Interfaith...

The next morning, Dr. Khan asked some Christian friends to take me to a Presbyterian church service at St. John's church. (In case you don't know, Presbyterians don't have saints, I don't know why the church is named that...) Asma also came to the church service. She was very quiet, but we did speak a little to each other.

The first and only time that I was allowed to help with anything was when I was watching some of the staff members prepare something (I can't remember the name) that is made with betel leaves. I was allowed to help place sugar crystals and other spices in the center of the leaves, fold them, and secure them with a clove. They were to be served after the meal. Betel is sort of a narcotic, I think, which is commonly chewed in India. You may have heard about people spitting a red juice that stains their mouths and everything else in sight. This is it.

That afternoon, Dr. Khan held an Interfaith Luncheon in which Biryani was served. Biryani is a traditional Muslim dish that is served during festivals. The fasting period of Ramzan (or Ramadan as it is known in other parts of the world) ended with a festival on the day that I was at the Taj Mahal. It was my original intention to be in Bangalore for this festival, but holidays in India are set according to the lunar calendar, and the exact date was not known until after I had made my travel plans. I was thrilled to be able to taste Biryani (a spicy rice and, in this case, mutton dish), because Asma had told me in one of her letters that it was one of her favorite foods.

The room was filled with many of the same people as the night before. Asma and I sat in the first row and listened to more intellectual discussion on the topic of Interfaith. I really felt for Asma, a teenager rarely wants to listen to this intellectual stuff, and she was obviously feeling very intimidated by all of these strangers. She sat very quietly with a terrified look on her face. I wanted to comfort her, but I knew that she was also terrified of me... :) So, I just told her that I was also intimidated by all of the new people. When the meal came, Asma was shocked by the amount of food on her plate. "So many!" she whispered to me dramatically with big eyes. It really hit me then that this was a child of poverty who has probably never been offered a plate filled with so much food that she didn't think she could eat it. Not knowing what to say, I just said, "Don't worry, you don't have to eat it all."

Asma's mother was also invited to this luncheon, but she pretty much stayed downstairs. I was worried that she didn't feel welcome. After a while, she was escorted into the room, and sat in the back with the IFWU staff. As soon as possible, though, she disappeared into another room. I realized then that she is probably even more shy than Asma.

After the meal some of the IFWU staff members offered some of the betel leaf concoction to me. I knew what it was, but didn't know what to expect. I thought I'd try it. Everyone (including Asma) was watching expectantly to see if I'd like it. Just after I got it into my mouth, though, Noorjohara, the woman who met me at the airport, noticed that I was trying it. She began to shout at the others, and told me to go spit it out, NOW. With big eyes, I went running into the bathroom, and spit it out, rinsing out my mouth. When I went back into the meeting room, a friendly debate was raging regarding whether or not I should have been allowed to try it. "You frightened her!"... "She's not used to it, she could get sick!"... etc., etc. Finally, it was decided that I should try a little. More than a little nervous, I tried again. I wasn't too impressed though, and spit it out fairly quickly, but not before I swallowed a little. I guess you're not supposed to do that. So, I had a little tummy ache for a while...

After my obligatory "rest", Asma, a few of the IFWU staff, Aunty and her son Noor, and I went to a local park. I had a great time with the company. Asma quickly got used to having her picture taken, and began to automatically smile when a camera was pointed at her. The poor girl was very tense, though. I just wished that there was something that I could do to make things easier for her. At one point, I asked Gangamma if there was anything that I could do to help Asma to be more comfortable. "Time," she said. Asma would become more comfortable as time went by. Good ole' Ganga, she was right. By the end of my trip, Asma was much more comfortable. I only wish that I could have stayed longer so that the walls could have fallen down even further.

That evening we also went to a local government building. The building is illuminated with colored lights after dark. There were many people milling around. It was actually quite lovely, but, unfortunately, I was unable to get a decent picture. As we were leaving, I was thinking how common it had been for me to see entire families riding on one motorcycle. "But," I thought, "at least I haven't seen more than four people on one motorcycle..." Within moments, a family of five rode by on their motorcycle. I wasn't even surprised. By this time, I had ceased to be shocked by nearly anything in India...