Mungeli

I slept my first afternoon in Mungeli. I didn't get much sleep on the overnight train (thank you creepy staring guy!), so I crashed as soon as I arrived at the Henrys'. Anil was returning from a court case deposition in Delhi, so Terry and I had a late dinner around 10 pm (turns out that 10 pm is quite early for dinner in the Henry household. Several nights we sat down for dinner at midnight).

It became clear the following morning that my cough was more than my lungs purging Kolkata's pollution... I was sick... again! I stared an antibiotic straight away. I REFUSED to spend my last week in India ill!

I went to morning prayers (in Hindi) and noticed that the men and women were sitting in different sides of the chapel (apparently that's how it's done in that region of the country... Alexander Campbell would be so proud!). After prayers, I took a tour of the hospital with Anil. I went into the ICU, the recovery ward, the women's ward, and the private rooms. I essentially followed Anil on his morning rounds and he explained all the cases to me. The thing about this hospital is that hardly anyone comes to the proper doctor unless it's dire (as the local medicine 'quacks', as Anil lovingly calls them, are the first, yet usually insufficient, treatment choice). Many of the cases could have been an easy five day antibiotic treatment, but rather, is now at the stage where a major surgery is the only option. There are also cases like the couple, who are currently healing in the hospital. They got into a fight, so the wife doused herself in kerosene and set herself on fire over the same of the argument. At some point, the husband decided to help and also got severely burned. There are certain cultural practices, whether it be superstitious magic medicine or extreme acts of martyrdom or anything in between that make proper medical practice in this place very difficult at times. People respect the doctors, that is abundantly clear, but it is often only when their loved-one is near death that the respect motivates action.

Also, entire families stay with the ill in the hospital. The looks of concern on their faces is heartbreaking. Especially now, during the harvesting season, it is a great sacrifice to leave back-breaking and meagerly paying jobs to stay at the bedside of a loved-one. Faces, prematurely aged by poverty, are etched with deep creases and tired expressions. Now their eyes are also filled with concern as well as exhaustion. This is not a full service hospital like in the States. Nurses are not available to bathe you or bring you water. A cooking staff does not prepare a tray of food to be delivered to your bed. It is necessary that a family member remain to give a patient basic care. There is no such thing as visiting hours' here.

After rounds, I headed to the CNI school that is run by the hospital. The principal gave me a tour and the children were incredible! Every time I walked into a room, they all stood and said, 'Hello Ma'am' or 'Good morning Ma'am'. The following day was Independence Day and they were all preparing for a special show (I returned for the actual performance the following day and was the 'guest of honor'). I watched practice and snapped a few photos before heading back to the hospital.

I napped much of the afternoon (stupid cough!) and accepted Anil's offer to stand in on a surgery in the OT. I watched a hysterectomy that afternoon and three more surgeries the following day. The surgeons were always very good about calling me over to see exactly what they were doing and why ('See the tear in his stomach here? We are stitching it up.' or 'Notice the fluid around the kidney? We've got to stop the oozing.'). They also included me in the pre-examinations ('see this blotch here on the sonogram? She is probably in the late stages of cancer. We'll take a biopsy to be sure.')

I have zero desire to become a surgeon, but I was fairly surprised that I only had to leave the room once during my entire four days at the hospital. I really am more capable than I thought!

There are three young doctors here as well: 2 surgeons and a dentist. The dentist is 24 and was very excited to hear that I was his age (the other two are in their late twenties, so he feels like a baby in comparison). Every night I was there, the younger doctors came over to the Henrys' to watch movies, eat dinner and hang out. We all had such a blast, and by the end of it I was beginning to get some of the medical jokes they told!

I wish I could have stayed longer -- as it was, I extended my stay by an extra day -- but I had to head to Delhi as I'm leaving in three days. Thing's didn't work out to meet up with Julien and Youssef (they went AWOL in Nepal for a few weeks), but I want to see the Taj Mahal before leaving India and it's near Delhi. I booked a stupid-expensive hotel for the last four nights. Its near some really cool Delhi sites, so I will be able to keep myself entertained. Right... not Mungeli...

It was interesting while in Mungeli. Anil laughed a lot at my fondness for Kolkata, because everyone from the country finds it over crowded and generally disgusting with pollution and waste; however, those who live in the city love it. I am one of them! I welcomed the trip to the countryside -- they are doing incredible work in Mungeli (Global Ministries should be honored to have a connection with Anil and Teresa Henry) -- but my heart is in the City of Joy. I adore Kolkata (as you all know by now). I cannot believe that I am gone from Kolkata and will leave India on Friday. I am not ready for that. I am certain that saying goodbye to my life in Kolkata was the most difficult part of this process, but I am no sure that it has actually registered that I am going to be in the States on Saturday... I am soooo not ready for that!

The Trek from Kolkata to Mungeli

I arrived in Mungeli on Wednesday morning of last week after an absolutely absurd overnight train from Kolkata to Bilaspur. I suppose I will begin from my last day in Kolkata, since it's been a while...

I decided to pack the night before so that I could spend most of my time going through my normal daily Kolkata ritual (it seemed very important to squeeze every ounce out of my life there). I even set my alarm for a very early 8 am as to get the basic 'I'm leaving' errands out of the way. Well, I woke up at 9:30, needed to shower DESPERATELY, and finally hailed a cab for the DHL couriers office around 10:30. Kolkata streets are all one way, but change directions midday (so, for example, in the morning a traffic flow will be northward and in the afternoon the same street will flow southward). I passed the DHL office everyday on my way to Park Street, so I knew I'd see the office. Except, I always catch an afternoon cab... my 22 rupee ride turned into a 100 rupee fair and I still had to call Phillip Peacock to give the cabbie directions (my Bengali was not sufficient to direct him to an unknown location). I still had to walk about 15 minutes, even then, before I found a different DHL office to mail my box home.

It was pouring rain by this point (I decided both Kolkata and I were tearful on my last day in the city). I went to chapel to say goodbye. I thanked the student body, and everyone came to speak with me after the service. I started to cry when a few of my closer friends walked up. It was combination of sleep-deprivation and the emotional realization that I was actually leaving. Of course, all the men were appalled, but awkwardly tried to comfort me by respectfully shaking my hand and complimenting me on my Hindi singing from a few weeks back. Their 1970s pro-football player mustaches (all the rage among young Indian men) cheered me up, as well as their kinds words.

I headed to Park Street finally around 2 pm. I had a final lunch at Flurry's (a restaurant where I ate often) and then I went to meet Cecile for a coffee at Barista (the place of faintage). Saying goodbye to Cecile was AWFUL!!! I'm still not quite sure that it has all sunk in. She was undoubtedly my first and best friend in Kolkata. We hit it off immediately and were able to break our way through the language barriers to stay close for my entire time there. I will see Cecile again (I'll travel to Lyon soon, I hope), but days aren't the same without her. I wore the earrings that she picked out for me as a gift form all the French kids. She knew that I always wore earrings (an Indian development for me) and chose a pair to particularly compliment my face shape and coloring. J'aime bien Cecile!

Now it was really time to leave. Maggie, Teresa, Amos and Sandeep all took me to the train and I hugged the last of my Kolkata life goodbye as I wrapped my arms around them in a final farewell. If I hadn't been so freaked out by the creepy guy staring at me, I would have bawled the entire 12-hour train ride to Bilaspur. As it was, I merely tried to best the man by reading (as though his stares were no big deal). He won the staring contest, when around 2 am I couldn't see the words on my pages anymore. I finally gave in to sleep.

I arrived in Bilaspur only one hour late and a driver patiently waited for me from Mungeli. We had to stop in town to pick up some tables and chairs for the CNI school before heading to Mungeli about 40 km away. as I sat on the bench outside the table shop, entire families came outside to stare for long periods at the white woman in their town. Toto, I don't think we're in Kolkata anymore!

And It Begins... CRAP!

I kissed Mani on the cheek and promised to be in touch via Facebook (hurrah for the world wide web!). Then I stepped out of the back seat to hug the beautiful man in pink who was standing beside the car.

'It's been a pleasure,' I told him, and Manu kissed my cheek.

He blew me another kiss with a faint smile and said, 'Je tu verrai en France!' ('I will see you in France!')

I turned towards the gate and walked into the Bishop's College campus. I managed to make it past the security guard and nearly half way to my room before bursting into tears. I like Mani (he's a proper Bengali man and very nice), but I adore Manu. I cannot believe that we just said 'good-bye' and how real (and how thoroughly devastating) it actually was. Oh man! This is no joke! I am leaving Kolkata in less than 36 hours!

Manu was traveling when I first met the French crew. He appeared for the first time (for me) on the night of his 24th birthday party in Youssef's Jadavpur flat. He immediately overtook the room with good cheer (despite the fact that we had all been slightly annoyed that he was running over 2 hours late for his own party and then arrived with three quite interesting men... Manu makes friends with everyone he meets and refuses to think anything but the best about people). He insisted that I, a total stranger who just happened to be at his birthday party, sit next to him and join in the card game that they were playing. This is the way Manu works, and it is impossible to not be enveloped by his positive attitude.

One night (as I, myself, was in a monstrous mood), I told Manu how I appreciate that he always wears a giant smile.

He responded, 'I smile always because life is always good. There is no reason not to smile!'

Have I said that I absolutely adore Manu?

I realize, as I am writing this and fighting back more tears, that I have come to think of Manu as a big brother-type (despite his being a solid six months younger than I). I think I will miss him the most of all the guys in our French-speaking group. He has an amazing heart, and I really respect him for that.

Saying good-bye to Manu makes the reality of my departure all-consuming for me. If tonight (and my hysterical tears) is any indication of how this whole leaving thing is going to work, I'm doomed! The next 36 hours are going to be unimaginably dreadful!

An Interesting Development

About half way through last week I realized that I have begun to smell like India. The fiery curries from the foods and sweet spices from the chai have seeped into my body so that my skin exudes the exotic aroma of this place. Each morning I awake to the now-familiar scent of a night's sleep under the gentle breeze of the ceiling fan. As I groggily lather myself in jasmine soap, I wonder how long it will be before my body reclaims the light "country linens" and fresh misty perfumes so popular in America. There is nothing soft about this Indian fragrance; it is rich and robust. It smells of complicated plurality and colorful mystery. For me it is both foreign and familiar. This is yet another sign of how India has claimed me... my mind, my heart, and now my body as well.

Bomb Blasts in Kolkata

A blast shook the Kolkata neighborhood of Chitpore's Jyotinagar colony yesterday afternoon, killing four. There was an immediate concern that this was indeed the fulfillment of terrorist bomb threats released earlier last week that had caused an increase in security throughout the city. Last night police were everywhere, carrying large military riffles and setting up check points at busy intersections throughout the city. Park Street (my usual hang out) still welcomed families out for a Sunday evening stroll and ice cream cone, but the city was much quieter than most weekends I have experienced here. There had been a bomb scare at the airport earlier in the weekend as well when three unclaimed bags were found sitting in an airport terminal. Upon further inspection of both instances, Kolkata police have ruled out terrorist activity... this time. The airport bags were not bombs, and the deadly blast was caused by an abandoned military shell on the road. Here is the link to the Times of India article for those who are interested: http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Bomb_explosion_kills_four_in_Kolkata/rssarticleshow/3321890.cms

After the bombings in Bangalore and Amedabad, all of India is on a heightened sense of alert when it comes to terrorist threats. Things are tense here, and street conversations often include phrases such as 'what is this world we now find ourselves in?'. India is such a beautiful country in so many ways; the kindness of Indians can be rivaled by none. Still, tensions run high, particularly when religion comes into the mix. While this time it was not terrorist activity that produced the deadly explosion, there is still a sense that the City of Joy is merely biding its time before something unspeakable happens at the hands of extremists. What is this world we now find ourselves in, indeed.

Become Indian, Just a Little Bit

I sang in chapel today at Bishop's College, a song in Hindi. Everyone in the group has been quite impressed by how well I picked up the pronunciation of the Hindi words ('No one will believe that this is your first time in India, you're Hindi is so sweet!'). I even learned the chorus from memory, which is something that astonished many of the students and professors here. It makes me all the more excited to attempt actually learning Hindi when I return to Chicago. There is something quite satisfying in mastering a simple traditional Indian hymn. It makes me feel like a piece of me is legitimately becoming Indian, which is something that pleases me greatly... my heart is already there.

Never a Fun Thing

It is always difficult to say goodbye, but the experience becomes particularly significant when a farewell carries with it the knowledge that you will probably never set eyes on a person again. Today I wished 'Bon Voyage' to two of my favorite people in Kolkata. Julien and Youssef left for a month of traveling through India before returning to France and Morocco, as their internships are now complete. My time in this city has been marked by countless nights of cooking dinners at Youssef's apartment in Jadavpur, going to listen to Latin music at our favorite Kolkata pub, and dancing until the early morning hours with my French speaking friends. Julien is the garbage disposal of our group. His 21-year old male metabolism allows him to consume not only his own absurdly large meal, but also every morsel left on the five or six other plates at the table and still remain unfairly thin. Youssef always provides the perfect combination of utter hilarity and intense philosophical musings, and I will miss our numerous evenings of genuine laughter and meaningful conversations. The city will not be the same for me in their absence, and it makes more poignant the point that this Kolkata life of mine is only temporary.

I am thinking even more about my own departure from this city in a week and a half. While I am very sad to contemplate leaving, somehow it seems less depressing as I have another few weeks of research and exciting adventures waiting for me (not to mention the triumphant return to my family, friends, and Diet Dr. Pepper... yes, I am seriously addicted to the sweet sweet American carbonated nectar). I long for the 25 hours of airline travel that will carry me across the Atlantic to my home, but I am beginning to really mourn the loss of the life I have created in this place. Youssef and Julien leaving today brings a realness to that prospect. It is our hope to meet again in a few weeks in Amritsar; but if India has taught me anything, it is to never hold too closely to your expectations.

As I sprinted out of the taxi into a sudden downpour and the quickly forming puddles in front of Bishop's College, I took a short glance at my two dear friends. In that split second, I held the full knowledge that it just may be the last time that I would take in their faces from anything but a photograph. The rain felt eerily appropriate, as in that moment an overwhelming sadness flooded my heart.