India

October 25, 2009 Sunday

This city, Chennai, India, should be called Papillon City. Can anyone tell me why? Who’s taking French? New Orleans girls?

Last week we passed the half way mark on our voyage. Before I know it, we will be sailing into San Diego! So, I’m trying to be in the moment and take full advantage of being here and paying close attention to everything around me. Right now I’m sitting in the deck 7 Lounge, a large circular room with a dance floor in the center, chairs and cocktail tables all around and large windows ¾ of the way around the perimeter. The bar behind me completes the circle. Outside deckhands in white jump suits are working with hoses and brushes and brooms and mops. One of the guys shook out a t-shirt after wetting it thoroughly with the hose. I thought he was going to put the t-shirt on but no, he only pulled it onto his head and then pulled the neck opening down to his eyes and then he draped the rest of the shirt around his neck and shoulders and tied the sleeves at the back of his head. Voila, a masque or a hood! He put on his hat and his sunglasses and went back to work. It’s very, very hot and humid here so I imagine the shirt serves a couple of purposes: sun protection, air filter and cooling.

There are lots of ships around, some way out past the breakwater, waiting to unload cargo. Nearby are cranes and more cranes and port buildings, offices etc, tired looking with dirty streaks graying their white walls and smudging the blue trim. There’s a large parking lot where we board the buses for our various field trips. Beyond the port is a skyline (nothing very tall) of all kinds of architectural shapes from modern and boxy to ornate brick with domes and stately Victorian structures, all softened here and there by trees.

“India is so filthy.” That’s one of the things I’ve always heard. Clearly Chennai needs a good sweeping and a bath. Yes it’s dirty. Yes there are places where the smells are pretty bad. Traffic is crazy. To expect the Indian immigrant cab drivers in New York to stop honking their horns would be like asking them to cut off their right hand. It’s heart wrenching to see the poor people and to see their shacks and to have a young mother with a baby on her hip beg so she can get something to eat. It’s disgusting to come back to the ship, to take off your shoes and socks and see the black dirt on your skin above the sock line. The heat and humidity are oppressive and the pollution makes it difficult to breathe. But what good would it do for me to expound any further on all that? The thing for me to do is find a way, a small way to make a contribution where I can and to encourage others to do the same. If only we could solve the gargantuan problems of the world! Well guess what? The kids on this ship…so many of them that I’ve talked to…are positive and are not afraid for the future. I ask them that very question: “Are you afraid? There’s so much for your generation to take on!” And they tell me no, they’re not afraid. (OK, cynics, kids can be naïve. We were.) I’ve asked some Indians I’ve met about the caste system and they tell me that it’s illegal now and not what it was in the past. So the clichés come out of the woodwork when I think about some of these huge challenges that face the world and I have to remember that Rome wasn’t built in a day etc., etc. That’s true for world issues and for personal issues. That’s the best I can do for the moment. If we do our own work we’ll be better equipped to do the work of the world.

Stop it, Liz. Enough.

Friday, the day we arrived I went to a reception at a women’s university where they were celebrating United Nations of Students and Travelers – something or other. We could hear the music before we exited the bus and
were greeted at the gates by musicians and dancers. The dancers wore very colorful, ornate costumes and lots of exotic makeup: one was a horse, one a chicken and one a gorgeous peacock with huge tail feathers. Several were on short stilts. They were dancing all around us as we entered the grounds and escorted us to the auditorium. Once inside I found myself sitting next to an American, a nice looking young guy casually dressed. “So, are you a journalist?”, I asked. “No, I’m the Counsel General from the States.”, he replied. “Oh my Lord, I’m sitting next to a dignitary! What shall I call you, sir?” “Oh how about ‘Andy’?” “Not ‘your majesty’or something?” “No, Andy will be fine.” I give thanks to Barney Williams for bestowing on me the gene that allows me to occasionally make people laugh.
Once all the other dignitaries – very serious looking Indian gentlemen dressed in suits and ties or khaki safari outfits, a few in those Indian dresses the men wear – filed in and took their seats in the front row (to my right, ahem) we were treated to an hour of entertainment. Five or six different groups of students gave dance performances to music that ranged from traditional Indian to more modern, even hip-hop kinds of music. At the end the MC announced that now the Americans would perform. What??? This was news to the Americans, but Terrence, a very popular young man saved the day. He happened to have music on a thumb drive with him and, with only a moment’s hesitation, he moved forward, took the stage and started to dance, solo! In a flash and one-by-one other students joined him and then some of the Indian dancers returned to the stage. Of course the place went wild. It was wonderful.

Some of us had another field trip in the afternoon so had to leave during the lull between the dances and the speeches – a major stroke of luck since some of the speeches were interminable we were told later.

A bus took us back to the ship for lunch and another bus then took us to an orphanage. Not the Mother Theresa orphanage – that field trip was full – but another that was, well, indescribably sad and yet full of the joy of all those smiling, laughing, delighted, delightful children. They were SO HAPPY to see us, some running down the drive towards us, grabbing our hands, others waving shyly at us from second floor windows. I chose this trip over the one to the orphanage for disabled children. It seemed that would be a little more than I could take. The kids tugged at us, held our hands, patted us, guided us to come upstairs to see where they sleep: a large room with aluminum trunks and other items on shelves – small stacks of books, rolled up grass mats. There was a single metal bed frame in the middle of the floor with a pillow and light quilt on it – for the…what would you call her, the person who stays with the kids at night? She gets the bed; the kids get to roll out their grass mats. I had so many questions but there was no one who spoke enough English for us to have a conversation.

The little kids all had very short hair – girls and boys alike. The girls all wore matching or similar little cotton dresses and the boys madras plaid shirts – all made by hand…you could see the stitches. The older girls had beautiful long black hair in braids or ponytails and wore saris. They all appeared to be fairly clean – their clothes, their hair but all were bare footed so their feet were grimy. Their skin is dark, one little girl in particular, had very dark skin and a dazzling smile. They vied for attention but I saw no squabbles. Our cameras were their big fascination. They LOVED seeing pictures of themselves and they loved it if you let them take pictures of you. They took us to their little playground. I went on the swing. I played ball with them. A couple of our boys were throwing balls way, way up in the sky, the little kids scrambling to catch them. Such simple fun. There was no pushing or pulling, no fussing amongst them. This I thought was remarkable. They were just kids, in so many ways, the same as kids anywhere. We walked down a lane to visit the older boys …maybe from age 11 to 18. We never saw any infants but the toddlers came to the playground after their naps and were adorable. You look at those huge dark eyes and make up stories about their little lives. At least they were here and were cared for rather than living along the side of the filthy road next to railroad tracks and piles of garbage.

This was an indescribable experience. The faces of several individuals will always remain in my memory, especially Jessica’s – a thirteen year old leader type in her best white sari who was beautiful, bossy, bold as brass. She knew I had her number and we laughed a lot together.

After the orphans performed some songs for us, a bunch of us got up and did the Hokey Pokey and a couple of other songs. Then it was time to board the bus and return to the ship and that was our trip to the orphanage. What can one say? Does one weep? One tries to be grateful.

Yesterday I went to Spencer Plaza., one of the ‘upscale’ shopping plazas. My taxi driver left me at the end of an alley with hundreds of motor scooters parked along the fence. We had agreed that I would pay him 500 rupees when he picked me up and return me to the ship two and a half hours later…that’s less than $10.00 As I walked towards the entrance several dragon flies came fluttering overhead. Aunt Kathy? Carolyn? G’ma Lucy? Saying,” Go ahead, you’ll be able to finish your shopping in this mall. Just keep walking, follow your nose. We’ll lead you to the store.” And they did! I got:________ and __________and__________. Nope, you'll have to wait til Christmas. It was fun sitting in one of the shops chatting with Hamza, a lovely 22 year old young man who, with his sister, inherited the business from their father 6 years ago. This kid’s English was great. He travels to Germany every year on sales trips. He’s originally from Kashmir where he has several workshops where all the embroidery is done by hand! Amazing.

Spencer Plaza reminded me a lot of New York subway stations as they were years ago…all grimy and crowded… but worse. There was an escalator that seemed out of place. Everything just felt grimy and yet is was bustling on a Sunday afternoon. The contrasts here are indescribable. I guess you’ve got to come see for yourselves. You’re shocked at all the terrible cruelties you see and want to scream; and yet, the people are so beautiful and those I’ve met have been so gracious and welcoming. Chennai is the 3rd or 4th largest city in India with 7 million people. That is mind boggling! Our sensibilities say, “Why the hell don’t they clean this place up?” We Americans simply have no idea of what the whole picture is. I’m simply trying to take in as much as I can.

October 27, 2009 Tuesday

Yesterday I ditched a field trip I was supposed to go on and I’m glad I did because reports were that all kinds of things went wrong – mainly transportation things. People were exhausted when they returned to the shop. Good for me. I wrote blog, did some laundry, read my book, took a nap, read my book some more, enjoyed visiting with some of the students and went to bed early. No Chennai and that was a relief.

But today I went on another field trip to an engineering college. It was OK. We listened to some speeches went on little campus tours with Indian students, enjoyed a delicious lunch which we ate with the fingers of our right hands…the food having been served by students who dished it out onto banana leaves the size of large place mats. I have to confess I didn’t love eating with my fingers. It’s sloppy and let’s face it: it seems you can’t really get your hands clean in this city. I am NOT known to be a clean freak, but Chennai, India? I think I’ve had my first regret of this voyage: that I didn’t know to go to Pondicherry (or Karaikal), an old French colonial city not far from here that is reportedly lovely. I certainly don’t want to judge India on the basis of my miniscule introduction to it. The contrasts, the sensory challenges are too numerous to mention. Suffice it to say I’d like to give India another chance and I have no regrets for having missed the trip to the Taj. Reports are that it was a very tough trip.


The ship was so quiet this week with most of the kids and adults off on overnight trips. But the buzz began last night as some of the kids returned and tonight at dinner, the place was jumping. Friends have been made, we all know the routine, the ship is home sweet home, and everyone was happy to be back again with ‘family’. It’s simply wonderful.

I just felt a little tremor ripple through the ship and the light just dimmed. I guess they’ve started the engines and that the pilot is aboard. So off we’ll be going again, headed for Vietnam.

OMG this is all so awesome, like, really awesome, dude! Lol and all that stuff.