An Amazing Day...

At the family helper project, Sunder Nagri Development Project, I visited a Balwady (preschool). The children were adorable. They recited nursery rhymes for me and shared a taste of their lunch (a spicy soup). The next day was a Muslim holiday, so they had sweets to celebrate the occasion. This sweet was better than the stuff at the airport, but very large, so I was unable to finish it.

Next, I visited a beauty school in which girls about the age of 16 were learning the vocation. They asked if I "kept bindi". This is the generally red mark that many Indian women wear on their forehead near their eyebrows. I agreed to let them put it on me. The girls must have been enjoying themselves, because before I knew it, I was decorated, with eyeliner, bindi, bright red lipstick, a single french braid with beads tucked in the braid, and my eyebrows had been plucked using a string held in the mouth and both hands. They teased me that if I was only wearing a sari, I'd be a real Indian.

Next, I visited a tailoring class. The girls in this class were more shy, but proudly showed off their projects.

We also visited a few families. One woman had a small shop set up outside her home. She had received a loan and training from CCF to set up her small business. She earned about 20 rupees (75 cents) per day to supplement her husband's income. Another family that we visited had received a loan to buy 2 oxen. The father of this family was particularly welcoming and excited to have me visit. He showed me into his house, and had me sit down, even though it was only for a moment. I was told that he was very involved with the parents' organization. I was very happy to meet this man and his family.

Then we visited with a family that had received a loan to build their house. The houses were very small (one small room) and very simple. Both parents in this family worked at home. They had three small children. The father is a tailor who makes camera bags. The mother assembles and packages the little stickers that are often used for bindi. One thing that I noticed about these homes was that although they were very small and simple, the families obviously took great care with them. The limited belongs were neatly cared for and put away. Dishes were often arranged on shelves in a decorative manner.

It was really nice visiting this family helper project. The children (and adults) were all very interested in me, and were very friendly. Seeing this community, poor yet safe, was a welcome change to the things that I had seen the day before traveling around Delhi.

Before we went to our next destination, Mr. Jacob took me to a "fast food restaurant". The restaurant was very crowded, and we shared a table with a family. I had chicken curry, which was very tasty, but quite spicy. It seems that it is not common for Indians to drink anything with their meals, but I really needed some water. The restaurant did not have bottled water, so I was given hot water, which would hopefully kill the bacteria. Spicy food, and hot water... an interesting combination...

It was during this meal that I first witnessed people eating rice with their fingers. I knew that most Indians do not use utensils, but I thought that they used naan and other flat breads to pick up the food and keep their fingers clean. Sitting directly behind me, a family of four was digging into their rice with the fingers of their right hand. (In case you don't know, Indians do not use their left hand to eat, it is reserved for other activities...) They were mixing sauce into their rice, gathering the rice into a little ball, and popping it into their mouths. This explained the existence of a sink at the door of the restaurants. Being that I don't like to get my hands dirty for anything, I found this to be fascinating. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind not to stare. I realized that this was clearly a common way of eating, and I would quickly get used to it. My hosts in Bangalore would later tease my for using a spoon. "It tastes better when you can properly mix it up," I was told. Gangamma, Asma's social worker, told me that fingers are "nature's spoons."

The next place that we visited was St. Anthony's Orphanage, run by Sister Thomasina. St. Anthony's is a school that educates about 500 girls. One hundred of these girls, age 5 and up, live there full time. As Sister Thomasina was showing Mr. Jacob and me around, some of the girls were playing in the courtyard. They would run toward me in ones and twos, slow down to a casual walk, and primly say, "Good afternoon, Aunty." (Aunty and Uncle are common terms of respect in India.) It was amusing to see these shining little faces act so properly. Shortly after I arrived, the girls gathered in the courtyard. I had brought a few gifts for them. Most of them were simply little trinkets, such as pens and pencils. I asked Sister Thomasina to distribute these at another time. I also brought a Give-It-A-Whirl toy made by Discovery Toys. It is a toy that has a launcher and a round wing. When the string is pulled, the wing flies very high. It was great fun to show the girls how the toy worked, and to watch Sister Thomasina join in the fun.

While visiting both projects, I often asked, "Do the sponsors of these children write to them?" Much too often, the answer I heard was "no" or "one or twice a year." I was very disappointed, and I could see the disappointment in the faces of the children, too. At the orphanage, Sister Thomasina introduced me to a beautiful 13 year old girl named Malini. "Malini's sponsor never writes to her and she's mad." (Okay, I'm sure that's not *exactly* what she said, but it's the best I can remember...) Malini conveyed to me with words the disappointment that I had seen in the faces of many of the children. I promised that when I got home I would scold the sponsors who do not write to their children (and I've done just that by writing a letter to CCF for publication, which is also included on my CCF web page).

Malini was a very charming girl. She had a lot of grace for a 13 year old. She spoke very good English, and we had a very interesting conversation on many topics. She also introduced me to many of the other girls. I was very happy to have Malini as my "guide". Not surprisingly, I am now corresponding with Malini.

After my visit to the CCF projects, Mr. Jacob took me back to my hotel. I met a business woman from Bombay named Anita in the lobby. She decided that she would take me out to dinner. I say, "She decided..." because that was the way Anita was... She treated me like a pet ("Come", "Sit") who she wanted to show off. ("This is my friend from America .") I also caught Anita in several lies, nothing important, but enough that made her seem all the more strange to me. Anita was an interesting gal. But, heck, I was traveling, what better situation to meet new people? Anita gave me my first taste of Nirula's, a well-known tourist hang-out that was just around the corner from our hotel. Nirula's was quite nice in that it had a wide variety of items, and they were very clean. Because they catered to tourists, all of the vegetables and fruit were cleaned with sanitized water. At least, that's what they said. I believe it, though, because I didn't hear of anyone betting sick.

After Anita and I got back from dinner, there was a group of people in the sitting area of out hotel. They were having a Mandi Ceremony, and invited me to join them. One of the girls in the group was to be married the next day. In preparation, she and the other female members of the family (as well as her friends) were having their hands decorated with mandi. Mandi is done by mixing henna powder with water to make a paste. It is then put on the hands using tools resembling cake decorating tools. After the paste dries, it is flaked off. The mandi will darken overnight into a sort of "temporary tattoo." It lasts a couple of weeks.

I had a wonderful time with this group of people. They were laughing and singing traditional songs. I was amazed with the open friendliness that this family welcomed me to their activities. The mandi artists were quite young, and very good. In fact, I recently found a "City Guide" of Delhi published by Lonely Planet in which there is a photograph of the girl who did my mandi! I was quite surprised and delighted... When looking at the photos of my mandi, many people have asked me, "How long did that take?" In truth, it didn't take very long. It was amazing to me how quickly these two could draw freehand pictures. The bride told the artists to do my arms & legs also. I had no idea what was happening, but I suddenly began being teased about being a bride. I quickly learned that mandi is only done above the wrists and on the feet and ankles of a bride. The bride's father began to tease me that he now needed to find me a husband. "Dave! Come here!" he called to one of the young men that was there... The family invited me to join them for a party up on the roof of our hotel. I wanted to join them, but Anita had other ideas and was determined to show me some sights. She still had to wait a little while, though, while my mandi dried.

This was an amazing day for me... visiting the CCF projects was a wonderful experience, then I was invited to join a traditional wedding ceremony... Little did I know that it would continue in this same vein...

The only blotch in the day for me was when it was time for the father of the bride to pay the mandi artists. Most everyone else had gone upstairs to the party, but since I was the last person to be done, I was still drying... The young girl and the father argued about the cost. This, of course, it quite common in India, but the girl seemed to be quite upset, and I was worried that these talented, hard-working kids were going to be cheated. No one had mentioned if the father intended to pay for my mandi, or if I was to pay myself, so when the girl turned to me and said, "You will pay?" I, of course, said "yes." My hands were dry enough that I could carefully go get some money. I asked her how much, and she said "1000 rupees". I wasn't yet familiar enough with the currency to really realize what she was asking for (nearly $30), but I thought it sounded like too much. I was grateful when Anita came to my room and asked me how much they were charging me. But, I was a little worried too, because I figured she'd have a fit.

She did. More arguing began, with me standing there holding money, just hoping that in the end I wouldn't be cheated, but that the kids would get fair pay. This unpleasantness disturbed me even more because I'd been having such a wonderful time. By the time the arguing was over, I hadn't paid a single rupee, the kids were walking off in a huff, and I had tears threatening to roll down my cheeks.

Anita's cousin came in a car to drive us around Delhi. We weren't very far from the hotel when we saw the mandi artists. I handed 200 rupees to Anita (this was the amount that Anita had decided was fair) and begged Anita to give it to the kids. She got out of the car to talk to them, and returned with the money. It seems that they refused to take it. I was really bothered in that I felt that I had cheated two hard-working kids out of money that they had earned. In thinking about it later, though, I became less bothered when I realized that the girl had originally tried to charge the father 595 rupees for his daughter's mandi, but had planned to charge me 1000 rupees for the same thing. A couple of days later, Anita came to my room and told me that the kids had come back to the hotel the next day, and she had given them 200 rupees. When I tried to repay her, she said, "No, darling, we are friends..." Anita didn't really give money to the kids, I realized later, she just told me that she did so that I wouldn't feel badly. I can only hope that the money that they received from the bride's father was actually a fair price for their work. Something tells me that it was...

As Anita's cousin was driving us around Delhi, I thought to myself, "What am I doing in a car with two strangers in a strange country?" It was my second day in India, and I realized that this was the first time that I was truly out of control of my situation. This was the stupidest thing that I did while I was in India. (Well, almost the stupidest, but I haven't decided yet if I'm going to tell you about the stupidest...) :) Here I was, at night, in a car with a man I didn't know, and I woman that I didn't really trust. Fortunately, everything turned out just fine.

We drove past the India Gate, a major tourist attraction, and some government buildings. We also drove past a large tent. Anita told me that it was the location for a wedding. We soon passed the groom's procession that was heading toward the tent. There were dancers, a band, the groom on a white horse... I was fascinated, to have just taken part in one facet of a traditional wedding, and then to witness another one... I took some pictures out of the window. But then, Anita told her cousin to turn around. She told me that we'd get out of the car, and she'd take my picture with the procession. "Oh no! We can't interrupt!" She assured me that it would be okay. Sure enough, as we barged into the middle of the crowd to take a picture, I was approached by a man (I think the father of the groom), and invited to have my picture taken with the groom. The entire procession had stopped. Everyone was so welcoming, and I was overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and number of people surrounding me. They offered to have me join them, but again, Anita had another agenda... This time I was glad, because I would have felt too overwhelmed and shy to have truly joined in on the fun... Anita then took my to a fancy hotel to have a drink in the bar. I was sooo tired, and wanted to go to sleep, so finally I was able to convince Anita that it was time to go.