Monday, June 30, 2008
Boo Solo Travel!
My travel plans keep being destroyed. Darjeeling is in the midst of political unrest. They are protesting to have an independent state, because they feel neglected by the West Bengal government. There are common strikes and riots, and transportation in and out of the Darjeeling region is regularly barred. Independence has never come easy, and violence often accompanies the struggles. Even if I should make it to Darjeeling, there is little guarantee that I could get out in time to make it home! I was also told at breakfast by two nuns who are from Darjeeling, that there have recently been two rapes and murders of women in Goa (one British and one Indian). Goa is the beautiful southern state to which tourists flock from all over the world when they visit India. The beaches are magnificent (so I'm told). I had planned to spend Independence Day there, but I am not interested in traveling there alone right now. I am very sad about that, because I was going to see the place of St. Francis Xavier is buried. Now I must decide where else to travel in India, since my itinerary is being disassembled due to bad travel advisories. At times like these, I am particularly annoyed that I am a lone young female traveling ALL BY MYSELF!!!! Anyone feel like flying to India and being my travel companion for the month of August? My grant pays for my hotel accommodations...
Entering the Land of Missionaries
Missionaries are an interesting and unique breed of people. I have very much enjoyed spending time with the missionaries I have met during my meals at BMS. Margarete is one who brings with her the imagination of the missionaries of 100 years ago (but with a theology of contemporary pluralism). Perhaps it is simply because she speaks with her lovely British accent and knows India so well, but nevertheless I feel like I'm entering a lost world of missionary grandeur when we eat together in the evenings. I think about my mother as a woman roughly my age becoming a member of the Congolese Christian community, an identity that has never left her heart in these thirty years since her time there, and I think I have a new understanding of what that time meant in her life. Missionaries have a faithfulness about them, like that which I have only ever seen in the Rev. Mother in "The Sound of Music" or the Jesuit priests in "The Mission". This is not a film, however, these are real people who have given up a comfortable Western life to be God's instruments of love and hope in the places that imperialism and, now, capitalism have left behind and forgotten. I feel very blessed to know the missionaries I have met. There are none other on earth the same as they.
Argh
Today was a hard day. First of all, it rained, no pored all day until just about the time that I was given my new umbrella... perfect timing. Plus, I horrifically misjudged my clothing options in an urban center, I am totally wrongly dressed as a young woman in Kolkata (and let's be honest, it is VERY problematic that I would be out of current fashion). At the college, everyone wears jeans most of the time,. My light and breezy pants are now splattered in mud, and my mediocre attempts to hand wash my landry does little to counteract the stains from setting. I think I'm going to try and die them darker, and I'm having jeans sent to me form the US (thanks Mom!). So, I'm soggy from the rain all day and totally exhausted from being woken up (again!) at 4 am by the mosque down the road. I think the prayers sound really cool, but something tells me that loud-speakers pointed directly at Mother's House are probably not going to effectively convert the Missionaries of Charity to Islam.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Reflections on a Great Day
Today is a monsoon day. Usually, there are little showers that leave the streets wet, but that clears up after 15 or 20 minutes. Today will not be one of those days. Unfortunately, I do not yet have an umbrella (because I've been lazy and am paying for it now...) Good news is that I will only to to walk the 2 km distance between my lodgings and Bishop's College twice before I receive the lovely gift of an umbrella at lunch from Margaret (the mother half of 'Ann Margaret'). Maybe today is a taxi day as well...
Yesterday was wonderful all around, though, so I can deal with the dreariness of today. At breakfast, Sissy -- or Cecile -- mentioned that she wanted to go to the cinema, but not alone. I volunteered to go with her after church and we tried to exchange mobile numbers. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), I discovered that my cell was not working (I'll continue with that thread later). We asked Margaret if Ann wanted to come, and we all agreed to meet at noon to decide on a film.
I then walked up to the college to meet the Caleb family for church. We went to St. Andrew's Church, a former Church of Scotland congregation, now CNI. It's a beautiful building (with A/C!!!!), but membership is dwindling. People no longer live in the area and only the truly faithful (to the congregation... no questions of Christian faithfulness implied here...) make the commute. A funny story about St. Andrew's:
The Scottish founder of St. Andrew's came to Kolkata on the same boat as the Kolkata bishop of the Church of England. The Anglican bishop told the Scot that he could build a Presbyterian church in Kolkata, as long as its steeple was not taller than that of the Church of England's. The Presbyterian minister agreed, then went on to build a taller steeple... but he did not finish with that insult. No. He placed a giant rooster at the top of the steeple to 'crow' at the Anglican church below. Now St. Andrew's is locally known as the 'Cock Church of Kolkata'.
Ah... I do love me a good Church of England vs. Church of Scotland story! Especially when the Scots get the last word! The best part of the story in my opinion, though, is the fact that the two churches are now united in CNI over 100 years later! Seriously, this denomination is sooooo cool!
So, worship itself was heavily Church of Scotland. We even used the Church of Scotland worship book rather than the CNI Book of Worship. Dr. Caleb told me that each congregation of CNI retains its own worship autonomy pretty much, while the property is all owned by the denomination (which is sort of the opposite from the Disciples way of doing things, insofar as there are certain pieces that are commonly found among DOC worship services, but the congregation ALWAYS owns its own land).
After church, Dr. Caleb's oldest daughter Ruth (just starting grade 11) took me to the imported food store (peanut butter, pasta, and Pringles!! YAY!!!) and then by the mobile shop. THIS was a hoot! We walk in and have to identify my mobile number and problem on a central computer. I am then given a number on a printed out sheet of paper (my number was 'ONE') and we were ushered to the waiting area. There was no other customer in the store... and there were at least six open counters... and I was given a number and asked to wait. Ruth and I were cracking up at how totally absurd the whole thing was! After about a 3-minute wait, my number -- 'ONE' -- was called. It turns out that my phone store did not process all the necessary documents and my service was suspended until they went through. Now, just to give you an idea of what we need as documentation to purchase a cell phone in India: a copy of one's passport, a copy of the American address page, a copy of the Indian visa page, a passport photo, and a letter from one's place of Indian residence affirming the length of stay in India. Seriously, I felt like I was being processed by the Department of Homeland Security to get a mobile! So, hopefully by the end of today, my phone will be back on...
I returned to BMS to meet Cecile and Anne for the film. We decided to see Get Smart at 2:55 (I was soooo bummed to be missing it over the summer, but I am STOKED to have a decent number of 'English' films to choose from in Kolkata) at the Forum Mall. We had lunch at the food court, did a little bit of window shopping, and then went to the movies (I won't get started on the concessions area, because I'll talk on this for HOURS... its soooooo cool!). I highly recommend Get Smart to everyone! I loved the TV show as a kid, so I had VERY high expectations going into the film. It lived up! And my love of the movie had very little to do with the fact that I've found a place in Kolkata where I can sit in an air conditioned room for multiple hours and be entertained.
After the movie, I went back to Bishop's College for evening chapel. It was the first chapel service of the academic term (they're just starting today, I think), so different groups from the various languages represented at the College sang special music. It was a really cool experience, because each had its own flavor, and I was able to get a sense of the vast diversity here on campus. The service itself was very Anglican (though we sang from the old Methodist hymnal) overall, which was an odd sensory reality as we all removed our shoes and most of the congregation was seated on the floor... they insisted that I, of course, sit in one of the few chairs reserved for the elderly, faculty, and special guests (I insisted, today, that I should sit on the floor with the students).
After chapel, I went to Dr. Caleb's home for dinner. We had hot dogs, a goolash-y dish, green beans, and potatoes. They usually have a simple 'Western' meal on Sunday evenings. I loved it! We talked about the city and a lot about the foreigners who come to 'Mother's House' to do charity work. Ruth explained the Indian (private Christian) school system to me, and I told her about the American system. I really enjoyed myself. It was dark by the time we were finished, so Dr. Caleb insisted that two male students take me home. I feel bad for the poor students who just happen to be walking around campus when its time for me to leave, because Dr. Caleb just calls their name and asks if they can escort me home. They always say 'of course', of course, but I do wonder what is being put on hold for the 30 minutes it takes to deliver the American package safely home. It will be nice to be living on campus by the end of the week. This won't have to continue... I feel so badly about it (though I am grateful for the kindness they are showing me).
I had them deliver me to BMS where folks were gathering for Domino's pizza. GLORIOUS! I only had half a slice, because I had already eaten dinner with the Calebs, but it was totally worth being stuffed! I think the pizza is better here than in the States... it was at least the PERFECT end to the day!
Yesterday was wonderful all around, though, so I can deal with the dreariness of today. At breakfast, Sissy -- or Cecile -- mentioned that she wanted to go to the cinema, but not alone. I volunteered to go with her after church and we tried to exchange mobile numbers. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), I discovered that my cell was not working (I'll continue with that thread later). We asked Margaret if Ann wanted to come, and we all agreed to meet at noon to decide on a film.
I then walked up to the college to meet the Caleb family for church. We went to St. Andrew's Church, a former Church of Scotland congregation, now CNI. It's a beautiful building (with A/C!!!!), but membership is dwindling. People no longer live in the area and only the truly faithful (to the congregation... no questions of Christian faithfulness implied here...) make the commute. A funny story about St. Andrew's:
The Scottish founder of St. Andrew's came to Kolkata on the same boat as the Kolkata bishop of the Church of England. The Anglican bishop told the Scot that he could build a Presbyterian church in Kolkata, as long as its steeple was not taller than that of the Church of England's. The Presbyterian minister agreed, then went on to build a taller steeple... but he did not finish with that insult. No. He placed a giant rooster at the top of the steeple to 'crow' at the Anglican church below. Now St. Andrew's is locally known as the 'Cock Church of Kolkata'.
Ah... I do love me a good Church of England vs. Church of Scotland story! Especially when the Scots get the last word! The best part of the story in my opinion, though, is the fact that the two churches are now united in CNI over 100 years later! Seriously, this denomination is sooooo cool!
So, worship itself was heavily Church of Scotland. We even used the Church of Scotland worship book rather than the CNI Book of Worship. Dr. Caleb told me that each congregation of CNI retains its own worship autonomy pretty much, while the property is all owned by the denomination (which is sort of the opposite from the Disciples way of doing things, insofar as there are certain pieces that are commonly found among DOC worship services, but the congregation ALWAYS owns its own land).
After church, Dr. Caleb's oldest daughter Ruth (just starting grade 11) took me to the imported food store (peanut butter, pasta, and Pringles!! YAY!!!) and then by the mobile shop. THIS was a hoot! We walk in and have to identify my mobile number and problem on a central computer. I am then given a number on a printed out sheet of paper (my number was 'ONE') and we were ushered to the waiting area. There was no other customer in the store... and there were at least six open counters... and I was given a number and asked to wait. Ruth and I were cracking up at how totally absurd the whole thing was! After about a 3-minute wait, my number -- 'ONE' -- was called. It turns out that my phone store did not process all the necessary documents and my service was suspended until they went through. Now, just to give you an idea of what we need as documentation to purchase a cell phone in India: a copy of one's passport, a copy of the American address page, a copy of the Indian visa page, a passport photo, and a letter from one's place of Indian residence affirming the length of stay in India. Seriously, I felt like I was being processed by the Department of Homeland Security to get a mobile! So, hopefully by the end of today, my phone will be back on...
I returned to BMS to meet Cecile and Anne for the film. We decided to see Get Smart at 2:55 (I was soooo bummed to be missing it over the summer, but I am STOKED to have a decent number of 'English' films to choose from in Kolkata) at the Forum Mall. We had lunch at the food court, did a little bit of window shopping, and then went to the movies (I won't get started on the concessions area, because I'll talk on this for HOURS... its soooooo cool!). I highly recommend Get Smart to everyone! I loved the TV show as a kid, so I had VERY high expectations going into the film. It lived up! And my love of the movie had very little to do with the fact that I've found a place in Kolkata where I can sit in an air conditioned room for multiple hours and be entertained.
After the movie, I went back to Bishop's College for evening chapel. It was the first chapel service of the academic term (they're just starting today, I think), so different groups from the various languages represented at the College sang special music. It was a really cool experience, because each had its own flavor, and I was able to get a sense of the vast diversity here on campus. The service itself was very Anglican (though we sang from the old Methodist hymnal) overall, which was an odd sensory reality as we all removed our shoes and most of the congregation was seated on the floor... they insisted that I, of course, sit in one of the few chairs reserved for the elderly, faculty, and special guests (I insisted, today, that I should sit on the floor with the students).
After chapel, I went to Dr. Caleb's home for dinner. We had hot dogs, a goolash-y dish, green beans, and potatoes. They usually have a simple 'Western' meal on Sunday evenings. I loved it! We talked about the city and a lot about the foreigners who come to 'Mother's House' to do charity work. Ruth explained the Indian (private Christian) school system to me, and I told her about the American system. I really enjoyed myself. It was dark by the time we were finished, so Dr. Caleb insisted that two male students take me home. I feel bad for the poor students who just happen to be walking around campus when its time for me to leave, because Dr. Caleb just calls their name and asks if they can escort me home. They always say 'of course', of course, but I do wonder what is being put on hold for the 30 minutes it takes to deliver the American package safely home. It will be nice to be living on campus by the end of the week. This won't have to continue... I feel so badly about it (though I am grateful for the kindness they are showing me).
I had them deliver me to BMS where folks were gathering for Domino's pizza. GLORIOUS! I only had half a slice, because I had already eaten dinner with the Calebs, but it was totally worth being stuffed! I think the pizza is better here than in the States... it was at least the PERFECT end to the day!
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Meals at the BMS
Meals at the Baptist Missionary Society of Kolkata are experiences unlike any others I expect to have in India this summer...
Mary, the cook, is a silent Muslim woman who cooks the most glorious beef (we had a real British dinner of beef, mashed potatoes, and boiled cabbage the other evening, which was utterly divine!). She doesn't speak much, but always smiles radiantly when we express how much we enjoyed the meal.
Margarete is like the knowledgeable old squaw of BMS (to use an Oklahoma illusion). She is a retired school teacher who spends six months here and six months in the UK each year. Margarete creates the ere of an old colonial missionary (simply by her accent, not her theology). She is my favorite part of the day.
"Leslie's Group" (names have been changed to protect the faithful) consists of five Americans (2 women, one man, and a mother/13-year old daughter duo) who are of no denominational tie: they are 'Children of God'. I call them 'the Christians'. They are here for a month to help the poor in whichever way "God puts it on [their] hearts to do". At first, I found their wide-eyed Christianity annoying; I sensed their judgment as I proudly proclaimed "I am a Disciple of Christ!" and then passed on their offer to join 'nightly devotionals and praise' (disclaimer: the two clauses of this last part have nothing to do with one another... many Disciples love devotionals and praising... I just happened to decline their invitation shortly after affirming my happy denominationalism). But, as my mother suggested last night: the Red River only divides when we're in Oklahoma and Texas; everywhere else, we are happily known as cow and oil-folk (of Texahoma, as my Texan native friend Kaylon and I love to joke). I now look forward to dining with 'the Christians' each morning and night (plus, I don't know that they were ever actually judging me). Margaret is always the 'Mommy', concerned about whether Ann feels well (yes, they are 'Ann Margaret'... well, they are a cool combo of another Hollywood movie star, but the names have been changed, remember). Dennis, who should be a serious thug with his heavy Boston accent, has already befriended a community of recovering after stumbling across an AA meeting on the group's first night in Kolkata. Leslie chats with any new person at each meal, and Abbey confided in me that she stopped her intense nightmares by reading Scripture before bed (this was after I explained about my recurring zombie dreams and thus not taking the psychotic malaria meds). They are very kind, and somewhat humbling in their earnest awe of God.
Sissy is a quiet, 20-year old French woman from Lyons. She is in Kolkata for four months doing an internship with an Indian NGO as part of her higher education... talk about a serious sweet heart! This woman is so nice, a little uncertain about the Godliness of 'the Christians', and is as beautifully French as anyone could imagine.
Then there is me, Bethany, the 24-year old theology student... here to do research on the Church of North India. We are all white, Western, and long for the occasional non-curried meal; but we are, beyond that, a motley crew indeed.
Mary, the cook, is a silent Muslim woman who cooks the most glorious beef (we had a real British dinner of beef, mashed potatoes, and boiled cabbage the other evening, which was utterly divine!). She doesn't speak much, but always smiles radiantly when we express how much we enjoyed the meal.
Margarete is like the knowledgeable old squaw of BMS (to use an Oklahoma illusion). She is a retired school teacher who spends six months here and six months in the UK each year. Margarete creates the ere of an old colonial missionary (simply by her accent, not her theology). She is my favorite part of the day.
"Leslie's Group" (names have been changed to protect the faithful) consists of five Americans (2 women, one man, and a mother/13-year old daughter duo) who are of no denominational tie: they are 'Children of God'. I call them 'the Christians'. They are here for a month to help the poor in whichever way "God puts it on [their] hearts to do". At first, I found their wide-eyed Christianity annoying; I sensed their judgment as I proudly proclaimed "I am a Disciple of Christ!" and then passed on their offer to join 'nightly devotionals and praise' (disclaimer: the two clauses of this last part have nothing to do with one another... many Disciples love devotionals and praising... I just happened to decline their invitation shortly after affirming my happy denominationalism). But, as my mother suggested last night: the Red River only divides when we're in Oklahoma and Texas; everywhere else, we are happily known as cow and oil-folk (of Texahoma, as my Texan native friend Kaylon and I love to joke). I now look forward to dining with 'the Christians' each morning and night (plus, I don't know that they were ever actually judging me). Margaret is always the 'Mommy', concerned about whether Ann feels well (yes, they are 'Ann Margaret'... well, they are a cool combo of another Hollywood movie star, but the names have been changed, remember). Dennis, who should be a serious thug with his heavy Boston accent, has already befriended a community of recovering after stumbling across an AA meeting on the group's first night in Kolkata. Leslie chats with any new person at each meal, and Abbey confided in me that she stopped her intense nightmares by reading Scripture before bed (this was after I explained about my recurring zombie dreams and thus not taking the psychotic malaria meds). They are very kind, and somewhat humbling in their earnest awe of God.
Sissy is a quiet, 20-year old French woman from Lyons. She is in Kolkata for four months doing an internship with an Indian NGO as part of her higher education... talk about a serious sweet heart! This woman is so nice, a little uncertain about the Godliness of 'the Christians', and is as beautifully French as anyone could imagine.
Then there is me, Bethany, the 24-year old theology student... here to do research on the Church of North India. We are all white, Western, and long for the occasional non-curried meal; but we are, beyond that, a motley crew indeed.
Touch at 3 am
I woke up at 3:30 again this morning. It is difficult, once awake to coax myself back to sleep. The beds are little more than a wooden frame with a thin mattress on top. Forget box springs or anything else that could increase snoozing comfort! Now, lets keep in mind that I am the girl who sleeps atop a feather mattress liner with no less than four luscious pillows meticulously placed for optimum sleeping comfort (yes, I am the Princess and the Pea). In my current lodging, there is one sheet covering the mattress and one pillow. I have no sheet or blanket with which to cover myself. My bones ache from hours of lying on the slightly padded wooden bed... no wonder I am awake around 4 am most mornings! I wonder if the Missionaries of Charity (Mother Teresa's order) have blankets next door... still, my coverless bed is not the street outside.
I pass so many people lying on ragged blankets along the sidewalks. As I approach, I pray that they are sleeping: partly so that unconsciousness may ease whatever physical pain they are experiencing, and partly so that I do not have to go to extremes to 'ignore' their plea for a rupee (which is roughly 2.5 cents US).
I noticed yesterday that I had not been touched (besides a greeting handshake) in days... since Dan and I greeted one another 'hello' with a hug inside the Western-catering Imperial Hotel in Delhi. I came to this realization as I brushed by a woman sitting on the street. I felt a tingle run through my arm as she lightly touched it. My body was shocked my the gentle graze, and I found myself wishing that the contact had been longer. Funny, that. Depressing, that.
I then thought of Margarete, the retired UK teacher and Baptist missionary who spends 6 months a year in Kolkata working in the infant room of a daycare for street children. She spends her days holding small children while their mothers attend classes on home economics and basic hygiene. I am both envious and frightened of the affection she must receive there; I find myself desiring it more than fearing it today.
As I continued walked, I saw to Sisters walking together, in their familiar blue and white sari uniforms. I thought of 'Mother' (Mother Teresa is simply 'Mother' here) and a story came to mind that I heard a couple of years ago. She came across a man covered in infection and maggots. The volunteer with her asked if he should find a doctor, and Mother said 'no', a doctor would be of no help. She then leaned down, next to the man, and took his hand for a moment before beginning to suck the maggots and infection from his wounds. This man was going to die -- no matter what -- but Mother was going to do the one thing she could do to ease his pain in the mean time. She took his hand first. She touched him before getting to her work. I wonder how many lives have been affected by the kindness of her touch...
I pass so many people lying on ragged blankets along the sidewalks. As I approach, I pray that they are sleeping: partly so that unconsciousness may ease whatever physical pain they are experiencing, and partly so that I do not have to go to extremes to 'ignore' their plea for a rupee (which is roughly 2.5 cents US).
I noticed yesterday that I had not been touched (besides a greeting handshake) in days... since Dan and I greeted one another 'hello' with a hug inside the Western-catering Imperial Hotel in Delhi. I came to this realization as I brushed by a woman sitting on the street. I felt a tingle run through my arm as she lightly touched it. My body was shocked my the gentle graze, and I found myself wishing that the contact had been longer. Funny, that. Depressing, that.
I then thought of Margarete, the retired UK teacher and Baptist missionary who spends 6 months a year in Kolkata working in the infant room of a daycare for street children. She spends her days holding small children while their mothers attend classes on home economics and basic hygiene. I am both envious and frightened of the affection she must receive there; I find myself desiring it more than fearing it today.
As I continued walked, I saw to Sisters walking together, in their familiar blue and white sari uniforms. I thought of 'Mother' (Mother Teresa is simply 'Mother' here) and a story came to mind that I heard a couple of years ago. She came across a man covered in infection and maggots. The volunteer with her asked if he should find a doctor, and Mother said 'no', a doctor would be of no help. She then leaned down, next to the man, and took his hand for a moment before beginning to suck the maggots and infection from his wounds. This man was going to die -- no matter what -- but Mother was going to do the one thing she could do to ease his pain in the mean time. She took his hand first. She touched him before getting to her work. I wonder how many lives have been affected by the kindness of her touch...
In Honor of Patti
A quick word on what brought me to India in the first place:
The University of Chicago Divinity School (where I have just completed my second year in the M.Div program) just began a new grant program for first and second year ministry students to spend 10 weeks engaged in an international ministry project. I am one of two students who received the grant for this summer: Matthew (a classmate of mine) is in Kenya studying the development of Kenyan Bible colleges (founded and independently run by local Christians to train their leaders), and I am in India studying the Christian unity denomination of the Church of North India (the Disciples of Christ were one of the six main-line denominations that unified to become CNI in the early 1970s). The basic idea is to look at this unique denomination to better understand the ecumenical inspirations that led to a unification movement in the first place and then to see how CNI Christians have understood themselves in the 40(ish) years since uniting.
So the questions left are: why CNI? and Why India in the first place? I'll begin by answering the latter, then the former. When I first decided to apply for this grant, I wanted to go someplace where I could work on my French. I thought maybe working with African immigrants and refugees in Paris could be the ticket, and Cynthia (the director of the UC ministry program) quickly squashed at dream. "You've done the Europe thing before," she told me. "You should use this opportunity to stretch yourself. Go to a developing country. How about Congo?" Ah, Congo, the place where my mother (at 22) realized her calling to ministry. I absolutely love and respect my mother; I look up to her personally and professionally, but I have spent the past two years fighting to create my own ministry path that is different from my mother's. Congo was out. "How about Haiti?" Cynthia suggested. Nope. My folks had visited there last year... maybe Morocco. I went to bed thinking about finding a developing, French-speaking country with no specific ties to my parents; I woke up the next morning certain that it had to be a summer in India.
I immediately logged onto the Global Ministries website to start looking at where Disciples had partnerships in India (I am such a well-trained Disciple), and the Church of North India sounded perfect! It's a unique form of ecumenism (which, being the good Stone-Campbellite that I am, I love!). Plus, Disciples have long been present as co-founders and then partners of CNI. This was it!
I emailed Global Ministries and Vijay put me in touch with Dr. Sunil Caleb of Bishop's College. Vijay also connected me with the General Secretary of CNI (in Delhi) and the director of the Mungeli hospital (founded by Disciples and now part of the CNI structure). I have already been to Delhi and will visit Mungeli in late July. For the next month, I am at Bishop's College, using their library and practically living in the archives (I am such a history nerd!).
The basic idea is to spend 10 weeks learning about CNI's history that brought it to the point of unity and to get a sense of how things have developed in the years since. Thus, my summer in India! I am very excited to be here and learn about CNI. During my week at the headquarters I met with some very outstanding people, heard about their work, and was filled in on much of the Church gossip and politics (Christ isn't the only universal aspect of the Church!). There are also several places that had not originally been on my study itinerary, but that I had wanted to visit as a tourist that are diocese hubs for CNI; so, I will be able to incorporate my studies with my tourism to their places and spend more time there! I'm not 100 into Providence, but I am beginning to believe that it just might exist on this trip!
The University of Chicago Divinity School (where I have just completed my second year in the M.Div program) just began a new grant program for first and second year ministry students to spend 10 weeks engaged in an international ministry project. I am one of two students who received the grant for this summer: Matthew (a classmate of mine) is in Kenya studying the development of Kenyan Bible colleges (founded and independently run by local Christians to train their leaders), and I am in India studying the Christian unity denomination of the Church of North India (the Disciples of Christ were one of the six main-line denominations that unified to become CNI in the early 1970s). The basic idea is to look at this unique denomination to better understand the ecumenical inspirations that led to a unification movement in the first place and then to see how CNI Christians have understood themselves in the 40(ish) years since uniting.
So the questions left are: why CNI? and Why India in the first place? I'll begin by answering the latter, then the former. When I first decided to apply for this grant, I wanted to go someplace where I could work on my French. I thought maybe working with African immigrants and refugees in Paris could be the ticket, and Cynthia (the director of the UC ministry program) quickly squashed at dream. "You've done the Europe thing before," she told me. "You should use this opportunity to stretch yourself. Go to a developing country. How about Congo?" Ah, Congo, the place where my mother (at 22) realized her calling to ministry. I absolutely love and respect my mother; I look up to her personally and professionally, but I have spent the past two years fighting to create my own ministry path that is different from my mother's. Congo was out. "How about Haiti?" Cynthia suggested. Nope. My folks had visited there last year... maybe Morocco. I went to bed thinking about finding a developing, French-speaking country with no specific ties to my parents; I woke up the next morning certain that it had to be a summer in India.
I immediately logged onto the Global Ministries website to start looking at where Disciples had partnerships in India (I am such a well-trained Disciple), and the Church of North India sounded perfect! It's a unique form of ecumenism (which, being the good Stone-Campbellite that I am, I love!). Plus, Disciples have long been present as co-founders and then partners of CNI. This was it!
I emailed Global Ministries and Vijay put me in touch with Dr. Sunil Caleb of Bishop's College. Vijay also connected me with the General Secretary of CNI (in Delhi) and the director of the Mungeli hospital (founded by Disciples and now part of the CNI structure). I have already been to Delhi and will visit Mungeli in late July. For the next month, I am at Bishop's College, using their library and practically living in the archives (I am such a history nerd!).
The basic idea is to spend 10 weeks learning about CNI's history that brought it to the point of unity and to get a sense of how things have developed in the years since. Thus, my summer in India! I am very excited to be here and learn about CNI. During my week at the headquarters I met with some very outstanding people, heard about their work, and was filled in on much of the Church gossip and politics (Christ isn't the only universal aspect of the Church!). There are also several places that had not originally been on my study itinerary, but that I had wanted to visit as a tourist that are diocese hubs for CNI; so, I will be able to incorporate my studies with my tourism to their places and spend more time there! I'm not 100 into Providence, but I am beginning to believe that it just might exist on this trip!
Monsoon Days
It rains here, sporadically throughout the day. It's monsoon season. Everything is damp and sticky, which makes me want to sleep often and all day long! My time adjustment is still struggling to normalize, and I wonder if I will ever again sleep past 5 am. It is difficult, though since I am retired to my sleeping quarters by 9 am each night as I (keeping my mother in mind) try not to be out much after dark. I am asleep by 10 pm, simply because there is nothing left for me to do except read, and I'm working my way quickly through everything I've brought with me. The mosquitoes keep me company at night, unwelcomed companions that they are... I can barely tell the odor of insect repellent anymore, since it has become my obligatory perfume of choice. I was informed today by Margarete -- the British Baptist missionary with whom I dine in the evenings -- that UK physicians do not prescribe my kind of malaria medication for Asia (only Africa), since the strand is slightly different here. Perfect. Not only am accosted by mosquitoes and am running low on my meds (thank you Walgreens for not filling the entire prescription), what I do have may prove unsuccessful in warding off malaria. I am tired, cannot stop yawning. Perhaps I'll take a nap soon... the monsoon invites such a lazy day...
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Kolkata, Day One
pre-script note: For those of you who know me somewhat well (ok, who am I kidding, for those of you who have met me for like five minutes), you will not be surprised to learn that traveling alone through India is socially difficult for me. While I do have minor-interactions with English speaking persons throughout each day (the folks at Bishop's College are absolutely WONDERFUL in making me feel welcomed here), I retire to my lonesome room around 8 pm and have only my books and my journal to keep me company. Therefore, I am obsessively writing blog posts in my notebook as a way of externally processing this experience. Please forgive (or enjoy!) the occasional multi-post days. Sometimes it'll get a little bit crazy (like today's three posts). Cheers! ~B
I arrived in Kolkata (formerly known by the British as Calcutta) this morning. After an enchanting 6 am flight (see 'An Ode to Jet Airways' below), I exited the plane to an intense wall of heat and humidity. I have air conditioning for the next few nights, but after that, I'll be showering about four times a day! Speaking of showers, I am still unclear as to how exactly one showers easily without a big old American bathtub... This is why I don't camp. Here there is a faucet (sometimes a 'geyser' above-head) sticking out of the wall and a large bucket with a smaller measuring cup-like thing. The drain can be anywhere along the bathroom floor or wall, and that's pretty much it. Right, so the showers... hopefully they'll make sense to me by the time I leave.
West Bengal, or at least Kolkata, has a very different feel from Delhi. The former capital of British India, the city is overcrowded and indescribably impoverished. Still, it gives off a more manageable vibe than did Delhi; its character is charming, rather than overwhelming. Perhaps the differences between Delhi and Kolkata is similar to New York City vs. Boston or Philly. All the cars are older and more abused in Kolkata, but the colors are more vibrant. The taxis are bright yellow, creating a fiesta for the eyes against a backdrop of rainbowed saris hanging from windows along every building.
Everywhere I looked (on the bright yellow taxi-ride to Bishop's College, my place of residence for the next month and a half) men and children were stooped next to overflowing water geysers. They were brushing teeth, bathing, or perhaps simply enjoying the short-lived relief from the mid-morning heat. The streets are lined with fresh fruits, flowers, goats and the random city cow (enjoying every minute of their sacred status within the country). Even the dogs seem more like the lovable pets from home than the nightmarish animals of Delhi.
Of course the poverty is just-as (if not more) consuming in Kolkata. We drove along street after street of shack communities. Even the standing buildings are in such a state of disrepair that I cannot imagine that they were ever clean and new. Men sleep in the shade of their (foot-drawn) rickshaws. Adolescent boys take on back-breaking labor that grown men would find difficult to bear. I wonder to myself how it is that anyone can stand living such a life of 'sweat-street' labor, garbage-constructed shelters and overwhelming heat each day. There isn't even the luxury of escaping into a romance novel to ease the realities of life. But, even within the desperation, I watched little boys playing in the water, teenage girls gossiping on their way home from school, and aging men arguing the way only old friends do. Perhaps I'm idealizing the streets of Kolkata because I am so pleased to be away from Delhi, but I really did sense that the poor of this city seem more willing to smile despite their given lot.
p.s. Patti, as per your request, I will soon post a little piece on what brought me to India in the first place. As I am now in Kolkata (and near my library), I will be writing more about the Church of North India as my research can really begin to take form.
I arrived in Kolkata (formerly known by the British as Calcutta) this morning. After an enchanting 6 am flight (see 'An Ode to Jet Airways' below), I exited the plane to an intense wall of heat and humidity. I have air conditioning for the next few nights, but after that, I'll be showering about four times a day! Speaking of showers, I am still unclear as to how exactly one showers easily without a big old American bathtub... This is why I don't camp. Here there is a faucet (sometimes a 'geyser' above-head) sticking out of the wall and a large bucket with a smaller measuring cup-like thing. The drain can be anywhere along the bathroom floor or wall, and that's pretty much it. Right, so the showers... hopefully they'll make sense to me by the time I leave.
West Bengal, or at least Kolkata, has a very different feel from Delhi. The former capital of British India, the city is overcrowded and indescribably impoverished. Still, it gives off a more manageable vibe than did Delhi; its character is charming, rather than overwhelming. Perhaps the differences between Delhi and Kolkata is similar to New York City vs. Boston or Philly. All the cars are older and more abused in Kolkata, but the colors are more vibrant. The taxis are bright yellow, creating a fiesta for the eyes against a backdrop of rainbowed saris hanging from windows along every building.
Everywhere I looked (on the bright yellow taxi-ride to Bishop's College, my place of residence for the next month and a half) men and children were stooped next to overflowing water geysers. They were brushing teeth, bathing, or perhaps simply enjoying the short-lived relief from the mid-morning heat. The streets are lined with fresh fruits, flowers, goats and the random city cow (enjoying every minute of their sacred status within the country). Even the dogs seem more like the lovable pets from home than the nightmarish animals of Delhi.
Of course the poverty is just-as (if not more) consuming in Kolkata. We drove along street after street of shack communities. Even the standing buildings are in such a state of disrepair that I cannot imagine that they were ever clean and new. Men sleep in the shade of their (foot-drawn) rickshaws. Adolescent boys take on back-breaking labor that grown men would find difficult to bear. I wonder to myself how it is that anyone can stand living such a life of 'sweat-street' labor, garbage-constructed shelters and overwhelming heat each day. There isn't even the luxury of escaping into a romance novel to ease the realities of life. But, even within the desperation, I watched little boys playing in the water, teenage girls gossiping on their way home from school, and aging men arguing the way only old friends do. Perhaps I'm idealizing the streets of Kolkata because I am so pleased to be away from Delhi, but I really did sense that the poor of this city seem more willing to smile despite their given lot.
p.s. Patti, as per your request, I will soon post a little piece on what brought me to India in the first place. As I am now in Kolkata (and near my library), I will be writing more about the Church of North India as my research can really begin to take form.
An Ode to Jet Airways
Oh, Jet Airways --
You cheap-fared lady of the Indian skies,
You offer isle seats and cool towels on an early-morning flight.
You serve breakfast (veg or non-veg) in REAL dishes, with non-plastic forks, knives and spoons!
Even the linens (yes! ACTUAL CLOTH LINENS!) are tied with a delightful blue satin chord!
The orange juice is freshly squeezed from citrus, ripened and luscious fruit of the monsoon...
Oh, Jet Airways,
my beloved,
I am so happy to share begin my day with you!
You cheap-fared lady of the Indian skies,
You offer isle seats and cool towels on an early-morning flight.
You serve breakfast (veg or non-veg) in REAL dishes, with non-plastic forks, knives and spoons!
Even the linens (yes! ACTUAL CLOTH LINENS!) are tied with a delightful blue satin chord!
The orange juice is freshly squeezed from citrus, ripened and luscious fruit of the monsoon...
Oh, Jet Airways,
my beloved,
I am so happy to share begin my day with you!
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Two New Friends, Saint Matthew... and a Trip into Town
My first morning at breakfast in the CNI headquarters, I met a man by the surname Mohandass and his 15-ish year old son (braces and all). Mr. Mohandass was in Delhi because he had been charged with accompanying the Delhi-bound students from the Hebron International School in Tamil Nadu (one of the Southern states in India). He is the caterer there and the first truly smiling face that I had encountered at that point (besides the absolutely endearing, non-English speaking kitchen and security staff at CNI... I guess Mr. Mohandass, then, was the first smiling English-speaking face I had seen). He invited me to visit their small southern town of Nilgiris, and I think I just may. Get a small taste of the Church of South India while I'm there. Mr. Mohandass and his son were off to see the Taj that morning, so I bid them farewell and hoped to see them again. I caught them at breakfast this morning and we shook hands goodbye. They were able to get on the train back to Tamil Nadu today. I am sad to see them go.
I met the Rt. Rev. Naresh Ambala, Bishop of the Eastern Himalaya diocese of CNI. Bishop Ambala is a total hoot (in the greatest and most respectful sense of the word)! We ate breakfast together and he informed me that he was from Darjeeling (would I be traveling there at all?) I had just decided that morning -- in my sleep-deprived state when I found myself awake at 4 am yet again! -- to visit Darjeeling, which sits at the base of the Himalayas. He told me that he would be happy to be of service to me while in Darjeeling, and if he happened to be in the UK at Lambeth he would make certain that the Darjeeling pastor would be of help to me in his place. Of course, he said, I must allow them to 'be selfish' one day and show me the work that they are doing in the East Himalaya diocese. I told him THAT is the exact reason that I am in India this summer (I mean, Monsoon Season) and that I looked forward to seeing him in Darjeeling in August. Bishop Ambala then said, "I am sorry. I did not ask your name!" I told him 'Bethany' and he asked if it was for "the home of Mary and Martha". I said, 'yes', and explained that its Hebrew translation (my father being an OT professor, which the Bishop found very interesting) was roughly 'House of the Desperate' or 'Home of the Homeless'. I told him that my parents hoped that I would be a resting place for Jesus (the NT town) and also a place of refuge for those in need (Hebrew translation). He found it all very interesting, particularly since towns are only used as the surname in India. He had never known someone named for a town as their primary name before. Finally, Bishop Ambala told me of a collection of speeches I must read: Swami Vivekananda's Chicago Addresses (since I am a theology student in Chicago). He wrote down the book information for me on a card and again expressed his hope to see me in Darjeeling. I thanked him and looked down at the card: it was a subscription card for the Anglican Theological Review in Evanston, IL!!!! such a small world! I will have to email Jackie Winter (the editor of ATR, and someone I know through my favorite UC professor, K. Tanner)!!
So, those are my two friends from breakfast at CNI (I am sure that you will all be pleased to know that I have indeed made MORE than two friends since I drafted this post... worry not, the extrovert is still here... she just needed a few days to adjust to the culture shock).
After breakfast, I went to morning worship at CNI. Most of the service was in Hindi (except the Lord's Prayer was only recited in English). The room was filled with women (just like most American Christian services, good to know the trend is global...), and Bishop Ambala was decked out in full bishop splendor (I almost didn't recognize him). The director of the HIV/AIDS branch of CNI led worship and gave the message from Matthew 14 (Jesus walking on the water). "Do not be afraid!" were the first English words of the service. Ok... You've got my attention, God. "Do not be afraid!" Else you (BETHANY!), like Peter, might sink into the sea (the Indian monsoon). Thank you Saint Matthew. Apparently, my nervous attitude has caught the attention of the higher powers, and God decided to remind me: "DO NOT BE AFRAID!!!" Well, I decided to listen to good ol' St. Matt, and I ventured into Delhi (alone) shortly after worship was over. (Oh, did I mention that everyone takes off their shoes to enter the chapel, as if it were a temple? It is always interesting to see which pieces of a pre-evangelized culture translates into contemporary Christian practices).
Once in Delhi -- Cannaught Place again ... I'm branching, but not too much -- I went to the JetAirways office to purchase (in cash... argh! wallet!) my plane ticket to Kolkata for Thursday. There was a mis-communication, so I ended up buying a 6 am flight that no one can meet on the other end (Bishop's College is in the middle of faculty retreat this week during the day). I then found an internet cafe and promptly spent two hours surfing a very slow web (the post yesterday). For lunch I returned to the South Indian restaurant at which Dan and I ate on Sunday, and the waiter asked me about 'my friend'. I told him that Dan was on his way to Tibet and it was just me now (Dan! We're so memorable!). After eating, I decided to go to a bookstore to pick up Bishop Ambala's suggested reading. A man stopped me to speak English -- he seemed harmless enough. He offered to take me to a 'good English bookstore' and I decided to let him lead me through the crowded (VERY public and VERY daylit, Mom and Cynthia) outdoor shopping centre to the bookstore. Again, he seemed harmless enough and really only interested in practicing his English. I did find the book eventually and headed back to CNI. By this point, I am able to tell if I'm headed in the right direction, so I'm starting to feel like I might be able to pull this off.
I met the Rt. Rev. Naresh Ambala, Bishop of the Eastern Himalaya diocese of CNI. Bishop Ambala is a total hoot (in the greatest and most respectful sense of the word)! We ate breakfast together and he informed me that he was from Darjeeling (would I be traveling there at all?) I had just decided that morning -- in my sleep-deprived state when I found myself awake at 4 am yet again! -- to visit Darjeeling, which sits at the base of the Himalayas. He told me that he would be happy to be of service to me while in Darjeeling, and if he happened to be in the UK at Lambeth he would make certain that the Darjeeling pastor would be of help to me in his place. Of course, he said, I must allow them to 'be selfish' one day and show me the work that they are doing in the East Himalaya diocese. I told him THAT is the exact reason that I am in India this summer (I mean, Monsoon Season) and that I looked forward to seeing him in Darjeeling in August. Bishop Ambala then said, "I am sorry. I did not ask your name!" I told him 'Bethany' and he asked if it was for "the home of Mary and Martha". I said, 'yes', and explained that its Hebrew translation (my father being an OT professor, which the Bishop found very interesting) was roughly 'House of the Desperate' or 'Home of the Homeless'. I told him that my parents hoped that I would be a resting place for Jesus (the NT town) and also a place of refuge for those in need (Hebrew translation). He found it all very interesting, particularly since towns are only used as the surname in India. He had never known someone named for a town as their primary name before. Finally, Bishop Ambala told me of a collection of speeches I must read: Swami Vivekananda's Chicago Addresses (since I am a theology student in Chicago). He wrote down the book information for me on a card and again expressed his hope to see me in Darjeeling. I thanked him and looked down at the card: it was a subscription card for the Anglican Theological Review in Evanston, IL!!!! such a small world! I will have to email Jackie Winter (the editor of ATR, and someone I know through my favorite UC professor, K. Tanner)!!
So, those are my two friends from breakfast at CNI (I am sure that you will all be pleased to know that I have indeed made MORE than two friends since I drafted this post... worry not, the extrovert is still here... she just needed a few days to adjust to the culture shock).
After breakfast, I went to morning worship at CNI. Most of the service was in Hindi (except the Lord's Prayer was only recited in English). The room was filled with women (just like most American Christian services, good to know the trend is global...), and Bishop Ambala was decked out in full bishop splendor (I almost didn't recognize him). The director of the HIV/AIDS branch of CNI led worship and gave the message from Matthew 14 (Jesus walking on the water). "Do not be afraid!" were the first English words of the service. Ok... You've got my attention, God. "Do not be afraid!" Else you (BETHANY!), like Peter, might sink into the sea (the Indian monsoon). Thank you Saint Matthew. Apparently, my nervous attitude has caught the attention of the higher powers, and God decided to remind me: "DO NOT BE AFRAID!!!" Well, I decided to listen to good ol' St. Matt, and I ventured into Delhi (alone) shortly after worship was over. (Oh, did I mention that everyone takes off their shoes to enter the chapel, as if it were a temple? It is always interesting to see which pieces of a pre-evangelized culture translates into contemporary Christian practices).
Once in Delhi -- Cannaught Place again ... I'm branching, but not too much -- I went to the JetAirways office to purchase (in cash... argh! wallet!) my plane ticket to Kolkata for Thursday. There was a mis-communication, so I ended up buying a 6 am flight that no one can meet on the other end (Bishop's College is in the middle of faculty retreat this week during the day). I then found an internet cafe and promptly spent two hours surfing a very slow web (the post yesterday). For lunch I returned to the South Indian restaurant at which Dan and I ate on Sunday, and the waiter asked me about 'my friend'. I told him that Dan was on his way to Tibet and it was just me now (Dan! We're so memorable!). After eating, I decided to go to a bookstore to pick up Bishop Ambala's suggested reading. A man stopped me to speak English -- he seemed harmless enough. He offered to take me to a 'good English bookstore' and I decided to let him lead me through the crowded (VERY public and VERY daylit, Mom and Cynthia) outdoor shopping centre to the bookstore. Again, he seemed harmless enough and really only interested in practicing his English. I did find the book eventually and headed back to CNI. By this point, I am able to tell if I'm headed in the right direction, so I'm starting to feel like I might be able to pull this off.
Monday, June 23, 2008
48 Hours In...
Just a quick disclaimer: I haven't been able to get to a computer until today, so this is a post that I wrote in my room a few days ago, so its dated. I'll catch up to myself in the next couple of days, I'm sure... so enjoy!
I have now been in Delhi for 48 hours. 48 hours -- and already many stories to tell... I made my first major mistake before even exiting the plane, I left my wallet. I took it out to give my American coins to the UNICEF bag before we landed, and my charitable heart set me up! Luckily, there was only about $15, my student IDs (I'm very sad about my Irish immigration ID being sacrificed to the travel gods), and my VISA and debit cards. Nothing too valuable that cannot be replaced, except, perhaps, my pride. I had met a nice teacher from Oak Park in the customs line who took pity on me when I could not find anyone waiting for me from CNI (Church of North India). They told me the following day when I arrived at the headquarters that someone had been waiting until 1 am, but neither Karen (the teacher) nor I could find him. So, Karen, the loveliest person in the world, invited me to stay with her at her hotel, and I accepted. It was on the way to the hotel that I discovered my wallet was gone, and I preceded to freak out!!!! I called my mother, who had been delayed at the airport and thus actually able to answer my phone call (thank you Providence). Over the next few hours (the middle of the night in India), her assistant, Beth (who will forever be known in my heart as TOTALLY AWESOME AND WONDERFUL BETH) had gotten CNI phone numbers and wired me $500.
That night I couldn't sleep, which was particularly unfortunate since I hadn't gotten any sleep my last night in the States or on the 15.5 hour plane ride from Chicago to Delhi (over Russia, go figure). Karen fell asleep quickly, so I spent most of the night reading in the bathroom.
I'd like to take a short detour from the thus-far unfortunate story of my arrival in India to talk about the book I've been reading. It is called "Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything across Italy, India, and Indonesia." Ever since I told my therapist about my trip this summer, she has been pushing me to read this book by Elizabeth Gilbert. It chronicle's "Liz's" year of self-discovery (four months in each place) after a very messy divorce (she was 24 when they married and 34 during this book). I thought my therapist wanted me to read it because I was traveling to India, but about half-way through the 2nd "book" (on India), I realized her REAL intentions in recommending the title: THIS WOMAN IS ME!!!!! I first read the wisdom (from the ancient Indian Yogic text The Bhagavad Gita): it is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of somebody else's life with perfection. No kidding. I came to India (rather than my mother's beloved Congo, which had been in the running as I applied for this international travel grant) to be my own person in a developing country... and lost my wallet... talk about living an imperfect destiny! I suppose I will come to terms with this, eventually... though a huge part of me wishes I were in Congo right now: I would have much preferred the 3000-person procession that my parents received last month at the airport than my missed one-man 'welcome' committee. Alas, better to live out my own destiny imperfectly... There was another phrase the author used along the lines of her verbal 'tap-dancing' for social approval... but this is not a therapy session, it is a blog entry about my first two days in Delhi. I shall continue my tap-dance now...
I arrived at CNI and was given a room with a broken air conditioner (or so I thought for the first two days I was there, then I realized that one has to turn ON the electricity outlet... I'm seriously not making this stupidity up, folks!!!... the AC works now, needless to say). The sheets are beautifully soft from age, and the 'shower' is no more than a faucet sticking out of the wall at about the waist (did I mention that I saw the LARGEST cockroach of my life in that bathroom?). So, my 'delicate' sensibilities are being beautifully tested already, thank you!
After lunch, I finally dozed into a lovely sleep and decided to ignore the dinner alarm. Around 9:30 pm, I received a knock on my door. It was the cook with a tray full of a GORGEOUS dinner (it was an hour and a half since the close of the kitchen, and they are very strict about eating hours at CNI headquarters). This was the turning point -- the kind gesture of a bearded cook who brought me a dinner tray of naan, mutton, fried veggies, and fresh cucumbers! I almost cried -- well, I did cry after I closed the door -- at his gesture of kindness! He brought me a tray of tea this (Sunday) morning as well... at 6:30 am (!)... luckily I am still adjusting to the time and had been awake since 4 am.
At 9, I left for church at CNI's 'Free Church' (a former Methodist congregation in Delhi). There was a group of Canadian Presbyterians there (students) who I talked to after worship. I must admit that church put me in a better mood, but I found myself envious of the Canadians and their three-week (only!) programmed 'study' trip of CNI. Oh to have a chaperon! The service itself was interesting. CNI has a Book of Worship, published on the denomination's 'Silver Anniversary' in 1995. The sermon was given by a layperson (which is totally awesome), and the hymns were 'standards' from the red Methodist hymnal ("Master Let Me Walk with Thee" was my favorite of the morning). There was even a 'youth' praise band who closed their 3-song contemporary selections with "Open the Eyes of My Heart, Lord". It was hard to tell if my fellow-worshippers were uncomfortable with my semi-evangelical, LaSalle-esque openned-to-the-heavens palms during this song... they are Methodist-bred, so I assume probably so. There was no communion, which I missed, but the service was very lovely and a welcomed time of much-needed extroversion (even if I only talked to the Canadians, it was something!).
When I introduced myself to the presbyter after church, he invited me to "offer the Message" in August when I return to Delhi before flying home to the States, since I am a theology student. I just may do that (if I get a little more brave by then). Of course, the most charming thing about this presbyter is that he broke into "Ooooooooklahoma" when I told him which state I was from (he went to theological school in Virginia, you see). I am happy to return to the 100-person congregation of semi-Methodist Church of North India Christians in August. It is the most comfortable I have been in India thus far.
After lunch, I met Dan McNamara (a friend from div school in Chicago, for those who don't know Danny Mac) at the Imperial Hotel for tea before we embarked on an afternoon excursion through Delhi. It was so wonderful to see a familiar face, and one who spoke some Hindi! Another small tangent (though this one is actually about India, not my overall existential well-being): I know that people are speaking English to me, and I know that I am speaking English back, but I am concerned that somehow we are not speaking the same language at all! I am certain that my ear will get better at deciphering the Indian-English dialect, but I am not convinced that I will ever be able to find a way to make myself understood in this country. Maybe it will be better in Kolkata (Calcutta), though I do not know why it would make a difference someplace else in the same country. Of course, there is a HUGE difference between the Scotish brogue and a British accent. Fingers crossed that Delhi doesn't equal the Brits in this scenario...!!!
Right, so tea with Dan... we met up around 3 pm at this fantastic hotel (http://www.theimperialindia.com/home.htm) and then proceeded to spend the afternoon walking around Delhi. New Delhi seems a little more maneuverable (there's a park at the center of things, to which I may return later in the week for people watching). Old Delhi was a trip. We got off the Metro and were in a different world... THIS was a world of overwhelming poverty. I have tried to prepare myself to be devastated, but to ignore the poverty in India (Westerners often freak out at first). Everyone I know says that a) you can't trust half the 'beggers' in Indian cities, and b) if you give to one, a crowd will surround you (no good situation at all!). Taking that into consideration, I have been able to outwardly ignore circumstances that would normally break my heart, a reality which breaks my heart in a different way. In Old Delhi, however, the dogs were the piece to finally overwhelm me. They turn my stomach, because I know that they are starving and sickly and will give me some deplorable disease myself if I so much as look at them too long. Then there is the smell of urine. It is more assaulting than the dogs and utterly grotesque. My eyes may be able to overlook the destitution here, but my nose refuses to ignore it. I felt sick to my stomach for the first time in Old Delhi, and I largely suspect that it was not the food finally catching up with me.
Dan and I visited a Sikh Temple. We removed our shoes, washed our feet, covered our heads, and made our way inside. A fantastic old Sikh guided us through, all the while Dan saying to me "I don't think this breaks any of the commandments" or "You don't have to do the kneeling if you don't feel comfortable with it." I waited until after we left to explain that respecting (by going through the motions of) another religion was not a problem for "my version" of Christianity. It was a beautiful temple, and I enjoyed listening to the reading of the Guru Granth Sahib (the sacred book of Sikhism). We sat -- I prayed -- for a while, then headed back to Connaught Place for dinner. We ate south Indian food at the Banana Leaf (very tasty), but we were both so incredibly beat by 7pm and decided to call it a night. We shook hands at the Metro and said good-bye. My auto rickshaw nearly got lost on the way home, but I managed to find CNI nevertheless.
To be honest, I am not certain whether I am better at ease or more terrified to venture into the city after having gone out with Dan... though here I am, sitting at a small internet cafe in Connaught Place, so I guess I made it out, and on my own, eventually (two days later!)
I have now been in Delhi for 48 hours. 48 hours -- and already many stories to tell... I made my first major mistake before even exiting the plane, I left my wallet. I took it out to give my American coins to the UNICEF bag before we landed, and my charitable heart set me up! Luckily, there was only about $15, my student IDs (I'm very sad about my Irish immigration ID being sacrificed to the travel gods), and my VISA and debit cards. Nothing too valuable that cannot be replaced, except, perhaps, my pride. I had met a nice teacher from Oak Park in the customs line who took pity on me when I could not find anyone waiting for me from CNI (Church of North India). They told me the following day when I arrived at the headquarters that someone had been waiting until 1 am, but neither Karen (the teacher) nor I could find him. So, Karen, the loveliest person in the world, invited me to stay with her at her hotel, and I accepted. It was on the way to the hotel that I discovered my wallet was gone, and I preceded to freak out!!!! I called my mother, who had been delayed at the airport and thus actually able to answer my phone call (thank you Providence). Over the next few hours (the middle of the night in India), her assistant, Beth (who will forever be known in my heart as TOTALLY AWESOME AND WONDERFUL BETH) had gotten CNI phone numbers and wired me $500.
That night I couldn't sleep, which was particularly unfortunate since I hadn't gotten any sleep my last night in the States or on the 15.5 hour plane ride from Chicago to Delhi (over Russia, go figure). Karen fell asleep quickly, so I spent most of the night reading in the bathroom.
I'd like to take a short detour from the thus-far unfortunate story of my arrival in India to talk about the book I've been reading. It is called "Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything across Italy, India, and Indonesia." Ever since I told my therapist about my trip this summer, she has been pushing me to read this book by Elizabeth Gilbert. It chronicle's "Liz's" year of self-discovery (four months in each place) after a very messy divorce (she was 24 when they married and 34 during this book). I thought my therapist wanted me to read it because I was traveling to India, but about half-way through the 2nd "book" (on India), I realized her REAL intentions in recommending the title: THIS WOMAN IS ME!!!!! I first read the wisdom (from the ancient Indian Yogic text The Bhagavad Gita): it is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of somebody else's life with perfection. No kidding. I came to India (rather than my mother's beloved Congo, which had been in the running as I applied for this international travel grant) to be my own person in a developing country... and lost my wallet... talk about living an imperfect destiny! I suppose I will come to terms with this, eventually... though a huge part of me wishes I were in Congo right now: I would have much preferred the 3000-person procession that my parents received last month at the airport than my missed one-man 'welcome' committee. Alas, better to live out my own destiny imperfectly... There was another phrase the author used along the lines of her verbal 'tap-dancing' for social approval... but this is not a therapy session, it is a blog entry about my first two days in Delhi. I shall continue my tap-dance now...
I arrived at CNI and was given a room with a broken air conditioner (or so I thought for the first two days I was there, then I realized that one has to turn ON the electricity outlet... I'm seriously not making this stupidity up, folks!!!... the AC works now, needless to say). The sheets are beautifully soft from age, and the 'shower' is no more than a faucet sticking out of the wall at about the waist (did I mention that I saw the LARGEST cockroach of my life in that bathroom?). So, my 'delicate' sensibilities are being beautifully tested already, thank you!
After lunch, I finally dozed into a lovely sleep and decided to ignore the dinner alarm. Around 9:30 pm, I received a knock on my door. It was the cook with a tray full of a GORGEOUS dinner (it was an hour and a half since the close of the kitchen, and they are very strict about eating hours at CNI headquarters). This was the turning point -- the kind gesture of a bearded cook who brought me a dinner tray of naan, mutton, fried veggies, and fresh cucumbers! I almost cried -- well, I did cry after I closed the door -- at his gesture of kindness! He brought me a tray of tea this (Sunday) morning as well... at 6:30 am (!)... luckily I am still adjusting to the time and had been awake since 4 am.
At 9, I left for church at CNI's 'Free Church' (a former Methodist congregation in Delhi). There was a group of Canadian Presbyterians there (students) who I talked to after worship. I must admit that church put me in a better mood, but I found myself envious of the Canadians and their three-week (only!) programmed 'study' trip of CNI. Oh to have a chaperon! The service itself was interesting. CNI has a Book of Worship, published on the denomination's 'Silver Anniversary' in 1995. The sermon was given by a layperson (which is totally awesome), and the hymns were 'standards' from the red Methodist hymnal ("Master Let Me Walk with Thee" was my favorite of the morning). There was even a 'youth' praise band who closed their 3-song contemporary selections with "Open the Eyes of My Heart, Lord". It was hard to tell if my fellow-worshippers were uncomfortable with my semi-evangelical, LaSalle-esque openned-to-the-heavens palms during this song... they are Methodist-bred, so I assume probably so. There was no communion, which I missed, but the service was very lovely and a welcomed time of much-needed extroversion (even if I only talked to the Canadians, it was something!).
When I introduced myself to the presbyter after church, he invited me to "offer the Message" in August when I return to Delhi before flying home to the States, since I am a theology student. I just may do that (if I get a little more brave by then). Of course, the most charming thing about this presbyter is that he broke into "Ooooooooklahoma" when I told him which state I was from (he went to theological school in Virginia, you see). I am happy to return to the 100-person congregation of semi-Methodist Church of North India Christians in August. It is the most comfortable I have been in India thus far.
After lunch, I met Dan McNamara (a friend from div school in Chicago, for those who don't know Danny Mac) at the Imperial Hotel for tea before we embarked on an afternoon excursion through Delhi. It was so wonderful to see a familiar face, and one who spoke some Hindi! Another small tangent (though this one is actually about India, not my overall existential well-being): I know that people are speaking English to me, and I know that I am speaking English back, but I am concerned that somehow we are not speaking the same language at all! I am certain that my ear will get better at deciphering the Indian-English dialect, but I am not convinced that I will ever be able to find a way to make myself understood in this country. Maybe it will be better in Kolkata (Calcutta), though I do not know why it would make a difference someplace else in the same country. Of course, there is a HUGE difference between the Scotish brogue and a British accent. Fingers crossed that Delhi doesn't equal the Brits in this scenario...!!!
Right, so tea with Dan... we met up around 3 pm at this fantastic hotel (http://www.theimperialindia.com/home.htm) and then proceeded to spend the afternoon walking around Delhi. New Delhi seems a little more maneuverable (there's a park at the center of things, to which I may return later in the week for people watching). Old Delhi was a trip. We got off the Metro and were in a different world... THIS was a world of overwhelming poverty. I have tried to prepare myself to be devastated, but to ignore the poverty in India (Westerners often freak out at first). Everyone I know says that a) you can't trust half the 'beggers' in Indian cities, and b) if you give to one, a crowd will surround you (no good situation at all!). Taking that into consideration, I have been able to outwardly ignore circumstances that would normally break my heart, a reality which breaks my heart in a different way. In Old Delhi, however, the dogs were the piece to finally overwhelm me. They turn my stomach, because I know that they are starving and sickly and will give me some deplorable disease myself if I so much as look at them too long. Then there is the smell of urine. It is more assaulting than the dogs and utterly grotesque. My eyes may be able to overlook the destitution here, but my nose refuses to ignore it. I felt sick to my stomach for the first time in Old Delhi, and I largely suspect that it was not the food finally catching up with me.
Dan and I visited a Sikh Temple. We removed our shoes, washed our feet, covered our heads, and made our way inside. A fantastic old Sikh guided us through, all the while Dan saying to me "I don't think this breaks any of the commandments" or "You don't have to do the kneeling if you don't feel comfortable with it." I waited until after we left to explain that respecting (by going through the motions of) another religion was not a problem for "my version" of Christianity. It was a beautiful temple, and I enjoyed listening to the reading of the Guru Granth Sahib (the sacred book of Sikhism). We sat -- I prayed -- for a while, then headed back to Connaught Place for dinner. We ate south Indian food at the Banana Leaf (very tasty), but we were both so incredibly beat by 7pm and decided to call it a night. We shook hands at the Metro and said good-bye. My auto rickshaw nearly got lost on the way home, but I managed to find CNI nevertheless.
To be honest, I am not certain whether I am better at ease or more terrified to venture into the city after having gone out with Dan... though here I am, sitting at a small internet cafe in Connaught Place, so I guess I made it out, and on my own, eventually (two days later!)
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