Bapa and My Second Set of Family in India

"Call on me in prayer and I will answer you. I will show you great and mysterious things which you still do not know about."-Jeremiah 33:3

I have never directly quoted the Bible in anything I have written so far, but this seems really apt. I think that I have forgotten what it is like to pray and what relief one gets from praying, and just when I thought I have stopped praying, I get to experience something unexpected, something worth sharing.

I am on my last quarter through my place of assignment as a volunteer and  my day to day experiences vary from good to bad or worse to great. I am learning 3 virtues so far : acceptance, patience and humility.

It is never easy for me. For those who know me at my worst, these three words are not my strongest points.

As I face the challenges of my assignment something really good happened and I am finding it so overwhelmingly surreal.

I have been to Bolangir, a rural district in Western Orissa, where my NGO operates, and since my arrival in India, the last two weeks were the longest I have stayed there. Logistics and working remotely have been a steady prick for my placement but then Pinky, one of my colleagues suggested that I can stay at their home. I did not say no because I wanted to get my work done before I leave in 2 months. Hence the beginning of my story.

Bapa and Pinky are the only ones in the family that speak English, the rest, we manage by smiling and signing. Ma is a loving mother who always have time to chat with her children, always ready to show affection and love. She is always ready with her plate of snacks and bottomless chai.

Pinky has a sister Rinky and 2 brother Babu and Bapun. They are my Indian brothers and sisters. They wait for me at meal time and they make sure I am home before sunset.

Bapa and I chat every afternoon after work. We talk about Indian and Filipino culture. We talk about politics in the Indian and Filipino context, Hinduism and Catholicism. We even talked about Cricket!

One night he asked me when I was going back home and I told him my standard line when being asked the question,"when my visa expires in June". He then said and I will never forget, "Terri your departure will be sorrowful for me and your mother here. It is like a punishment. You are lucky you have two sets of parents in this lifetime, one in the Philippines and one here in India. Please tell your friends about us and remember us when you are back home."

I was speechless. I always am when I am overwhelmed and when I try to hold back an emotion. I wanted to hug Bapa and answer him the question he first asked me the first night I stayed in their home, if I believed in rebirth or reincarnation.

I thought in that instant, and I felt something fuzzy inside, that he could have really been my father who is long gone now.

This was how we were too back in the days, afternoon chatting is what I miss most about my old man.

Bapa brought me to the bus station when it was time for me to return to Bhubaneswar where I live. He made sure I was alright. Awkwardly we reached the wrong bus. A man approached me to tell me that and so to call Bapa's attention, who was almost ready to hop inside the wrong bus to check it, I shouted "Bapa!" and he turned around and I thought I saw his eyes turn red.

I did not know how to say goodbye to him. At home, I would have reached for his hand and place it on my forehead or what a Filipino culture would call "Pagmamano" or "Mano po", it is a sign of respect to elders, when arriving or leaving. In India, they would sort of bend almost kneeling to reach for the elder's feet and make a sign as if to kiss it, but I did not know how to do it right.

When he was sure I was settled in my sleeper berth in the bus, he walked away before I could say something. but he looked back and said "Terri come back in April ok and stay here till before you leave. Your brothers and sisters would like you to celebrate your birthday with us. Make us Filipino and Chinese food. Promise no more mountain of rice". I said I will definitely return and he walked away with a smile.

I will return soon and I intend to stay longer. I am glad my NGO did not work out an accommodation for me in Bolangir or I would have missed the opportunity to have evening snacks and night suppers sitting on the floor with my Indian family, and the chance to be part of this really wonderful family.

Next trip I will make them Adobo and I will also teach them how to use chopsticks. I will also bring photos of my family back home.

It is still early to preempt it but Bapa and my second set of family in India will make leaving India the hardest goodbye since 1997.

"Lenga" (A Bridal Dress)

She wore an elegant lenga, a bridal dress that is similar to a saree but it is less complicated . She looked stunningly beautiful in her Lenga, but there was something in her eyes, amidst the smile. It was not just about the Lenga for her, it was more about the responsibilities and duties of wearing the gorgeous dress. She smiled dutifully and carried the dress so elegantly but her smile troubled me.

She whispered to me, "look at my lipstick, I didn't even get to choose the color." She was being dolled up by her sisters in law earlier today for a belated reception of their December civil wedding.

She is a new acquaintance in Bhubaneswar, and because she was alone in this county for what is supposed to be the biggest event of her life, she phoned me and practically begged me to be with her, being a fellow Filipina, just so she can have a representative of her family and friends who are not able to make it here for this event.

She felt alone and lonely.

I did not have to ask why.

A wedding in my culture (or at least from the experiences of my friends) is all about the bride. From the wedding motif, font used for the invitations, down to the tiny bit of sequin used on the wedding dress, the bride gets to decide.

Not today though.

It was all about him. It was about presenting the bride to the groom's friends and family.

She carried her duties without complains, but I can feel the pain of loneliness whenever she puts on a smile. It was hard enough to speak in a foreign language. All she could do was smile.

Who am I to make my judgments. I was just witnessing a cultural fusion but I could not see a bit of Filipino in that reception today. I could not even see a bit of her individuality in that fabulous wedding reception. She did not even pick her own lipstick color.

She then told me in her own native tongue that she did fall in love with her groom but she never thought marriage entailed marrying an entire culture, and giving up hers along the way.

I felt like giving her a hug as I would to a younger sister, but in reality I do not have a sister and it was wrong for me to feel pity on her, because the last thing she needed was a fellow Filipina patronizing her.

I am not making any judgments. I just could not help myself but think about her smile and how painful her smile was.

In as much as I feel like opening up to a whole new idea of widening my horizons to open myself up to the whole idea of wanting to be a "new" me, I just could not imagine myself being in her position.

Falling in love is a beautiful thing I suppose, but marriage is simply not just about that.

I would like to think that I can change for the man I would choose to spend the rest of my life with, but I just could not bring myself to imagine giving up even my own individuality and losing myself somewhere between the thin line of falling in love and sealing it off.

How far can one go for a commitment?

What am I willing to give up for the sake of loving?

Is love really enough?

I cannot help it though that there are times when I wish I too can wear a "Lenga" or a wedding dress, but when I think of brides with a pained smile, I am certainly back to my own realities.

My friends and my family will just have to wait, hopefully not unto infinity though, when I am able and willing to give up my "running away" from a commitment of even a serious relationship minus the wedding.

Not yet.

Not for a while.

My "Holiday in Goa"

A street vendor in Bolangir

Gangtok, Sikkim

View of The Himalayas, Pelling, Sikkim

fellow Filipino volunteers in India

fellow volunteers in India

India is indeed full of surprises. I have not been here long enough to understand the many different things I see and hear around me in this small city called Bhubaneswar, City of a Thousand Temples. I have heard stories. I have seen stories. One thing is for sure, India has surprised me in more ways than I could ever imagine while I prepared for my place of assignment while in Manila, Philippines.

I had such a whirlwind relationship with my old self back home and somehow amidst all that, India called me. I packed my suitcase with all the things that could provide me comfort during my placement. Yes, including a Winnie-the-Pooh winning I have managed to win at a game place called "Timezone".

Personally, my plan was to "take time" for myself, and what better way to do it than share skills and change lives?

Professionally, this has always been my passion.

I arrived in Delhi and went through the process. Three weeks later, I took that 24 hour train ride to Bhubaneswar, and for the first time, I saw India. I felt butterflies in my stomach. I knew then, I have arrived.

About a week ago, four months after settling in, my roommate suggested that I watch this film entitled, "Outsourced". I did not ask why anymore because we always exchange good movies anyway. I reckoned it was good. So I copied it from her external hard drive. I then prepared myself for yet again another one of those movie marathons I always do before going to bed.

I ended up laughing out loud while watching it. The movie hit home big time. It is about this American guy named Todd or Mr. Todd (pronounced Mister Toad) who lost his job because it was being outsourced to India. In order for him to get all his employment benefits, he was tasked to go to India to train his replacement. His adventures started upon arrival at the airport. It evolved around this small town and this small call center, and of course, like any other movies, there is the romance part, where he met this Indian girl named Asha, a call center agent. Both their lives changed after that.

Asha: "I am engaged to be married."
Todd: "so what am I to you?"
Asha: "you are my holiday in Goa"
Todd: "I am just your holiday in Goa"(sounding really sad and disappointed)
Asha: "no no...you are my only...holiday in goa"

The movie told me 2 things; 1. do not resist India, and 2. "Holiday in Goa".

When you want to have a time off for yourself or otherwise, think not of resistance. Just let go. Just go with the flow. Try not to over analyze and just let things be. Slowly, everything will unfold and before you knew it, you are already having a good time.

"Holiday in Goa" was a romantic metaphor, yet Goa is a real place to escape here in India. There you can be yourself, maybe bask in the sun, read a book, swim, be yourself, have a drink, take a sip, have meaningful conversations with strangers, and just enjoying it and living for the moment.

I have not been to Goa yet but I sure hope to be able to see it before my placement is over. I have heard stories about it, and the movie clearly gave me the picture of what metaphorical Goa is about.

Goa can be a person, can be an experience, can be a friend. It can be what you want to think of it. It is your metaphor afterall.

I have found my "holiday in Goa" and it so happened to be India.

Isn't that the mother of all metaphors?

From India With Love

Four months and still counting. My honeymoon stage with India is finally over and it is time to dance the tides.

Last night I have reached the boiling point when I started questioning the very essence of my being here. Frustration has its way of switching off the light in me that tells me I am not a quitter and that the best is yet to come. I gave in to my weaknesses and succumb to my usual self and waived the white flag and put myself to sleep.

I slept for 15 hours and woke up feeling a little better because I got to talk to my roommate Jen. She lets me let it out and it gives me some relief. She always says "good morning" when I wake up and she is around (she is always up ahead of me), and says "goodnight" before she goes to bed (she always sleeps earlier than me).

Over coffee we get to tell how the day went.

I almost said no to going to the other side of town to go see another friend Louise, because I knew I would just be cranky and all I would be doing is bitch about how my day went.

I just realized however, that no matter how I felt, I should get up, change and show up.

I am glad I did just that.

I showered and dressed and sat for a while and browsed through my work again. Something in me has been stirred by the pictures I myself took for my assignment here in India. I have realized I am not doing this for just one particular person or for one particular organization, I was doing my work for these women and children, and that no matter how hard things can be to get a job done, the fact is, it can be done. I just have to find ways to move around the problem and sort it out.

As I stared at the pictures, I heard Jen's voice from the door suggesting that we leave early so she can buy her farewell present for Louise.

I grabbed my scarf and went out of my room, this time in a chirpy mood.

After three shared auto rickshaw rides and ten minutes of walking, all three of us sat at a table at our favorite cafe called Cafe Coffee Day and chatted over coffee.

Then went back to Louise's apartment and had a sumptuous pasta dinner that she prepared for us, and chatted the night away.

The farewell gifts were unwrapped.

I took a moment. I had my present long before this night. I had my present from Jen the afternoon she met me at the train station, and I had my present from Louise the afternoon we went to see Lingaraj Temple.

I am not the one leaving soon because I have just arrived, but I think the hardest part of volunteering is having to say goodbye to the people you have grown a certain fondness with, to say goodbye to friends, not just a fellow volunteer.

I am sorry Louise that I am bailing out on you for another moonlit night in Puri for christmas, because I am not good with goodbyes.

I am sorry Jen that I am not a huggy kind of person because I am not good with affections.

I am glad I have met you both here in India and indeed goodbyes can be hard but then we will always have India, and we have had good times.

Cheers and Enjoy each journey!

Feeling Better by Making Someone Else Feel Better

Exchanging text messages is like a habit for us Filipinos. It has become a national habit to pass the time. Network providers must be earning millions everyday for every text message that is sent every minute every hour of every day. Since it became a fad, it has also become a way of reaching people not only within the country but all over the world. It has been the biggest factor in saving lives in times of natural calamities. It is also responsible for breaking someone's heart or making someone smile. It has become personal.

It is also my habit nowadays to check my phone for messages even before I even get to brush my teeth when I wake up every morning. My mind has been conditioned to do so. It is a habit.

Today, I woke up to read a text message from a fellow volunteer in India telling me how she already feels like going home because she does not feel the love. This is also another self-expression I have come up with every time I feel down I would say, I am not feeling the love. So she said, she wants to go home because she does not feel she is being appreciated by the organization she is volunteering for.

I told her, as I silently told myself, it is just like having a relationship with a man you love so much yet you feel it is unrequited because your expectations are not met. Just because you do not see or feel the kind of love you want him to give you does not mean he does not love you. Most relationships fail because of a certain standards, because of certain expectations, and almost always, we feel we are not loved.

In the same way that just because you do not get a pat in the back by your boss does not mean you are not appreciated for a job well done. Some people are like that. Sometimes words get in the way, and affection, very often than not, is also hard to come by especially if there are cultural differences to consider.

She then told me she would also apply this analogy to her ever faltering relationship with her boyfriend.

I take it that she liked what I told her. I take it that she appreciated my sincere efforts to make her feel better.

I am feeling better myself now.

Someone also told me that I laugh too much and I smile a lot lately. There must be someone who makes me acting like crazy nowadays.

Yes there is someone, and that someone is me. I am loving myself more and more now, by appreciating the little things I can do and accepting the things I cannot do. I am feeling better now because every little step does make the difference. I have accepted the fact that I cannot change the world but there are the little things that I can do to make a difference.

So I say, send a text today and make someone feel better and I promise you that you will feel better too.

Cheers!

Potatoes Anyone?

A fellow volunteer was ranting about the management system in her place of assignment and I was raving about open communication with my own.

Wittingly, I replied in my lousy attempt to be funny. Not only trying to lift her spirits up but most importantly to sashay in my own meandering state of mind regarding my placement.

Over the weekend, I have tried not to think about the email exchanges from work and how it has affected my thinking about my job descriptions and objectives.

I focused on the only vegetable available for me in the fridge that I share with my roomie, potatoes.

As Kung Fu Panda tried to fight his battle to be the Dragon Warrior and thought about the object of the battle as a dumpling, I attempted to do as he did.

Instead of thinking about my frustrations and my gaps as a volunteer and how I cannot change the world, I thought of how to cook my potatoes in different ways.

I am still at it, thinking of ways to make the potatoes shine over the other vegetables.

I even asked another volunteer friend for some potato recipes knowing that it is their staple food from back home, and I also knew that she was probably bored to tears at the very moment I thought about my potato questions.

In my mind, what have I got to lose? If she did not reply immediately she probably thought I was nuts and bored to tears myself. But she did reply! and I have received at least 5 recipes from her. It must have got her thinking.

With this in mind, I emailed back to the ranting volunteer friend telling her that she might as well think of a thousand and one ways to make tomato dishes instead of thinking about management systems in her workplace. I also shared my first attempt at making a potato meal for lunch.

She replied back by sharing her favorite recipe of squash soup, this time cheerfully.

A sheer brilliance for an idea struck me. Maybe we can create an e-group of sharing 30 minute meal recipes and type away for a minute or two of our recipes whenever we feel like ranting and raving about the seemingly endless frustrations with work, life and love.

It will not only help another volunteer cope with dealing with available vegetables in his or her place of assignment, but it will also take the load of negative energies off the shoulders of the one sharing the recipe.

Like a 2-minute break from the usual, to type a 30-minute meal to deviate one's attention on something that is taking another year off of one's actual age.

One can also do the old fashioned breathing exercise but that seems boring and usually it does not help much.

Who knows, maybe at the end of my placement, I have written a thousand and one ways to cook potatoes for a meal.

Happy eating!

Coming and Going

Three months and counting. It just occurred to me that I have truly arrived in India, meeting people, sharing and learning more than what I have prepared for.

I rushed a work the entire week to hit the beach and be with some of the Volunteers in Puri to say goodbye to one fun-loving, mature-thinking Youth for Development volunteer.

Last night, by a beach front restaurant hut, I had the itch to ask her and the others who will be leaving soon upon completing their respective assignments, the most Miss Universe-like question I could think of that I could learn from.

"Now that you are leaving, what are the most valuable lessons of volunteering in India could you share to a newbie like me?"

On the onset, I was just trying to be polite and engaging in the flow of conversation, and I did not quite expect the sincerity of the answers I have received from these fabulous ladies I have come to grow a certain fondness with during my first quarter in placement.

In brief;

1. it is the little things that you do that will matter the most;

2. you cannot change the world;

3. be more patient;

4. do not beat yourself up in whatever you do;

5. whatever happens, just try to enjoy;

6. we all have different experiences, do not compare.

I looked at each one of them as they said their pieces, and tried to read the body language. I almost heard someone choked in her own words trying not to release the real emotion inside, and I thought someone else' eyes were watery as she calmly spoke her mind and heart. Another one was actually thinking out loud for herself, clearly, undecided in her heart of hearts about her going home early next year that she's been very vocal about, because perhaps she knew though she tries to hide it that her time here is not up yet.

I believe I understand it somehow now what makes a volunteer's journey a truly successful story.

It is about the relationships I build, the support I get and the fun I have while I do it, as I do it, while I am here.

We left the hut to get some more drinks and continued the meaningful conversations and laughter at the roof deck of this place called "Z" and just like that, we got to know each other better and we have shared more than just India.

To Lucy Madam, may you have the most meaningful and fun love life when you get home. Embrace more life's meaning in the simplest of things. Your strength and passion as a YFD are most admirable. Keep up the good work and spread the love always.

To Louise and Jennisa, Puri awaits for yet another meaningful moonlit night of good conversation and good company. When the time comes, the hardest goodbyes will be for the two of you.

To An, you have the strongest personality I have met here and despite the constant debacle of beliefs, you are fun to be with.

To Jen, who we missed last night but couldn't come, you know that I am not the touchy feely kind of person, but on December 5th I will give you a bear hug :-) For the warmest welcome to my placement I owe you by paying it forward. Needless to say that you will be missed. The afternoon tea and the best omelets I have ever tasted!

Good luck on your next journey! and Thank you most kindly.

The Day I Met This Girl

It was the third day of my visit to the operational areas of my organization, and was also the day when I had a scheduled trip back to the City where I am staying for the duration of my assignment in India.

It was the day I met this girl.

Sanya (not her real name) holds a position in my organization but that day and since the day I arrived there, she had been tasked to make sure that I have my meals ready and my accommodation ventilated enough to keep me cool from the warm days of Monsoon season. Apparently, it has not rained for months in that part of Orissa despite the Monsoon season.

If I had known any better I would have thought Sanya was treating me like a VIP, so on that day when she ordered for my early lunch so I would not be hungry during my 7 hours train ride back to the city, I asked her to sit down and have the meal with me, to which she graciously agreed.

She then asked me if we also eat rice in the Philippines, and I said yes, like in India, rice is also a staple food in my country. She smiled and said “ok”. She asked me again if we also take 3 meals a day like they do and I also said yes. She asked if we also have rice and dal for lunch, to which I ignorantly replied, that I do not think we have dal in the Philippines but we do have rice all the time. She then said that rice and dal is a staple food for them and they also have it for dinner with roti. I simply asked,”everyday?” and she simply replied, “ha!” which means “yes” in Hindi or Oriya.

I asked Sanya if she has ever been outside the small town where she grew up, and she said no with a smile. She explained that her family lives there and she does not have any reason to leave her hometown. She was happy where she was and her face lit up as she smiled again.

At that point I took a moment and tried to reflect on the small talk Sanya and I shared that day. I was so overwhelmed with what I was feeling at that moment that I found myself questioning my own meandering ideals.

What is really important? To be out there seeing the world and getting a place in the sky and still feel like you have not gone anywhere so far and the insatiable thirst to be somewhere and be someone still haunt you at night? And be asked by someone like Sanya, “so how do you sleep at night?” or just be like her, happy and contented where she is, as simple as that.

As I write this I am reminded again of my favorite line in the Bible, when I used to read it for my theology classes. I came across these lines from Mathew 16 ( I do not recall which verse), “for what is a man profited if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul, or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?”

Indeed what are we willing to give up in search for the world? or to reach for the stars?

Was it her ignorance? That she was afraid to see what it is like outside her hometown?

I do not know with certainty.

One thing is for sure though, at this point in my life I envy her. I was 25 too not too long ago and I was unstoppable. I left home when I was 17 to go to college and I blew a wish into the sea as I took that boat ride out of that small island where I grew up. I wished for freedom. Free to fly like a bird, not caring where and when to stop. My wish did come true and then I was sitting across a table with someone like Sanya and I feel nothing but envy.

I wish there is a way to make amends for the mistakes you make in a lifetime but facing the truth is so much easier than taking all the time and energy running away from it.

Thanks to this girl I met, I have also found reasons to be thankful for.

RAKHI DAY

A boy proudly shows off his rakhi on Rakhi Day

24^th of August is a special day in India especially among brothers and sisters. It is a ceremonial day when brothers vow to protect their sisters and the latter would tie a “rakhi” or a bracelet to symbolize the bond between them.

It was indeed an exciting day in the villages I have visited, as every man, adult or child I have met showed me their wrists with the colorful rakhis.  One rakhi represents one sister.  It did not matter if they were blood related, for as long as they treat each other as brothers and sisters.

I asked one member of the staff of my organization if she did perform the ceremony that morning, and she told me she did not have brothers, but she and her four sisters exchanged rakhis just the same as they will protect each other anyway even if they do not have brothers to protect them.

Coming from a small town where she grew up, it must have been hard for their family to raise them, and eventually to marry all five of them should they decide to follow the norms of the society and be subjected to the traditions and cultures of the dowry system, and of the position of women in the society. 

Who am I to judge? But the fact that they have been raised to be good people of the society, loving and caring and protective of each other, I find that admirable and inspiring.

Hers is a story that should overshadow the horror stories on gender inequalities I have heard when I first arrived in India.

Being the youngest in my family with no sisters and four older brothers, I have found a new way of seeing things differently regarding my relationship with my brothers.  I do not have colorful rakhis to tie around their wrists when I get home but I would definitely say hello if only to mean I love them.  

My Salwar Kameez

My current disposition is taking a toll on me 

and so I wore my brand new Salwar Kameez to make it even more dramatic.

I have been debating with my mind, 

about where I should be and where I have to be.  

The question just honestly drained my energy 

and it has somehow negated the motivational factors

that made me decide to come to where I physically am, in the first place.

I have put on my brand new Salwar Kameez today

to help me absorb things as they currently are, 

physically, mentally and emotionally.

My Kameez is green with pink and blue decorated stitches, 

and gold bling bling that actually pricks my skin making it so uncomfortable.

The Salwar is lose for my shape and long for my height, makes walking on it a tedious task.

I bought it in Delhi's famous Sarogini Market when I thought I had to blend in,

and it was the first step to adapting the Indian culture.

I thought the price was right and trying it on was not even an option.

Here, you just make calculated estimations.

Later could mean it is not going to happen, or tomorrow could mean the day following that.

Of course, I did not know any difference.

My Salwar Kameez is on and I am starting to feel the discomfort, but I intend to wear it for twenty four hours.

This will be my way of telling myself, 

that I will get used to it, 

that I will learn to live with it, 

and that I might actually like it eventually.

The colours should brighten my yet another gloomy day 

and to remind me that tomorrow can be a better day than today.

The Day I Start Counting 1-2-3

In a place where procrastination seems like a way of life

there seems to be an almost perfect but debatable excuse,

there is no rush, no need to hurry because

tomorrow is another day.

Counting 1-2-3 or three seconds of breathing in and then out 

before losing it

makes patience indeed the greatest of prayers.

But for someone who's days are numbered due to the calculated indecisions 

she has made in her life,

time is of the essence,

and she cannot help it today,

she starts counting

the number of days left, the money spent, the friends made, the lessons learned.

Hopefully tomorrow is better than today. 

Food Trip

Tripping on food is what I miss most with good friends back home.  I love cooking and I love it more when they want for more. I find cooking therapeutic.  I get to be calm and somehow I find peaceful moments when I cook. 

This time, in a faraway land, where everything is new and local food seems hard to chew because I miss home, I let a new found friend, Jennisa cook for me and it was good.  She has been saving her dried salted fish and a few cubed beef she smuggled from a nearby City for this occasion. It is not yet Christmas, but it somehow felt like it was. 

I savored Filipino dishes like I have never tasted them before.  Now it makes a lot of sense being away from home and learning to appreciate even the littlest of things, like eating dried salted fish with bare hands and a plateful of rice.  Cebuano is not even my mother tongue but I speak it like a pro now and liking it. 

It has been a good week talking in the vernacular.  I have been teaching a local guy from my new friend's work how to talk in Cebuano, and finding him very interested in learning the language I find myself challenged in learning his native Oriya too. 

We also went to the market place and she made me taste all the different street foods for a few rupees.  I cannot even remember what they were called and although it was unhygienic, it was a good experience just the same.

Good food, good company, good way to start a whole new week of experiences, this time at work in Balangir.

All is well.

Monthsary

Today marks my first month in India and I am celebrating it with 2 slices of pork luncheon meat from a tin, and mixed veg with rice.

My roommate left this morning for her holidays and I have never felt so alone in my life, in a foreign land, without a working mobile, and my saliva is just about to go sour from not talking at all.

This is the path I have chosen, well at least for now.

I miss my mama's home cooked meals, just as I miss the taste of fast food and pizza home delivery. Most of all, I miss going to the cinemas alone with a big bag of popcorn and iced green tea, enjoying my alone-time immensely.

Maybe my second month will be better, when I have finally adjusted to everything that is different from the usual back home. When I have finally started working and I will not have time to think about what I miss and when at last I am going home.

Maybe then I will stop counting the days.

Until then, one month and two days so far.

When A Man Loves A Woman

Shah Jahan was a Mughal King who had three wives.

Among the three, it was the third wife he loved the most. His first two wives did not give him any children, but Mumtaj, the third wife, not only was she the most beautiful, she also gave him 14 children.

When Mumtaj died, Shah Jahan decided to erect a monument of his love for her and built the magnificent white Taj Mahal in pure marble, a perfect symmetrical structure that is truly fit for a dearly beloved queen. 

In there his queen will lay to rest and her beauty to be admired by the world for years to come.

It took twenty two years and the people’s money to build it. 

When at last the Taj Mahal was finished standing tall in the heart of Agra, Shah Jahan so admired his work that he wanted to build a black version of it for himself, to be built right across the river that flows from Delhi and in perfect symmetry to be face to face with the white Taj Mahal. 

One of his sons however, successfully overthrew him and physically stopped him from further spending the people’s money for another tomb replicating the one already standing tall. Shah Jahan was then put to prison in Agra Fort and from a small cell through a small window; he spent the remaining 8 years of his life looking at his Taj Mahal.

I am sure that if you google the story of the Taj Mahal, it will provide you with details and perhaps better words describing it. I am only retelling it as it was told to us by our tour guide when we visited one of the world’s greatest man-made structures. Foreign and local tourists armed with cameras flock to the City of Agra in India to see this monument. As most tourists, I did my fair share of touristy things too and did the Princess Diana pose. I went to Agra however, not just to take photos but to actually see for myself how magnificent and beautiful a man’s love for a woman can be immortalized.

For many who have seen the Taj Mahal, it was a perfect symmetrical structure, and I will only confuse myself with architectural and engineering technical terms as to why it is so. But what I saw was a love story and what a sad love story it was indeed. Upon exiting the Taj, we saw two identical tombs that appear to stand guards at the gate of the great white tomb. They were in fact, the resting grounds for the first two wives of Shah Jahan. They stood like bridesmaids to one beautiful bride that stole their husband’s heart.

The Taj Mahal hides in the heart of Agra and its color changes from sunrise to sunset. It stands beautifully right in the middle of a gorgeous garden and yet, as I stood still facing it from the eastern gate amidst the crowd for the very first time, lonely is the word I could think of to describe it. The Taj Mahal is lonely. She seems restful and quiet but lonely. As we took a view of the place where the foundation of the supposed black Taj Mahal was to be laid, I could not help but think that if Shah Jahan was not imprisoned and the construction of the black version was not halted, maybe the magnificent white Taj Mahal would not seem lonely.

The story of the Taj Mahal ironically is a backdrop to the still existing tradition and culture of India where a woman is but a man’s wife, a sister or a mother, not to be known as herself, where her name is to be known as her husband’s name when she is married. A woman’s desire to be a wife is measured by the amount of dowry her family can afford to offer. A village woman’s success is dependent on a husband she can find to marry her. This is a society where baby boys are preferred over baby girls during pregnancy and after. These are facts we can find, or we were told, or we may have read about, but Taj Mahal tells me something else.

It is a monument of love. It knocks the anvil of a man’s devotion for a woman immortalized for the naked eye to appreciate from one generation after another. A proof that somehow, there was once this King who ruled a nation and built this one magnificent structure to tell the world for years to come, that he lived to love a woman and her name was Mumtaj Mahal.

Division by Context

A question was asked, and it had me thinking.

"Who else has been to a third-world country before?"

As a new volunteer, I suppose I have yet to meet the bigger challenges in my place of assignment. I have not even started working. Yet being a new volunteer, fresh from the rigorous pre-departure trainings, that question still haunts me.

The person who asked the question probably did not mean to be offensive by saying it, and maybe he was just being naive.  However it is not an excuse for being callous. 

As a new volunteer, I look up to the serving volunteers with high respects, for doing what they do, for actually in the placement for a period of time now, for everything they have given up back home in order to serve as volunteers.  But callousness is just not one of the dimensions this volunteering is all about.

How is political correctness present in a question when you already know by way of introduction from the very first day of orientation and even prior to departure, that one would be coming from a third-world country.

Third-world is a Western concept just as terrorism is another Western concept.

I see a divide here and this division is only a matter of context.

But as volunteers we are trained to be flexible and adaptable.  To be sensitive to the needs of others.  to be committed to learning.  To have a positive and realistic commitment.  To be self-assured. to work with others.

Now, when we cannot bear the heat and tolerance of the culture seems unbearable, do we buy air-conditioner and say fuckem 'all?

Maybe I am just being idealistic, being new and all that jazz.

No apologies.

Now I am sure brows will be raised and murmurs will be heard.  To those who would feel affected by my opinion, please understand that this is an exercise of freedom of speech. It is another copied concept by a third-world country like the Philippines, and is very much alive since even before the Declaration of Philippine Independence. 

There is indeed a divide by way of context.  It is a process I am chewing bit by bit, morsel by morsel.  

As for us third-world volunteers, flex those facial muscles and smile.  We are here.  Make the Filipinos proud.   

ACTUALLY

In three days it will be exactly a month since I first arrived in India.  It has all been a well-deserved break if I may say, from the hustle and bustle of Metro Manila, and from my otherwise erratic sense of belongingness to nowhere in particular.  The endless quest to chase some open door has somehow come to a halt, and I am actually exercising the greatest of all prayer, patience.

Here, that is all I have done so far, being patient and taking my time.  I kind of miss the days when I did not have time to actually smell the flowers (I never thought sampaguita, our national flower actually smells wonderful!), and sleeping was just something I had to do so as to keep my sanity intact. Sleep was usually induced, and it was not at all restful.  Here, I have enjoyed sleeping without actually taking anything at all. I have also started mastering an Indian dish called Shahi Paneer (Shahi for tomatoes and paneer for cottage cheese) and I am actually learning to appreciate eating plain vegetable dishes.  Here, I am also taking long walks not only to familiarize myself with the different turns and roundabouts of the streets, but to just actually enjoy walking while chatting with my roommate as we talk about India in general and smell the street foods and incense along the way.

Yes, I think that my roommate Jen and I could actually be potential good friends not only because we both love dogs and that we love Big Mac quarter pounder with extra cheese, but also because we both feel the same for India and that it was India that chose us not the other way around.  She arrived here at the start of winter season last year, while, I on the other hand, have arrived here at the end of summer here, and supposedly the beginning of Monsoon. At the time she was probably weighing things to come up with a concrete decision to actually say yes to India, I was on the brink of calling it quits with the whole idea of holding on and hoping and dreaming was something I did not do in the waking. And for some reasons, she found me, just as I was looking for someone to talk to about a possible placement in Orissa. 

I have never been a firm believer of fate since I first had a broken heart over a dream, but so far, things have been leading me towards believing the possibility of it.  I cannot even repeat the word twice for fear that I might actually convince myself that it does happen, and that it can actually happen even to someone as cynical as I am.  Maybe it is just a twisted definition for an accidental event or a coincidence.  Whatever it is, it is actually giving me a small tug in the stomach.

I must also admit that I hate the honking of vehicles in the streets and I think that there should be a proper place to keep the cows from roaming around, and that it is rude to stare at strangers, but these are just a few things that would eventually lead me to what I must have come here for in the first place.

I can say that you can actually smell a cow’s dung when you cross the streets, and gender inequality seems like a way of life out here, but then at the end of the day, there is always a reason for everything.  I may not like it but who is to say that it is not right.

I can bitch all day about how my day is just as boring as the day before, or worse than the previous day, and I can be unstoppable doing just that because my very nature would dictate that I should, but then that would defeat the purpose of my reason for being actually here and actually living here for a year.

It is not being politically correct, or that I may have instilled in me the preparing for change training that we all had to attend in order to understand somehow the meaning of volunteerism.  I am not trying to be politically correct and this is not a disclaimer.  This is actually an exercise of free speech, and I am only thinking out loud.

Eventually, when all else fail, and when I have to succumb to my being just as human as everyone else, at least I have something to remind me that it will pass, that we all go through it, and that it is nothing like what I have been through before coming over.

I am here to experience India and hopefully be able to share what little experiences I have earned from working with WWF-Philippines back home in a small island southernmost part of the Philippine islands, and including those experiences I have had from living away from home in the metropolis of the National Capital Region of my beloved country.

Jen, my Irish roommate once asked me, after I told her about a third-world country comment made by one of the serving volunteers, that coming from a third-world country myself, what indeed brought me here? I could have given her a Miss Universe-like answer and snap back world peace as my answer, but I told her that I have my professional and personal reasons.

I came to share an experience, live an experience and bring back home the lessons I have learned, and to heal and be patient.

It is not about the color of the skin.  It is not even about the height.  As for the serving Filipino volunteers, we can always take the small table for buffet-like lunches prepared mostly by Filipinos, without a grain of salt, but always with a grin.   

It is a give and take journey for me and I intend to make the most out of it no matter what.  I have been warned not to be all heart in fulfilling my assignment here or else I would just disappoint myself when I return home.  I have been warned not to take things seriously, and to just enjoy the whole experience.  I intend to do just that too and hopefully more than just that. 

I shall taste it and chew it bit by bit, like the yellow dal.  I cannot understand what it is made of and sometimes it does taste a bit funny, but it is a fusion of spices and color.  You may not like it at first, but eventually you will get used to its chilliness, saltiness and spiciness, and your taste buds will adjust to it eventually, and then to your surprise, you might actually like it.  India is actually like the yellow dal to me. I may not like it at first, but eventually I will.  I think I will. I know I will.

  

Sleeper Train

1 August 2010

SLEEPER TRAIN

It is my first time on a sleeper train and it feels like seeing things in a different perspective.  Coming from three weeks of orientation and hearing only descriptions, imagining them as I have understood them, it is only now that I have come to feel that I have finally arrived in India.

Today starts the day of reckoning, the day when I am actually starting my true journey.  It seems surreal.  I must be mad for coming this far, but I guess one has to be to dangerously live and live fully.

I have had my fair share of complains like any other stranger since I arrived in Delhi, and not just once did I wish I was home comfortably watching cable television while surfing the internet in an island not many of my own countrymen even know exactly where it is located.

But now, right here in my cot, I am actually enjoying the view from my sleeper train window and realizing that I am actually here makes me nervous and excited.

I am having a cheese sandwich with some local non-veg deli with my hot chai for an afternoon snack, while I write down my thoughts.  I am indeed enjoying this sleeper train ride that I initially thought of keeping the tea kit as a souvenir from my first sleeper train ride, but on second thought, I am not here as a tourist and actually drinking the tea makes the journey indelibly more memorable.

I have come here supposedly to change lives with what skills I have learned in my home country, and sharing them with the locals in my place of assignment, but surely and with life’s changing uncertainties, if there is one life that is about to be changed, it is going to be mine.

More than I can give to India, She is going to give me something and more.  I shall seize every moment that I am here and in giving and learning at the same time, I am hope to bring back home not just pictures and memories, but the whole life altering experiences.

Now I am taking one last bite of my cheese sandwich and one last sip of my chai to celebrate the beginning of my journey.

All is well.