colorful people everywhere doing their things..washing their hair, bathing while wearing saris, bathing their children, playing in the water.
We are the only westerners here. A man beside me takes my elbow and says to me, "please take pictures" (are these people reading my mind??!!)
This boy with us, Manoj, takes my hand because the stairs are slippery..I am on my way, steps from the river. Then i slip and fall down landing on my left hip and elbow on the stairs. I get up and everything feels fine.. I have mud and the water of the Ganges all over my clothes, and feel a little silly, but I'm ok. A woman in a beautiful purple sari comes to me offering antibiotic cream. My big toe is bleeding, I guess..I'm busy making photos, and taking it all in. People are looking at me, concerned, and the street boys are off getting fresh bottled water (from where? no store in sight), more cream and band aids. They are all gathered at my feet. Then Manoj steps back and shows me a sore on his left kneecap about the size of a quarter..he smiles and tells me he has done the very same thing recently, and we have a laugh.
The kids all jump in...to purify their pain, and the pain of Lala's mother, in honor of his sister Seema who has recently died. I get the idea her body was put cremated and put in the river. Lala is Hindu, i can tell he's made prayers this morning by the red smear on his forehead.
I obviously do not jump in, but go to the water with my other foot..no cuts, because i have to. We showed up with no warning, so I had no offering in my hand like i had pictured in my mind. Leah says that the blood i left behind is sufficient for an offering.
The kids are concerned, and after some time in the park, Leah and I are off, back to reality, with our friends at the coffee shop called Barista. I drink a coffee, then go back to the guesthouse to bathe, disinfect, antibiotic, and call my mom to see if she remembers if i've had a tetanus shot. It's 2 am in Toronto and she does not remember. (it's been over 20 years since she knew about my intimate details as such, but for some reason I called her)
Mainak our host arranges for me to have a tetanus vaccination. So everything is fine, i am healing well. We are in great care, and everyone understands the risks for westerners and they have thought of everything. I have everything i need, and am in no pain. So this is why I only wrote that I didn't jump in, i have a cut on my toe..because it is quite the story to tell. And i can only scratch the surface on what it all means to me.
antibiotics are going down as a precautionary measure. That number from the previous post is not mine, i have my cell phone with me. It belongs to Manoj. a 17 year old boy who lives in the street, Leah cared for him and his family 9 years ago when she was last here..he was just a little brat she says. The tables have turned, he's a man now, and is capable of caring for others..
The story is..and i haven't told anyone at home yet, i don't want my husband especially to worry. We went to the ghetto where Leah volunteered and worked the first night we were here. the chai walla, sidewalk tea vendor recognized her instantly. This is a place where the poverty is overwhelming.. it's a place where tourists stay, so the kids run in this neighbourhood because they can get money from westerners. This is where they eat, sleep, everything. Some of them have mothers and many siblings here too. They just do their thing, it is their place, they were born into this caste. the displaced.
Then Rajesh walks up, one of the boys..and we find out that many of the others are around still, and some have passed away? Painful stories, but he dives right in and talks. she calls one boy who lives in a house now, and has a cell phone..we have no idea how this will unfold. I make photos the whole time.
We have this wild idea to eat food late, and a male friend comes by to walk us the one block to the restaurant..it's dark, and they want to meet our every need, these great friends we have here. We are waiting for dinner, and his cell phone rings. it is her dearest dearest boy from her old days. They had kept the cell phone # from when we had called earlier, and Lala--who is some kind of disabled, born on the street, and maybe brain-damged? but a life of tragedy was not meant to be--is on the phone.
This is so beautiful to watch these boys. They love her so much, still..and have not heard from her in 9 years. I have photos of everything. We plan to meet them the next morning..Leah and I by ourselves.
We arrive, and sit down with tea on the two by four balanced on bricks at this chai walla's shop and at the exact time, Lala arrives. It is not ok to hug the street boys, but Lala comes with his arms wide open to her. I don't think the rules apply to him. We have tea, and they get on like no time has passed. His sister died only one month ago she was 17, handicapped also and riddled with health problems. He takes us to his mother to the place his family sleeps outside the Indian museum.
Picture it..two very obvious western women walking down streets that belong to these kids..and picking up more kids on the way.. Lila, Lila they say. Lala calls her Lila, not Leah. Lila is "song" in Bengali. All of the kids know the Lila of Leah. She has left her mark here. A great big mark from her great big heart.
So we arrive at Lala's mother, she is in rough shape from this life. She sees Leah and breaks into tears. Everyone is sad for a moment, and i quietly make photos. These kids are in love with my camera, so i give it to them and teach them how to make a frame with it. They mostly make photos with me in it, and then everyone gathers together for photos. Lala's mother Saraswati put her hand on my arm and says, "help." I tell Lala that when i find the right method, it will happen. I don't know all of the rules, but Leah has a PHD in this. A hard won degree in Sudder Street life. I have to talk to her first about what is right.
And then we are off they say, to do something for his mother, to help her pain. They hail a taxi, and 7 of us pile in. These taxis are 40 year old Austin Martins. There are no seat belts anyway, so this is common to see families with two children on laps in the front seat. It is just as Leah has described. We have no idea where we are going, but are happy to go.
We get dropped off at a place Leah does not recognize. People are everywhere doing pujas, making offerings, lighting lamps and doing ceremony of their own choice. It is the most colorful place I have seen yet. The kids tell me this is a place people go to honor the dead, when they have no grave site to visit. And they tell me it's ok to take pictures. (we have met for the first time maybe 2 hours ago and they already know me :))
We walk through the doorway of this huge facade, and inside many more men doing pujas and altars, flowers are lain, and there are places you could just pull up a piece of concrete and do whatever you had to do. We keep walking and are now outside, where instantly i know i have arrived at the river. The mother Ganges, or Ganga in Bengali. I am speechless. I didn't even have to ask to come here, and i am here. It was my only request of my trip to India. To go to the river.
It is more beautiful and amazing than i had imagined. Large cement ghats (stairs) like in all of the photos...and colorful people everywhere doing their things..washing their hair, bathing while wearing saris, bathing their children, playing in the water.
We are the only westerners here. A man beside me takes my elbow and says to me, "please take pictures" (are these people reading my mind??!!)
This boy with us, Manoj, takes my hand because the stairs are slippery..I am on my way, steps from the river. Then i slip and fall down landing on my left hip and elbow on the stairs. I get up and everything feels fine.. I have mud and the water of the Ganges all over my clothes, and feel a little silly, but I'm ok. A woman in a beautiful purple sari comes to me offering antibiotic cream. My big toe is bleeding, I guess..I'm busy making photos, and taking it all in. People are looking at me, concerned, and the street boys are off getting fresh bottled water (from where? no store in sight), more cream and band aids. They are all gathered at my feet. Then Manoj steps back and shows me a sore on his left kneecap about the size of a quarter..he smiles and tells me he has done the very same thing recently, and we have a laugh.
The kids all jump in...to purify their pain, and the pain of Lala's mother, in honor of his sister Seema who has recently died. I get the idea her body was put cremated and put in the river. Lala is Hindu, i can tell he's made prayers this morning by the red smear on his forehead.
I obviously do not jump in, but go to the water with my other foot..no cuts, because i have to. We showed up with no warning, so I had no offering in my hand like i had pictured in my mind. Leah says that the blood i left behind is sufficient for an offering.
The kids are concerned, and after some time in the park, Leah and I are off, back to reality, with our friends at the coffee shop called Barista. I drink a coffee, then go back to the guesthouse to bathe, disinfect, antibiotic, and call my mom to see if she remembers if i've had a tetanus shot. It's 2 am in Toronto and she does not remember. (it's been over 20 years since she knew about my intimate details as such, but for some reason I called her)
Mainak our host arranges for me to have a tetanus vaccination. So everything is fine, i am healing well. We are in great care, and everyone understands the risks for westerners and they have thought of everything. I have everything i need, and am in no pain. So this is why I only wrote that I didn't jump in, i have a cut on my toe..because it is quite the story to tell. And i can only scratch the surface on what it all means to me.
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