Greetings All,
In some ways it's hard to conceive of how I might write about India given that it is my third visit here, and that the influence of India and spirituality have been in my life all of my life. With each visit it becomes a little more "normal" to my Western psyche, and yet even still, no other place on Earth (at least that I've visited so far) makes me feel further away from home than India.
I stayed with Roy and Aparna a total of 5 nights. Aparna and I, I believe on the 13th, took a little tour of downtown Mumbai. We walked around, and stopped at Leopold's Cafe, one of the several places attacked in the Mumbai bombings and shootings on November 26th. Leopold's was of interest to me because it is owned by a follower of Meher Baba. The spirit of the place felt relaxed, with very little residue of the past trauma. That said, there were still a few sobering bullet holes in plain view, a couple in the glass lining the top of the wall, and one in the ceiling. Aparna and I also visited the Royal Taj hotel, one of the other sites attacked, just a couple of blocks removed from Leopold's. It actually appeared to be in good shape from the exterior, though there was still repair work going over large portions of the building. In typical Aparna fashion, she coordinated a lunch gathering that included 3 people she met on Couchsurfing.com, and two of her friends from capoeira class. After lunch, we headed back to the apartment to beat the heat and take naps.
The remainder of my days in Mumbai were mellow. I walked the local markets, enjoyed the fresh food cooked by Roy and Aparna's cleaning and cooking lady, watched movies, and relaxed. Most days it was really too hot to go out. I discovered the absolute best tandori chicken I have ever had, and that's saying a lot accounting for all of the Indian food I've eaten in my life. Just in this little neighborhood place down the road from their apartment. I can't remember the name, but I know where it is and will never forget.Friday night, the 15th, things got a little interesting. I was scheduled to leave for Ahmednagar that night on an overnight sleeper bus. I had to take a rickshaw about an hour (because of traffic) to the bus pick-up point. I began to get a little uneasy when the rickshaw driver first stopped for gas, and then dropped me off at what I discovered minutes later to be the entirely wrong place. Luckily - for the moment anyway - I found a group of young men who were more than happy to tell me and my new rickshaw driver, where I had to go. Friday night traffic in Bombay will blow your mind, there's nothing else that can be said. It's impossible, and yet somehow, it works - barely. My next rickshaw driver dropped me somewhere in the vicinity of where I needed to go, and I spent the next 15 minutes wondering around, asking everyone where a particular store was. Luckily, a very happy and enthusiastic young guy came right up to me, asked me where I wanted to go, and escorted me there. He also assured me not to worry because Indian buses are always late. I was comforted, for the moment.
I walked up to the store front and was relieved to find several people with bags waiting there. The area was Sion Circle, a main transit stop for private bus companies who aren't contracted to actually go in and out of proper bus stations. There were buses whizzing around all over place. Surely, it was just a matter of time now. I purchased water from two young guys selling drinks out of a cooler. One of them, who's named turned out to be Chundon, took an interest in me (as most Indians do with Westerners. They can just about burn a hole through you with the intensity and duration of their stares). We chatted a bit about where I was from and where I was going, and he reassured me that I was in the right spot. The bus was due to come at 10:00. I arrived at about 9:50 or so, so I felt good. Ten o'clock, no bus. No worries, it's early by Indian standards. Ten fifteen, no bus. It's ok, there are plenty of people still here waiting too. Ten twenty, I see a bus with markings of the bus company I'm traveling with whiz around a corner and vanish. No problem, they're a big company, they have lots of buses. That one would have been in the wrong place anyways. Ten thirty, no bus. Indian buses are always late, aren't they? Ten forty-five, no bus. I tell Chundon I'm a bit concerned. "Relax Mr. Johnson (his best attempt at "Jonathan"). Bus will be right here soon." Eleven o'clock, no bus. Ok guys, someone help me out. I corralled yet another group of very helpful young men who were able to make phone calls to ascertain that one, I had missed the bus by over 30 minutes, and two, I was in the entirely wrong spot. That's India. Turns out, despite what the booking company people told me, I needed to be across the street and down the next corner. That bus I saw whiz by earlier in the evening
. . . you guessed it.
A little defeated and really tired, I phoned Roy and informed him that I'd be heading back to his place for the evening. I would have been screwed at that point had those nice fellows not let me borrow their mobile phones to make calls to both Roy and my father, who I also informed I would not be arriving as scheduled. I did get the number of the bus operator who actually rides the bus and collects fares. He said that because of the mix up I could ride the next evening, but for 200 rupees more. Oh well, that's India. The next day I finally got a mobile phone for India, which was good to have. I relaxed, ate, and headed back to Sion Circle armed with the correct spot to wait, a mobile phone and the phone number for the guy riding the bus I was due to take. Because of less traffic, I got their two hours early. I took up my stoop, and waited. Moments later, who walks by but Chundon! "Oh, Mr.Johnson, how are you? Good to see you!" Turns out he works there nightly, working for a travel agent across the road by day and hawkin' refreshments at night. His family are from Sri Lanka, and undoubtedly he was working to send them money home. Chundon went out of his way to be nice to me, to sit with me and assure me that now I was definitely in right spot. He even ran off and came back with a delicious sweet Indian snack filled with grain and sweets. He apologized for keeping me in the wrong spot the night before. I showed him photos of my travels and learned about his family. Friends are made in the strangest of ways sometimes.
When the bus finally arrived, after three or four confirmation calls to the guy on the bus, I was truly relieved. Chundon anxiously and happily escorted me to the bus - where I paid my 200 rupee penance - and even went as far as to show me my sleeper compartment. I gotta' tell you, once I was on, all worries of the past 24 hours had vanished. Air conditioned sleeper buses are the way to go! Plenty of room to stretch out and sleep the trip away. I arrived Ahmednagar, as scheduled, on Sunday morning and was picked up immediately by my father in his old 1950's Ambassador He took me to Meherazad, where he lives, and I slept a few more hours.
A little defeated and really tired, I phoned Roy and informed him that I'd be heading back to his place for the evening. I would have been screwed at that point had those nice fellows not let me borrow their mobile phones to make calls to both Roy and my father, who I also informed I would not be arriving as scheduled. I did get the number of the bus operator who actually rides the bus and collects fares. He said that because of the mix up I could ride the next evening, but for 200 rupees more. Oh well, that's India. The next day I finally got a mobile phone for India, which was good to have. I relaxed, ate, and headed back to Sion Circle armed with the correct spot to wait, a mobile phone and the phone number for the guy riding the bus I was due to take. Because of less traffic, I got their two hours early. I took up my stoop, and waited. Moments later, who walks by but Chundon! "Oh, Mr.Johnson, how are you? Good to see you!" Turns out he works there nightly, working for a travel agent across the road by day and hawkin' refreshments at night. His family are from Sri Lanka, and undoubtedly he was working to send them money home. Chundon went out of his way to be nice to me, to sit with me and assure me that now I was definitely in right spot. He even ran off and came back with a delicious sweet Indian snack filled with grain and sweets. He apologized for keeping me in the wrong spot the night before. I showed him photos of my travels and learned about his family. Friends are made in the strangest of ways sometimes.
When the bus finally arrived, after three or four confirmation calls to the guy on the bus, I was truly relieved. Chundon anxiously and happily escorted me to the bus - where I paid my 200 rupee penance - and even went as far as to show me my sleeper compartment. I gotta' tell you, once I was on, all worries of the past 24 hours had vanished. Air conditioned sleeper buses are the way to go! Plenty of room to stretch out and sleep the trip away. I arrived Ahmednagar, as scheduled, on Sunday morning and was picked up immediately by my father in his old 1950's Ambassador He took me to Meherazad, where he lives, and I slept a few more hours.The next couple days I just got settled in. Dad gave me a tour of the free medical dispensary he runs about a kilometer from his quarters. He then took me to the home of Roshan and Sam Kerawala about 30 minutes away in Meherabad, who have lovingly offered me a place to stay free of charge. They have an apartment unit on the second floor of their home the size of the ground floor. It's huge, with four bedrooms, each of which has it's own bathroom. Mine has been room number one, first on the left. Truly, an amazing gift. Roshan has also given me use of their scooter, which is an immense help, given that 3 or 4 days a week I've been making the 23 kilometer trek from Meherabad to Meherazad and back to help out in the dispensary.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Couldn't be truer for India, at least when it comes to driving the roads. First of all, the sun is unlike any sun you've ever felt in the hot season. It's hot, but it leaches energy and life from you if you're exposed to it for even a few moments uncovered. Sunblock does not do the trick at all. You have to cover up, plain and simple. Light long pants and long-sleeved shirts, including serious head coverage. So, in such garb, which includes a light colored scarf, wet and wrapped around my head, I hit the roads of Ahmednagar each day on the scooter, and variably take my own life in my hands each time I do it.
Unless you experience it, you can't comprehend it. The roads are shared by huge trucks, buses, SUV's, large tractors, small tractors, rickshaws, goats, cattle, buffalo, pedestrians, bicycles, scooters, motorcycles, taxis, horses, horse drawn carriages and dogs. People and animals cross wherever and whenever they feel like crossing, and every vehicle it would seem is out to overtake everyone else. Which means on any given trip you'll be staring down a huge bus or truck (the two fastest vehicles on the road, sadly) coming right at you in its attempt to overtake a pedestrian or buffalo, or any of the aforementioned things. It's madness, and yet somehow, it works . . . well, most of the time. The only things you have to keep you safe and moving are your heightened senses and your horn. Because of the the me-first nature of the traffic, everyone and their mother (including me!) lays heavy on the horn. The road is a cacophony of every pitched and volumed horn you can imagine. Enough to give you a headache, or startle you out of your seat And yet, it works, somehow.
After my daily trek out to Meherazad, I arrive at the medical dispensary where I've been working in the pharmacy filling prescriptions. It's really an amazing place. All available services, including medications, are free. The place is supported by an endowment and fundraising, that's it. The budget is tight, yet they are able to service about 100 patients daily. That's a tremendous amount of medical care given in a week, in a month and a year - all for free. I felt really moved to be there, getting to know the staff, as I stumbled through learning the organization of the medications.
I was certainly filled with a lot of love and respect for my father, who administrates 4 doctors, 5 staff and a tide of ever changing volunteers, all in exchange for simple staff quarters where he inhabits a single room with an attached bathroom - that's all. His food, his gas and everything else are on his dime. Meherazad is a small, amazing place in the world. The residence of Meher Baba when he lived and his closest disciples called the Mandali, it has been a place of pilgrimage for years for people all over the world. And here I sit, writing this entry from Dad's simple room.
That's about it for now. Pictures to follow, again depending on upload times. Wishing everyone the best.Catch you again soon.
Jonathan
No comments:
Post a Comment