Here is the second letter I wrote to my family and friends about my trip to India…
December 15, 2008
It’s been nearly two months
since I returned from India. I had fully intended to write another letter
while I was there, but failed to get around to it. After returning home
I was quite busy with various events, and only now do I feel I can sit
down and revive the second half of my journey in India…
After building relationships
with the people in a Delhi slum for three weeks, my team took a 24-hour
train to Kolkata. Our leader wanted us to have the “real” experience,
so like most of the Indian population traveling long distance, we stayed
in the sleeper class. It was hot, grimy, and crowded. We did, however, get a beautiful view
of the countryside.
Kolkata wasn’t much like
Delhi. The language, weather, transport, and culture were all different.
Having only recently adapted to my lifestyle in Delhi, I felt like I
was starting over again. Our accommodations were still in a slum, but
it was quite a different slum from Delhi. It wasn’t as filthy, foul,
or congested. We had beds! And our “toilet” area was much more spacious.
Despite these newfound luxuries, I found myself missing the more repulsive
slum. Because that’s where my friends were.
During our first week we volunteered
at Mother Teresa’s. There are a number of homes she established-some
for babies, handicapped children, battered women, or the dying-from
which we could choose to help out with. I decided, along with two of
the girls from my team, Lisa and Lucy, to go to the home for battered
women, otherwise known as Shanti Dan.
After walking to a bus stop,
scrambling on a bus that never fully stopped, clinging to the railing
for dear life as people pushed and stared, jumping off the moving bus,
squeezing into a crowded auto rickshaw, and walking for twenty minutes
in the hot, hot sun, we would arrive at Shanti Dan at 8:00 a.m.
The first day I was pretty
excited-I was ready to bond with these women and make a difference
in their lives! As soon as we arrived, however, Lisa and I were practically
kidnapped by a woman who forced us to wash windows. She criticized my
window washing abilities the entire time, often making me rewash areas
I had just finished scrubbing. I’ll admit–I was offended. I
later learned that this woman suffers from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
After we finished the windows,
Lisa and I were ordered to clean the wall. This did not make me happy.
What happened to making a difference in these women’s lives? As if
she had just read my mind, Lisa said, “Well, at least we’re making
a difference to the wall.” I half laughed, half sighed. “No really,”
Lisa continued. “It’s like in the Karate Kid, when Mr. Miyagi makes
Daniel do all those chores, such as waxing and painting the fence. Daniel
gets mad, but then Mr. Miyagi shows him that he was unknowingly learning
karate moves.” “So, you think we’re unknowingly learning karate
moves?” I asked. “No, but there has to be some kind of bigger picture
here.” “Let’s at least hope for that.” I responded.
The next day I was able to
hang out with the ladies, who I learned were not necessarily battered,
but more so mentally handicapped. They would pee on the floor, stare
into space, and there was this one who sang “ee-i-ee-i-ohh” repeatedly.
Apparently another volunteer had taught her “Old MacDonald Had a Farm”
years earlier.
I was assigned to clip their
toenails, and found myself holding back vomit with each new foot that
was placed in front of me. These women never wear shoes, and apparently
very rarely have their toenails clipped (they looked like claws). I
never knew feet could be so revolting. I thought of Jesus washing the
disciples’ feet, and wondered if the disciples’ feet were half as
bad as these women’s. So then I felt a little bit like Jesus-except
he probably wasn’t cursing under his breath like I was. Later Lisa
and I had a conversation about how Jesus is in everyone, even the crazy
“ee-i-ee-i-ohh” lady.
Just as I was finally adapting
to my new routine in Kolkata, everything fell apart when Lisa became
quite ill and had to be admitted to the hospital for a week. Lisa was
the only one on my team who I felt I could really relate to. She was
the only one who could make me laugh, or give meaning to something as
silly as washing a wall. I became terribly lonely without her around.
Then I found out she wouldn’t be joining the few of us who were going
to Darjeeling, and I feared I wouldn’t survive. I have never felt
more lonely in my life.
I did survive Darjeeling, and
even had some good times. The air was much cooler, so much that I even
used a blanket at night. We went on a three-day trek through the Himalayas,
where I was able to befriend fellow travelers, push myself physically,
and witness breathtaking views.
Finally, we flew back to Delhi,
where four days later my plane would depart for home. Again, I wondered
if I would be able to survive until then. Thankfully, Lisa met up with
us-she had finished recovering in Kolkata. We stayed at a home for
women who had been outcast from their families. One girl had been rescued
from prostitution, another was pregnant, and I’m not sure about the
others, though I’m sure it was something similar.
One afternoon Lisa and I went
to visit our beloved friends in the slum we stayed in when we first
arrived in India. As we entered the home to one of the families we stayed
with, they rushed toward us with big smiles and even bigger hugs. It
happened with the other families we visited as well, with one of our
friends saying, “I very, very miss you.” It was one of the happiest
days of my life.
I spent my last day in India
counting down the hours until I could go to the airport. At 5 p.m. I
joined the girls in the house for tea. They dressed me in a Sari, took
me out to the balcony, and took pictures of me. Afterward we sat on
one of the girl’s beds, laughing and talking and looking at old photos.
For once, time seemed to pass by so quickly.
Before I knew it my suitcase
was by the door and we were eating dinner. Five minutes to 8 p.m. (the
time I had obsessively dreamed of), they laid hands on me and prayed
in Hindi. I didn’t know what they were saying, but it made me cry.
These tears were different from the ones I had previously cried on my
trip-they didn’t stem from loneliness, but rather from love.
The taxi honked for me, so
one of the girls grabbed my suitcase and walked me down the stairs.
We hugged, and I climbed into the taxi as my tears continued to flow.
The taxi started driving toward the airport, and I thought about something
Sameet, a child from one of the families I stayed with, had once asked
me. “Will you miss us when you are back in your country?” I told
him yes. “And will you miss India?” Yes, I certainly will.
My original plan was to move
to India for a few years, but I don’t believe now is the time for
me to go. The organization I hoped to go with doesn’t have very well
established teams in India, and that’s not something I’m willing
to sacrifice-especially after the loneliness I experienced.
So, for now, I’ve made the
choice to move to Nashville with some good friends, and together we
hope to challenge and encourage each other to fight against the social
injustice going on around us. I’m still trying to figure out what
to do with my life and the gifts God has given me.
India will never cease to have
special place in my heart. Even though most of my trip was difficult
in every imaginable sense, I feel privileged to have experienced what
I did. It changed my view of God, the world, and myself. I’m finally
beginning to grasp what Jesus meant when he said,
I was hungry and you fed
me,
I was thirsty and you gave
me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave
me a room,
I was shivering and you
gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped
to visit,
I was in prison and you
came to me.’
Whenever you did one of
these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me-you did
it to me.
Thanks for reading.
Love,
Asha (“Hope” in Hindi).
