Weddings in India

In 2001 I came to India to see my friend, Vinod, get married. The celebration had "a cast of thousands and a cost of millions". It was an impressive and lavish affair with people attending from all over the world. Last night I attended my second wedding in India but with the whole village in attendance, food cooked by the family, and celebrated under the stars.

Fortunately, this time I didn't have to crash the wedding to participate like in Vietman. This time I was made an honored guest and I got to bless the food and the couple. I arrived early and I was dragged back into the house where I was dressed in a remarkably gorgeous sari and jewelry so that I was properly dressed befitting my standing in the community. (this is the third time this has happened to me.) There was great laughter all around when I came out to meet my public and I now have an inkling of what the Red Carpet feels like on Oscar night with all the flashbulbs popping. Fortunately, the bride and groom finally showed up and I was quietly forgotten. She looked gorgeous.

This wedding was a shortened version of the first one with only three days of celebrating, with parties thrown by both families in their respective villages. At the end of the week, the bride will pack up and go with her husband to his family's village and will forever become part of his family. She will no longer be considered part of her own family. I said that I would cry if it were me and everyone agreed that there would be tears all around when it was time for her to leave. This is one reason why all parents want more boys in the family instead of girls. In the States, it's "A man is a man until he takes a wife. A daughter is a daughter for the rest of her life." But in India, parents don't gain a son-in-law as much as they lose a daughter. If they have all girls, no one will be there to help them in their old age.

Poltics in India

In the States, the combination of religion+politics can create an incendiary topic. In India, where they combine religion+politics+caste, discussion can go "nuclear". So while discussion is avoided at all costs, the three factors strongly influence daily life for everyone here.

The Hindus, who consist of 75% of the population in A.P., created the caste system, still own most of the land, hold the greatest political influence and control most of the wealth. The Muslims at 20% live peacefully alongside their neighbors but generally stick to themselves. Their schools are not open to others. The Christians make up the remaining 5% and are at the bottom of the socio-economic ladder.

St. Thomas is said to have come to India in 54 A.D. and the Church as been here ever since. Christianity's concept of an egalitarian society attracted the lowest caste members, the so-called "Untouchables" and it is here among the poorest of the poor that the Church works. Once a person is a Christian they are deemed to be relieved of the caste system which should allow them to move up in Indian society. But these Dalit Christians can not seem to reach even the bottom rung of the ladder because, using a cruel form of logic, the Indian government considers them "liberated" and exempt from government financial assistance. The Church's focus is aimed at helping the poor regardless of their faith but it has to work doubly hard to assist the Dalits since they fall through the net of any national social programs.Imagine if the US outlawed all government subsidy programs for Black Americans now that we have a Black president and you can get an idea of the impact on this demographic.

To round out the complexity of the problem, fundamentalist Hindus are now attempting to whip up a form of ethnic cleansing with a "India for Hindus only" movement. The murder of over 60 Catholics in Orissa is evidence of this threat. Many Catholics have moved out of "mixed" villages to live together in small, impoverished outposts. These outposts, or Missions, are where the priests are sent to help lead these people out of poverty mainly through education. But hatred can follow a person anywhere. Fr. Suneel took me to see his former mission where he was attempting to build houses for the residents. When the police came to arrest him for a trumped up charge, his parishioners chased the authorities away with sticks in an effort to protect him and their rights to exist.

Some of this explains why my appearance on the scene is causing such a stir. Last evening I attended a wedding and ate at the bride's family's home. The priest commented that had they not been Catholics, it was inconceivable that this family would have ever had the chance to sit at the same table with me. Whereas in the States, we have spent the last 200 years trying to live up to the standard that "All men are created equal, here in India the very idea of a white woman associating with an "untouchable's" is beyond comprehension. Today, I helped the Bishop pass out scholarships to a small group of families. Their leader said that I was like a movie star to them- someone who you had seen but could never imagine that they would actually meet someday.

Not everybody in the Church is of the lowest ranked caste of course. But most of the population here in AP that the Church is serving is comprised of these "outcasts". So I am slowly beginning to understand the "over"-reaction of the orphans, and street children and villagers that I meet. I am a Mega-star: an American and a guest in India, a friend of the Bishop, and so white that they can find me in the dark. So I operate at the highest echelons of society in their minds and here I am shaking hands, chatting and playing with them.

I feel like a fake much of the time but I do recognize an opportunity when I see one. Less than two weeks after arriving I had a chance to ride along with a group that was going to try to present a petition to the Chief Minister asking that Dalits be considered for government assistance if they are below the poverty line. I thought I would just sit in the car but I was pushed along with the crowd to the front of the gathering, beside the door that the Chief Minister would enter. It was a huge political gathering complete with paparazzi, bodyguards, and groups clamoring for his attention. As he approached the door, he couldn't help but notice me with my fluorescent white skin so when I caught his eye, he politely said "hello". I stuck out my hand to shake his and didn't let go. I said that I was from America and that I was a friend of the Bishop. Also I understood that he was a Christian, the first to ever hold political power in AP. He smiled as he acknowledged this and I complimented him on his courage. Then I said, "The whole world is watching. We appreciate anything you do for the Christians here." while the press snapped pictures of us. I was the only person he spoke to who was on the other side of the Police barricades. Our group was floored at my impromptu political message and they gathered courage to present their petitions. No one believes that change will come in their lifetime, but they hope that someday the Dalits will become eligible for aide. In the meantime, they will keep working hard to educate the poor to raise them up one child at a time.

changing Seasons in India

While Ohio is caught in the grip of temperatures in the single digits, India is preparing to enter summer. When I arrived the average daily high was 84 degrees. Only a little over two weeks later, it has already climbed to daily highs of 94, which is well ahead of the normal weather pattern. The nights mercifully cool down to 70 which gives my room a chance to cool off. This old seminary building was closed more than 40 years ago as unsuitable and reopened in desperation for a place to house the newly created Bishop. I have no a/c and the stone holds the heat from the day.

Here in Andhra Pradesh, the harvest has just been completed along with the Indian version of our Thanksgiving holidays. The rice crop has been collected and is being stored, the tomatoes are in from the fields, and everyone is anticipating the harvest of cantalopes and watermelons. The Old Age home has its own rice paddy and they told me the professional rat catchers caught 1750 rats before they harvested the rice. In India, the standard is a 30% loss of the harvest to rats and the pros get 3 rupees per animal using net-like traps. I'm glad I missed that part of the fun.

Food in India

I had a chance to go to the vegetable market today with Brother Chendra who is in charge of the Bishop’s House operations. Markets are basically the same the world over, but I was surprised at the incredible friendliness of the vendors. I snapped a picture of a Muslim fundamentalist and he very kindly explained to me that only photographs of nature are allowed in his religion. I apologized and erased the picture, he was satisfied and another international incident was averted without collateral damage. The tolerance of the various religions in India is legendary and I have never seen or heard a single disparaging remark about any faith.

Our meals here are largely vegetables and grains with a little chicken and “mutton” (aka goat), and very occasionally fish. Each dish is made with a its own variety of spices. But what largely comes through for me is the chili. Every dish is spicy hot it seems, even breakfast food. This morning we had noodles for breakfast, for example, and they are spicy hot enough to not only wake up your tongue, but your whole body. So far the only dish that didn’t appeal to me was boiled bitter gourds. At first I thought maybe the cook had made a mistake but as it turns out it was not only made correctly, it is a favorite dish. I am now closely monitoring the dishes for any bitter gourds that are slipped in. I told them that in Texas we would slice them and deep fry them with spices and everyone would like them. Turns out, they make them this way too and while they’ll never replace chips or fritos, they aren’t bad.

I have only been eating at parish houses and convents so I haven’t had a chance to try street food yet. But I was given a box of sweets to try and they are teeth-cracking sweet! It’s like eating a block of solid brown sugar with some odd combination of spices thrown in as a surprise. A tiny bite goes a long, long way. I don’t think I’ll be replacing my Croatian nutrolls with Indian concoctions for our Christmas parties. Not unless I want to throw everyone into a diabetic coma!

The Aged in India

The man in the picture lives at an old age home conceived, established and operated by UK Catholic group. They picked him up from a dump on their way back from town two years ago. He literally had been thrown away, left to rot and die. From the sounds of his condition at that time, he wasn't that far from death when they brought him back. Today he's frail, but clean and well cared for along with 60 others of all faiths.

One of the amazing features of this project is that there is an orphanage on the campus, too. The children go to school but return home to an extended family. The elderly get to bask in the strength and gain life from the children. Each group is a blessing to the other. I was so impressed that I almost lost sight of the fact that this place exists because, even in India, people are considered disposable.

Career Choices in India

I complimented a nun on her habit the other day, a flowing elegant sari in a creamsicle shade of soft orange. She told me that I could have one just like it and it would only cost me six years. Even nuns have a sense of humor.

It’s easy to see how a young village girl would be attracted to the vocations here. Safety, security, education, identity, community and purpose await those who enter the convent here. If her family can not afford to send her to school, a lifetime of labor may await her in the fields or in the brickyards. Their options are few and religious life may look like an easy way out of poverty. The cynics will tell you that this is why India turns out so many professed sisters and priests.

This may be true. But then, why do they stay in the vocations? Their lives are far from easy from what I can see. Sister Rosemin manages a 20 patient sanitarium for TB patients in an isolated, rural outpost and provides all the medical help to anyone who asks for miles around. She has been there by herself for three years. Three Sisters from St. Anne’s convent take care of all the needs of 80 disabled children. Many others are teachers. No one has more than minimal resources. They can be reassigned to anywhere at anytime. Six years of training plus a lifetime of work plus vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, doesn’t sound like an easy life to me.

Yet, I am warmly welcomed. I hear no complaints, no requests for money. They all laugh easily and smile often. If there is tension below the surface, I can not see it. The children flock to them and hunger for their attention. They appear to be happy, dedicated, hardworking women who have made a tough choice and are making a difference in their world. I, for one, am grateful to them for making this "career choice".

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The disabled in India

There are no pictures today because I went to a home for disabled children and I didn't think it would be respectful to photograph them. Eighty children are cared for by three sisters and attend school on their campus. In general, the children have families and they will return to them after they complete 10th grade if they can make it that far. The families simply can not care for them at home and it would be impossible for the kids to go to school with their disabilities. There is no ADA act in India that provides transportation, special classes, ramps, etc. Most of them were severely lame, several were severely deformed at birth or had accidents that disfigured them, one boy lost and arm and a leg to electricution. A few were mentally challenged and there were one or two who were blind. If they can't excel in school, the sisters teach them skills like sewing so that they can make a living after leaving. Those beautiful beaded saris and scarves in shop windows are made by hand and I have seen many examples of the incredible beadwork that is done by village girls as a way to earn a living. The children were so happy to have visitors and I tried to talk to every one of them. The girls sang a welcome song for me and gave me bouqets of flowers and the boys danced sitting down. There are no wheelchairs or equipment of any kind so the kids learn to scoot on the floor to move around. I come home emotionally exhausted after every trip like this. Some days I am glad that all I have to do is sit in my office and work on the computer. It's certainly easier work than what the sisters do every day.

Cultural norms in India

Shoes are not worn inside as a sign of respect. That's why "flip-flop" sytle sandals make sense here.

Indians eat with their hands so it's custom to wash your hands before and after you eat. What's amazing is what they manage to eat with their hands, including soup and yogurt and stews.

Women must always have their shoulders covered so sleeveless tops are a no-no. So are bare legs out in public.

Marriage ceremonies tradtionally lasted for 5 days because the marriages were arranged. Often it was the first time that the bride and groom met each other. So the families and often a large portion of the village came together to get to know each other and help the couple get adjusted before getting married. With the whole family involved and half the village, everybody becomes vested in the success of the marriage over the long haul. In India, marriage is forever.

Smoking in public has also been outlawed in India, just like the US, so you almost never see anyone smoking outside.

Prison in India

There are no pictures with this post because I couldn't take any in Kadapa Central Prison today. I went with a small group of people led by a priest who has a prison ministry. One thousand men and about 50 women are incarcerated there. Like the US, they have a kitchen, a training program, education programs, exercise, etc. Unlike the US, if the women enter while pregnant, they keep their children until age 5. At age 5, they are taken to a government orphanage until their family can reclaim them. Seven children were in prison with their mothers. The women are housed in a small facility behind thick walls on the prison campus. The children are not free to roam beyond the tiny yard of their mother's prison home. They know nothing of the outside world. Like the classrooms and the orphanages I have seen, there are no beds, tables or chairs. Just a dormitory where everyone sits on the floor and sleeps on a mat. The women wear a white sari with blue trim. the ment wear cotton pants and shirts with a blue stripe.

No men are allowed in the women's facility at anytime, ever. So the women went inside to visit with the female inmates. I don't know one word of Telegu and I wouldn't have known what to say in any case. But I know how to smile and sometimes that's all you need to touch someone. I held three women in my arms while they cried. When I was called away, they asked me to bless them. They bowed their heads and I made the sign of the cross on their foreheads and I kissed them. I watched women petitioning us to take their children and give them a home and an education and a chance in life. No one ever asked for anything for themselves. No one protested their innocence or their conditions. It's impossible to watch a woman try to hand you her child and not be moved. Due to a coordinated effort, we are making arrangements for 12 children. It's a drop in the ocean, but at least it's 12 more that will have a chance.

In the end, it was not the prison that scared me. It was the Indian Justice system. Their justice system takes a Clan approach due to the caste system. If a person is accused of a crime, a very wide net is cast and members of their entire family can land in prison in retribution for the crime. Having an alibi at the time of a crime is of no consequence, corruption is rampant and the burden of proof is on the accused in a "guilty until proven innocent" system. It was a frightening day.

Men's Fashion in India

Men and boys in India wear trousers and shirt in public just like in the US. But at home or in the country, men wear a sarong that is one long piece of cloth with no buttons, snaps, pins, hooks or zippers. It can be worn long on a cold day or to protect your legs from bugs or folded up and worn short for working in the rice paddies. A towel is worn over the shoulder much like a man might carry a bandanna. It can be used as a towel to wipe your brow or your hands and it doubles has head protection. The Muslim men are always identifable by their long tunics and pants and their small brimless cap that they wear. They seem to be the only ones who ever wear a head covering of any kind. Maybe we should introduce baseball caps to India?

Women's Fashion in India

Everyone knows that Indian women wear saris. But that's really just for women. As soon as they can walk, little girls start off wearing a blouse and skirt combination made in the same gorgeous fabrics which make the saris. Little girls walking in the villages along the roadside look like flower girls at an American wedding. Their hair is always in braids that are looped into pigtails. As they become teenagers and right up through Junior College, girls wear a uniform consisting of a knee length tunic- style top draped with a long scarf that is worn across the front of the chest and hangs down the back. They also were pants with this outfit. The tunic and pants are in contrasting school colors. They wear their hair in long braids, often trimmed with flowers. Only women wear saris, each measuring 5.5 meters in length, with no seams or buttons or snaps, worn wrapped around their waist then thrown over their shoulders. A cotton skirt is worn underneath the sari like a slip and a short blouse is worn on top.
The variety of fabrics that they are made of seem endless. Each one is more beautiful than the next. The broad center aisle at the Cathedral looks like a fashion runway and I never get tired of looking at the brilliant colors. There is every color of the rainbow, except black which is generally reserved for the Muslim chadors. But don't be fooled about the modesty of the Muslim women. They still wear colorful saris underneath and their chadors are often trimmed in black lace or sequin trim. They might be modest, but they still want to be a little fashionable. One thing everyone has in common is that Jewelry is not an option, it's a MUST-have. Earrings, a silver ankle bracelet for all, even babies and bangles as soon as they will keep them on are added as a lifelong accessory.

It must take years to figure out how to tie a sari since every time I try I end up needing help. The first time I tried to dress myself in the sari I brought with me, I had the blouse on backwards. It would take years for me to master wearing one with the elegance and grace that women across India possess even when they are doing manual labor. I think I'll stick to good old fashioned blue jeans.

Busted (again) in India

For some reason I am not allowed to leave the compound per the Bishop's instruction. I seem to be able to understand the vows of poverty and chastity but I am clearly having problem with the one that mandates "obedience". For the second time since I have been here, I escaped today. The first time, nobody was around so I walked right out the front gate. Four priests, one Brother and two workers met me at the same front gate two hours later after they had sent the Table Boy to retrieve me. By this time it was pitch dark and they were having heart attacks. Today I went out the back gate through to the junior college campus and walked out with the students as school was dismissed. I walked around the block and came straight back to the compound, where two priests busted me again. I met some of the road construction workers on the way home. This is one of the pictures I took while visiting with them. These are the poorest of the poor, as you can see. I'll show you lot's more when I get home. I may be home sooner than I suspect if I don't start obeying the rules.

Monkeying around in India

There is a family of monkeys that live at the Bishop's house and they regularly come and visit me in the mornings. People used to leave food out for them until the Bishop banned it. They were making too much noise scampering on the rooftop and they are all too whiling to come inside for a look. I sit on the veranda, enclosed by wire, and watch them outside running loose. It's like a reverse zoo. I'm inside and they are outside.
I'd love to make friends with them by leaving food, but I'd be caught for sure.

The priests here get their daily exercise in the late afternoon, before evening chapel and dinner. They work up a sweat playing a mean game of badminton. Now if only I could find a good way to exercise and still stay within the compound we'd all stay healthy.

A Princess in India

It may appear that all I do is drive around visiting, however I have spent most of my time here working for the Bishop. It's tedious computer research, so it's not very exciting to write about.

But when I do have the chance to get out and visit, I do. No matter where I go, I am treated like the Princess of Wales. I attract attention just showing up: everyone wants to meet me, children want my autograph, people invite me to their homes. I shake hands with them all, no matter who asks. A teacher gave me the bangles off her wrist, a cook gave me a pair of earrings, one 5 year old gave me a piece of candy, and the wife of one of the workers here gave me one of her 4 saris, a lovely rose pink silk one. I told her the Bishop would not let me accept it but it's impossible to refuse the other gifts. It would be an insult and I can't do that to them even though I know how little they have.

Street Kids in India

I met a priest at the cathedral on Sunday who invited me to visit him at his "center for boys" so today I went. Thirty boys from grade 5 to 9 where in residence at this orphanage. All are drop-outs, runaways or abandoned children. They are the street kids of the slums Watch the new movie "Slumdog Millionaire" and you'll get a sense of their lives. Parish priests bring them there and so do the police. But residence is optional. They can leave if they want to. Some stay a day or two, some two -three years. Either way, it's up them. They would just runaway again if they tried to hold them. The place was less than half full since many of the boys had left for the Pongol holiday and had decided not to return. Where are they? Who knows.

The building has two floors plus the roof. There are no beds, no desks, or chairs in any of the rooms. They each have a mat and a blanket and they sleep on the floor. Many prefer to sleep on the roof as they are more comfortable outside than in. There are traditional classes for those who want to attend and there is vocational training for those who don't want to bother anymore with "School". The Fathers of Mercy run the center and their are two priests in residence. But they haven't been able to keep up the funding so the Diocese commited to the picking up the tab for three years @ $1000/month. They have one more year to go on their promise.

Guest in India

India has a strong culture of hospitality. As a crossroad for world traffic, India has been used to receiving visitors since ancient times. Holiday Inns were in short supply back then, so people took travelors into their homes for food and rest without question, even if food was limited. The Indians of today receive guests in that same spirit of hospitality and I am no exception to their ancient rules.

“Will you take tea, Madam?” Food and drink is offered immediately upon arriving and it is impossible for an Indian to accept a guest’s refusal. Sisters rush to make me my second breakfast of the day in spite of the fact that I have indicated that I have just eaten. Food appears automatically in front of me. Staying for lunch is simply assumed and a feast is prepared before you can say it is not necessary: green beans, rice, bread, curries, chicken, stews, dal, cucumber, yogurt, and fruit. It is impossible to serve yourself and your plate is heaped with food. Finish that plate and you are encouraged to eat, eat, eat more. If it’s between meals, every snack in the house is brought out and tea poured. It is simply IMPOSSIBLE to refuse and so I have learned to try to eat very little at the Bishop’s house, especially if I am going visiting during the day I have finally gotten them to accept that in spite of my large size, I can not eat so much. What I really want is a diet coke but that is not on the menu. I am now seven days without one and up till now, I would have killed for one. Today I might just maim someone permanently for life but not kill them for a cold can of diet coke.

Yesterday my driver pointed out the man on the bicycle transporting large plastic jugs, indicating “Milk Man”. Tea is half milk here and it suddenly occurred to me that our cook is not running out every day to Giant Eagle for pasturized milk, nor does the yogurt which is served every day arrive in a Dannon plastic carton. Even after reading all the food warnings before coming, I just hadn’t thought about the milk not being pasturized. The other day, I was given a glass of chilled buttermilk with some kind of purple and green leaves floating in it that tasted somewhat like onion. I wasn’t crazy about it. So far, though, I have had no health problems and I am drinking the same water that everyone else drinks. It’s all bottled water but the plastic bottles are just convenient cartons that are being reused. The only thing that might be a 100% safe to drink is a diet coke from an unopened can but, like I said, it’s not an option.

Traffic in India

I came to India in 2001 to see my friend and former associate, Vinod Melvani, get married in Mumbai and I will never, ever forget the experience of riding in a car. We sat three across in the back of a old, large touring car, it may have been a Bentley. Our driver didn't speak English but he was as cool as a cucumber. While the others closed our eyes, one of us kept watch out the window just so we had a recollection of what we hit if we survived the crash.

For this trip, I am lucky enough to still have a fearless driver and while the car is now a small SUV/jeep type vehicle, the traffic has not improved one bit. Because I am a guest, they make me sit up front so I can see clearly what is going to kill us. It occured to me today that I had not observed any traffic signs such as speed limits. Then I realized that there are no signs because there are no rules. Who could write them?

For instance, everyone knows that cows are protected so they have the right of way. But who has the right of way on a two lane road with no shoulders in the following situations:

• the woman walking down the middle of the road bringing in her cattle for the night or the dumptruck coming from the left or the motorcyle coming from the right?
• you or the double-ox cart carrying an oversized load that spans fully one and a half lanes?

Answer: don't ask me, I close my eyes each time.

How long can a flock of ducks stop traffic in both directions?
Answer: as long as it takes. Same for loose pigs.

If women have spread grain stalks all across the road, do you slow down and run over it or go around it?
Answer: you go over it slowly. They put it there on purpose so that the tires will separate the grain from the shaft thereby elminating the need for them to beat it.

Should you ever blow your horn at people in the village who are standing in the road as you are passing through town at breakneck speed?
Answer: yes always, unless you plan to run them over.

How many people can fit into a three-wheeled autorickshaw designed to hold one driver and two adults in the back seat?
Answer: unknown upper limit. At last count there were two sitting with the driver, three across the back seat with one on the floor and a family of four riding on the tailgate. Seat belts optional.

What is the maximum limit load that a woman walking can carry on her head?
Answer: if she can still move under her own power and remain upright, she can carry it.

How many people can legally ride on a motorcyle?
Answer: at least one child in front of the driver, a small child wedged in between and a mother wearing a sari and riding side saddle holding an infant in her arms without hanging on. Helmets are immaterial. If the bike goes down, they're all dead anyways.

Are there any illegal forms of transportation?
Not that I can tell but I haven't seen any camels yet. I did on the first trip.

School in India

Imagine an American "junior" college student living on campus and seeing monkeys scampering in the treetops above, parrots flying overhead and cricket being played just outside his dorm room.

Then imagine no air conditioning in their dorm rooms or the classrooms, outside open-air toilets and sinks, no computers, shared wooden desks, blackboards for teaching aides, and you will have some idea of St. Joseph's Junior College, which is next door to the Bishop's House. If you think I am describing some ancient, crumbling institution you'd be wrong. They keep trying to update, but they are doing the best they can.

Eight hundred students live and study here and are happy for the opportunity. They do their own washing and sleep on iron cots, just like me but I get my own room. They are in large dorms. There are no amenities.

I have met the college students who are being sponsored by foreigners as part of my work here and they are serious about their studies and grateful that someone is helping them with the finances. Most of them look like 8th graders, they are so small of stature, so thin. The grade school children are positively tiny, all due to the lack of good nutrition. I look like the Giantess from the Harry Potter movies. If you were to say that I am "head and shoulders" above the Indians, you'd be literally correct.

I have been to three grade schools in the surrounding area so far, each one is run by Catholic nuns. But unlike the Muslim schools here, the schools are open to all and the Catholic religion is not taught, nor are children expected to convert. For village children, this is their only option to attend school.

Preschool starts at age 3 and English is taught right from the start. They have found that this is a better way to teach language than waiting until they are older. In addition to English, the children must also learn to read and write in their own language, Telegu, and Hindi, the national language. Imagine having to be proficient in three languages if you can.

The classrooms look like abandoned buildings at best and like ancient ruins at their worst. There is a blackboard at the front. If you are really lucky, you share a desk in the upper grades. The first school I went to had no desks, K through 8th grade. The teacher stands, the children sit on the floor. All day. Every day. They bring their lunch from home. School starts at 9:00 and finishes at 4:00. Some come by school van. If they are lucky they don't have far to travel. Other children leave home at 7:30 and return home at 5:30. Tough day for a three year old.

The schools are recognized as accredited by the Indian government, but they receive no funding from either the government or the Catholic diocese. The fees charged are nominal but the students must also purchase uniforms and a few supplies. Those that are sponsored are from families who can't afford even that small amount.

My first assignment was to go to these schools and find the children that were sponsored so that we could update their paperwork. They must present proof of their grades and payment of expenses. In addition they had to all write thank you letters to their foreign sponsors. these letters will be translated into English then sent with a photograph of the students. With all the scams in the world, Americans have become so cynical. My first thoughts are always that these "sponsor-a- child" programs just had good marketing programs. They picture kids with dark, sad eyes, looking so innocent in their dusty uniforms in front of buildings that look abandoned, standing in front of young teachers wearing colorful saris. Yeah, right.

But I met these children and their parents in some cases. I met the teachers. I spent all day with them. They never asked me for money. They were all excited to meet someone from the outside who was interested in them. Some wanted autographs, some want to practice their English, some just want to shake hands. They giggle, push each other, ask "what is your name?", "what is your husband's name?" "Where are you from?" I repeat the same answers over and over as I meet the children. I'm getting better at engaging them each time we go out.

More later. I am out of light to work.

Life in India so far

Hello everyone,

I haven’t had internet access which is why the long delay in communicating.

Where am I?

I am on the outskirts of Cuddapah at the Bishop's House in the state of Andrah Predesh in South India. . I haven't been into town yet.

The House is an old stone building that was abandoned as a Seminary many, many years ago and while the design is effective for keeping cool, the electricity and the water are both serious problems. A new House is under construction but probably won't be finished until after I leave.

What’s the food like?

I eat my meals with the resident priests in the dining hall. There is a cook (Mary) and a table boy (Su basha Chandra, age 20; they call him “Boss”) so I don’t have to worry about where my next meal is coming from or if I have to do the dishes. But they are feeding me to death. India is famous for its hospitality and they insist on feeding you if you are visiting. I think I am averaging seven meals a day, not including snacks. The food is spicy hot but generally unidentifiable. This morning we had some kind of rice dumpling and a variety of “stews” that are poured over the cakes. It’s all good so I try not to think about what I might be eating. I eat what I am served regardless. I even have had coffee. They make their tea and coffee the same way: half milk and half sugar and spices and only a tiny bit of coffee or tea. I can’t usually tell much a difference. I’d still rather have diet coke but I don’t think that’s on the menu.

What have I been doing?

Yesterday, my first day on the ground here, Father Ravi and I and N. Rajaiah, a clerk headed to Holy Rosary Parish, about two and a half hours north. It’s a huge parish where 800 people show up for mass on a Sunday. The Priest is on his very first posting and has only been there 30 days. There is a full school K-8, plus a convent that runs a boarding school, a hospital, and a farm. Sr. Peter showed us around and it is amazing how much work they do. Nuns apparently are the same all over the world and Sr. Peter may not have had the title of “head mistress” but let me tell you, she was clearly in charge.

Greetings from India

Hello friends,
Finally, I am logged on. The combination of my lack of computer knowledge and the challenges of communicating, electrical connections, internet access, and on/off power availability have been overwhelming for me. But I have persevered and hopefully, I can begin to tell you all about my adventures here.

Details of life here will follow.