I feel I am beginning to understand myself. Well actually, that's not true at all, but I fell I am beginning to understand what India is teaching me: grace, humility, and compassion. I wrote a previous entry about humility and grace, but now I understand more what each word means on a personal level.
I spoke with a woman tonight who is staying at my guest house. She is actually from San Francisco, touring India with interest in volunteering with the MC's. We began talking about my purpose in Calcutta. It turned into an interview meets therapy conversation with questions of why I do what I do, and how it makes me feel. But as therapy does, it makes me listen to me words and the intention behind them. I heard a lot of honesty in what I had to say.
She asked me why I chose Kalighat, a place where I knew I would experience suffering and death. I feel I learn the most about life, thus the most about myself through intensity. My daily work is not intense in the sense that one million things happen per second, but intense in the sense that what I am experiencing is well beyond, what Aristotle would consider rational (the fact that I really don't know what the hell I am doing). The spectrum of the work that I do fluctuates higher than anything I have ever done. To be honest I am concerned with returning back to school in fear of more monotony and repetitive nature.
Through this intensity I have learned grace. I believe grace is a word which encompasses other word, predominantly: elegance and beauty and love. Elegance has primarily been taught to bme by my grandmother, who carried herself with a divine serenity, communicating that our bodies speak a language. But I have also learned that it's important to act with elegance in one's daily life in order to remain healthy and sane in a place like Calcutta. I have felt more confident in myself when I stand or sit up straight. I am more sure of myself, I trust myself more. Those three trusts of "myselfs" are ways of being which help me do my work with beauty, graciousness, "balance and harmony." All of these are synonymous with elegance and grace. I don't consider elegance as shoulders back head held high in ignorance and arrogance. But I consider it a silent language or movements transcending our words. Elegance helps with my concentration, I walk joyfully with out "fear of stumbling." Paulo Coelho wrote, " Elegance is the right posture to make our every gesture perfect, our steps firm, and to give due respect to our fellow men and women." EXACTLY!!!!!!!! With grace, physical and silent, I communicate my peace, humility, grace and compassion.
Humility is often never obtained. I find that many of my peers and I, all the time, forget to be humble. But why would we need to be if we are never tested, if we are never reminded that we are not the only ones. I am arrogant and snobby with my actions and my words. I act superior to others and forget that a soul is a soul and needs genuine respect. Souls are easily forgotten because they are hidden inside a body, hidden under gender and nice or not so nice clothes. Hidden behind social conditionings, social implications, thoughts and ideas, differences, and disagreements. But when broken down to bare desires, a soul is a soul and wants to be loved. If I remembered that my soul is no different than yours, and that yours always has something to teach mine, than I remain humble. If we give in to our judgments, which we all do, and disregard the depth which does exist with in every being, then we are arrogant and miss out on a lot of life. Well at least this is what I think. The men of Kalighat have taught me this. I hope I never forget. I realize I will have lapses and judge another, after all it is what humans do, but at the end of my road spiritual perfection, when it is all said and done, I hope to know how to be humble and recognize and listen to another soul, yearning for learning.
My experiences at Kalighat have put a lot of my life into perspective. I am alive and I have a strong functioning body, therefore I am happy. I have education, I live in a great country, what else should I ask for? Nothing! I have it all. It's what I make of what I have that will grow my happiness to great heights, or will keep it minimal and pathetic. Our lives are very well off and need to be reconsidered, I can make this argument because YOU are READING this on a COMPUTER. What I have seen has instilled humility. Knowing that a soul is a soul which can teach mine, depending on my allowing, I am humbled and excited for happiness. I hope I never forget this.
Compassion is an action which I very much am trying to understand. Something I have been very interested in since I went to Seattle's super cheesy yet super educating "Seeds of Compassion" day in spring of this past year. We all are compassionate, it's human nature to ask "what's wrong?" when someone is down or to help when someone is sick, or when someone needs a smile. But the challenge is to what degree we give from our heart that matters and that makes the situation better. If we give from our soul as much as we can to that person who is ailing then the result will be tremendous on both ends. The sick will be healed and the healer will be glowing. This is how I feel after a day at work.
That is the direction the conversation went. It was good. She was planning on staying in Calcutta for two days as a connection to Darjeeling. But she said, "You know, after hearing you speak, I will start work on Wednesday!" I told her that this was my experience, that this was my elegance, grace, humility, and compassion. I told her to remember that she needs to create her own understanding of the work that us volunteers do. She said, "I will, I promise, and I will tell you all about it."
The heat has come way down. It dropped to a freezing 70 degrees with 64 % humidity, and as Katie put it, "We are practically living in water right now, we are always wet." So I am wet. Well more cold, I busted out the thick socks, Patagonia wear, and fleece which were all intended for Nepal, but it's freezing. I really afraid to return to school where it will be REALLY COLD!
I have a weird sore throat and I can tell it is from the shitty Calcutta smog. When I wake up from sleeping I have a horrible sore throat but wash it away with water. I can feel the dirt lining my poor throat. I don't think it helps that I sleep with my mouth open.
I have one week until the next part of my trip commences, TRAVEL! I am feeling ready to get out of this crazy city, but definitely not ready to leave my guys at Kalighat. I have been doing the evening shift so I go two times a day now. Something draws me back in the evening where there are less volunteers, less energy, and more one on one time. I get much energy spending time with faces whom I know will pass soon. I give them what I can. A smile, a wink, massage, happiness in whatever form I can create. I will cry when I leave. I know I will. It's hard for me to leave a place that is a miracle.
I was thinking to myself the other day, in vain I was thinking, I would love to see a miracle here. I asked myself, how, where would I see one, what would it look like? I laughed at myself, Joseph, this is the miracle, Kalighat is the miracle. The fact that Kalighat and the MC's exist in a city like Calcutta is a miracle.
I work and am part of a moving miracle every day. What a realization, what a JOY!!!!
Monday, October 27, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
What the f!
I carried five bodies to the crematorium today. Something most people probably don't do on any given Tuesday morning. One of the men was my friend. I bathed him yesterday.
When I first arrived at Kalighat, four weeks ago he seemed well and healthy. He like me. We had conversations. He slowly get more sick. His body seemed to get harder and tighter. A reverse sponge effect. Hardening and loosing moisture. He would not eat yesterday. He could not swallow. In my ignorance I did not realized this, I did not say by to him.
I came in the morning happier that usual. I went from bed to bed greeting my friends. I went to number 44, let's call him Bobby (it seems appropriate) His eyes were open and he rested in the curled position he always did. In my ignorance I waived my hands over his face to bring the goodmorning. "Hello, Hello, Hello, Namaste!" I usually get eye movement. "Brother, he's no more, gone, dead." "Dead?" "Dead." This was a blow to my spirit. I felt if everything had hit me all at once. Everything about Calcutta. All her beauty, he hate, love smells, sounds, sights, poverty, romance this all hit me and was laughing at me. "You fool, don't fall for me, I will steal your soul, hahaha!"I had to sit down. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to remeber our laughs.
"Brother..." I knew how was speaking to me, the undertaker. This is how he calls me. I know what it means. It means come to the cold room, then to the ambulance with "silent company" it means the Beautiful orange color illuminates their end, it means the curtains close.
We loaded the five bodies, Bobby included. I was not ready. I hadn't said goodbye. It was Bobby's body that we put in last. As his curtains went down I wanted to cry. Not out of saddness, but because he was my friends and that is what you do when you burn your friends as they go on, you cry, right?
He left this world in a way I will never forget, with his legs folded over his hips. I wanted to bring him back. But then I would be Jesus, not Joseph. Joseph dealt with Jesus' death, so I would follow in his footsteps and deal with it.
I had carried him to the showers the day before. I held his head as I washed. Blood came out of his penis, around the inersted tube for his urine bag. I winced in pain for him, he made no gesture. I scrubbed in happiness and sang "Iloveyouloveyouloveyou...frommyheart..." He was so light as I carried him back to the changgin area. I dresed him lik I did many times before, but this would be the last time. He wouldn't need it anymore, I'm crying now, for you, Bobby. I think I just realized what I do for work, I burn people.
I loved his smile. He had a cute face. A man you would picutre when somone says "A cute old man..." He had a sunken mouth with no teeth. His lips curled in where orthodontic work would have done so well. His skin was so smooth. His nose was this and useful. His eyes seemed much too young for the rest of his body, so playful and hopeful for tomorrow. His hair was my favorite! It wanted to slick back, but had a hard time doing so, so instead, it stuck straight up.
Bobby always enjoyed a good head massage, who doesn't? But I got satisfaction out of massaging his head, more than anyone else (maybe it's because I loved his hair so much!). He would close his eyes and try to smile. He was Beautiful. I would have been proud to have called him "Grandfather."
His last days he seemed to know. How did I not. He is gone now, nothing physical remains and all soul does. I know I will miss him tomorrow as I do now and will the day after tomorrow and whenever I think of Kalighat and Calcutta. Today was just another Tuesday for the world, a tuesday where I carried five bodies to the crematorium and one of them was Bobby. On Tuesday October twenty-first I burned my friend to make him now, no more, and forever eternal.
When I first arrived at Kalighat, four weeks ago he seemed well and healthy. He like me. We had conversations. He slowly get more sick. His body seemed to get harder and tighter. A reverse sponge effect. Hardening and loosing moisture. He would not eat yesterday. He could not swallow. In my ignorance I did not realized this, I did not say by to him.
I came in the morning happier that usual. I went from bed to bed greeting my friends. I went to number 44, let's call him Bobby (it seems appropriate) His eyes were open and he rested in the curled position he always did. In my ignorance I waived my hands over his face to bring the goodmorning. "Hello, Hello, Hello, Namaste!" I usually get eye movement. "Brother, he's no more, gone, dead." "Dead?" "Dead." This was a blow to my spirit. I felt if everything had hit me all at once. Everything about Calcutta. All her beauty, he hate, love smells, sounds, sights, poverty, romance this all hit me and was laughing at me. "You fool, don't fall for me, I will steal your soul, hahaha!"I had to sit down. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to remeber our laughs.
"Brother..." I knew how was speaking to me, the undertaker. This is how he calls me. I know what it means. It means come to the cold room, then to the ambulance with "silent company" it means the Beautiful orange color illuminates their end, it means the curtains close.
We loaded the five bodies, Bobby included. I was not ready. I hadn't said goodbye. It was Bobby's body that we put in last. As his curtains went down I wanted to cry. Not out of saddness, but because he was my friends and that is what you do when you burn your friends as they go on, you cry, right?
He left this world in a way I will never forget, with his legs folded over his hips. I wanted to bring him back. But then I would be Jesus, not Joseph. Joseph dealt with Jesus' death, so I would follow in his footsteps and deal with it.
I had carried him to the showers the day before. I held his head as I washed. Blood came out of his penis, around the inersted tube for his urine bag. I winced in pain for him, he made no gesture. I scrubbed in happiness and sang "Iloveyouloveyouloveyou...frommyheart..." He was so light as I carried him back to the changgin area. I dresed him lik I did many times before, but this would be the last time. He wouldn't need it anymore, I'm crying now, for you, Bobby. I think I just realized what I do for work, I burn people.
I loved his smile. He had a cute face. A man you would picutre when somone says "A cute old man..." He had a sunken mouth with no teeth. His lips curled in where orthodontic work would have done so well. His skin was so smooth. His nose was this and useful. His eyes seemed much too young for the rest of his body, so playful and hopeful for tomorrow. His hair was my favorite! It wanted to slick back, but had a hard time doing so, so instead, it stuck straight up.
Bobby always enjoyed a good head massage, who doesn't? But I got satisfaction out of massaging his head, more than anyone else (maybe it's because I loved his hair so much!). He would close his eyes and try to smile. He was Beautiful. I would have been proud to have called him "Grandfather."
His last days he seemed to know. How did I not. He is gone now, nothing physical remains and all soul does. I know I will miss him tomorrow as I do now and will the day after tomorrow and whenever I think of Kalighat and Calcutta. Today was just another Tuesday for the world, a tuesday where I carried five bodies to the crematorium and one of them was Bobby. On Tuesday October twenty-first I burned my friend to make him now, no more, and forever eternal.
So Beautiful
She is so Beautiful. I've read her story multiple times. She has been described so many ways, she has so much history she is so fine. I've been told of her seductive charm and unforgiving stare.
The first times I was in her presence, we were at a grand ball. She is desired by all at the party, even for a simple conversation. Men watch from afar at those with her, only wishing he could be he. She charms those she's with, makes them laugh and want her. Every woman wants her too, that's how perfect she is. Everyone wants to know her, wants to lay with her, kiss her and touch her in the most intimate ways, but she is so intimidating.
That moment where we make eye contact everything pauses, it's like a shampoo commercial. As she wips her head from front to back her soft hair draws he head around. Her face is perfectly proportioned, structured, and young. I want it. She smiles at me saying she wants to get to know me, but I break that wave-length, and shy away with my eyes saying "NO" ;). Her white eyes are too strong for my moral soul. Oh how bad I want to know her. i watch her the whole night, hoping that she might escape the crowds and head for the beautiful gardens outside the ballroom. I would follow her and tell her the truth of how I feel, if we were alone. I can tell she doesn't like all the attention, she wants to be left alone, to rest, but never, there are just too many silly men and women who want her to heard their thoughtless and thoughtful ideas, she will never be alone, I will never be alone with her.
Will I ever find out who she is?
And this is only the ball, I see her in the streets too. I briefly forget about her existence and do my thing. But when I am happy, I realize it is beacuase of her. This makes me think I am beginning to understand her, this makes me even happpier. It's like waking up and really being a part of that love dream.
Another day comes and i again won't think of her. But then, I will get mad, sad, disconcerted, something will make me the opposite of the previous day and inevitably it is her fault. Or maybe my mine, for I am in her, she is everwhere. I am happy because I think I know her but then something honest will happen, something that only happens in her, because I am in her she is everyone's reality. I will never know her, I know this, I doubt anyone really understands why she is so perfect and how she can hold so much life in her, but then at the same moment crush so much, so much life, so much hope. So many people live in her, by her, with her. Many are just curios to see her, try and experience her, wanting to brief her Beauty, as do I, but she is just too much woman for anyone of us to handle.
I get mad beacuse she won't be mine, which means I will never understand her. I am mad that I will never be able to love her, I will never be able to hear her secrets, watch the sunrise with her. I won't lay with her, tickle her or make her giggle. But that is how it' s supposed to be. I come to live in her for a short while, to be charmed and enchanted, by her romantic Beauty. To be hardened and hate her. She gives me a full body "blue balls" sensation. It's with everone I meet, everything I do and experience that will let me get that degree closer to knowing her. I never will know her. I am okay with that. I will never be hers.
Calcutta is a Beautiful woman, enchanting and unforgiving who makes me bi-polar: thankful but mad.
The first times I was in her presence, we were at a grand ball. She is desired by all at the party, even for a simple conversation. Men watch from afar at those with her, only wishing he could be he. She charms those she's with, makes them laugh and want her. Every woman wants her too, that's how perfect she is. Everyone wants to know her, wants to lay with her, kiss her and touch her in the most intimate ways, but she is so intimidating.
That moment where we make eye contact everything pauses, it's like a shampoo commercial. As she wips her head from front to back her soft hair draws he head around. Her face is perfectly proportioned, structured, and young. I want it. She smiles at me saying she wants to get to know me, but I break that wave-length, and shy away with my eyes saying "NO" ;). Her white eyes are too strong for my moral soul. Oh how bad I want to know her. i watch her the whole night, hoping that she might escape the crowds and head for the beautiful gardens outside the ballroom. I would follow her and tell her the truth of how I feel, if we were alone. I can tell she doesn't like all the attention, she wants to be left alone, to rest, but never, there are just too many silly men and women who want her to heard their thoughtless and thoughtful ideas, she will never be alone, I will never be alone with her.
Will I ever find out who she is?
And this is only the ball, I see her in the streets too. I briefly forget about her existence and do my thing. But when I am happy, I realize it is beacuase of her. This makes me think I am beginning to understand her, this makes me even happpier. It's like waking up and really being a part of that love dream.
Another day comes and i again won't think of her. But then, I will get mad, sad, disconcerted, something will make me the opposite of the previous day and inevitably it is her fault. Or maybe my mine, for I am in her, she is everwhere. I am happy because I think I know her but then something honest will happen, something that only happens in her, because I am in her she is everyone's reality. I will never know her, I know this, I doubt anyone really understands why she is so perfect and how she can hold so much life in her, but then at the same moment crush so much, so much life, so much hope. So many people live in her, by her, with her. Many are just curios to see her, try and experience her, wanting to brief her Beauty, as do I, but she is just too much woman for anyone of us to handle.
I get mad beacuse she won't be mine, which means I will never understand her. I am mad that I will never be able to love her, I will never be able to hear her secrets, watch the sunrise with her. I won't lay with her, tickle her or make her giggle. But that is how it' s supposed to be. I come to live in her for a short while, to be charmed and enchanted, by her romantic Beauty. To be hardened and hate her. She gives me a full body "blue balls" sensation. It's with everone I meet, everything I do and experience that will let me get that degree closer to knowing her. I never will know her. I am okay with that. I will never be hers.
Calcutta is a Beautiful woman, enchanting and unforgiving who makes me bi-polar: thankful but mad.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Prem Dan Slums
I was convinced by some Spanish volunteers to take a day break from my normal routine at Kalighat and work with them in the Prem Dan slums. One of the volunteers, Arturo, has a bunch of friends living in the slums, I didn't really catch the story of how he knew the families, but went anyways.
Natalia, Elenda, Jorge, Arturo y yo all washed the head of many slum children. Our purpose was to wash all the lice out of their heads. We spent the morning massaging the children's heads with special shampoo, washed with more special shampoo, then combed the hair with fine combs. The lice was super gross. I remeber in elementray school when a child would get lice, the whole school would go up in a riot, sending home letters to the parents warning them to check their kids heads. Remembering the over paranoia of Ameria made me laugh when compared with ever so prominent lice in heads in slums.
The morning project finally was complete, it took forever! I kept suggesting we just cut all their hair off, but the girls with hair down to their waist protested adamantly, I don't know why. Once all the heads were shampooed and combed Arturo brought out the alpahbet books. All the children practiced their handwriting and colored silly picutres. While we had them self-entertained, we took a walk through the slum. Intense, somthing I really don't think I have ever seen before. It was just like one of the advertisements for the "For only a dollar a day..." campaigs. The huts were made of everything, newspaper and thatch, old plastic and bamboo. But what impressed me was the absence of begging. In the streets of Calcutta, the beginning is oh so in your face. But in the slums, there is much more acceptance of their situation and therefore much more happiness.
We even saw a pet mongoose!
I fell in love with I think every child. Some of the children had laughter louder than the train station. Their happiness gave me so much hope, reminded me so much that kids are kids everywhere. Many of the girls had incredibly beautiful eyes, which help so much peace and so much struggle. I told all of the kids their eyes were beautiful, "be-u-fll" is what they heard. Many of the girls blushed and ran away. We laughed tons, one kid laughed so hard he fell over and started crying, I thought he was having a seizure, but apparently it happens quite often, a laughing seizure.
I made a great decision in giving my camera to the children, who ran around the slums taking pictures from their point of view (now posted on flickr).
The day eneded with a meal in the one of the homes. We were some what apprehensive to accept the meal, but the family pushed with all smiles to make us eat. So we did, I was reminded of Guatemala and generosity of which the people share.
The slums have a different vibe to them, a completely different movement. It encourages family unity and laughter, two things I have not seen for a while. It felt great to be appreciated and have a return gift for what we had given. The food was very little, but we knew it came from the depths of the families hearts.
The visit to the slums came at a much needed time. I have been feeling the true difficulties of Kalighat. I believe that part of the reason I was sick, was I was giving so much and not recharging my own battery. When I returned to work the first time, I realized how much energy my work takes. When I didn't much I felt it take what I did have.
I have been well. A lot of my work has been taking bodies to the crematorium. It has been a lot harder than I thought. I go just about everyday, I know the security guards there now and usually don't laugh at my floral print apron I wear. The other day there were eight different families at the crematorium. We had to wait with out two bodies as all eight families had small ceremonies with their bodies first. It was quite interesting witnessing a Hindu funeral with 80 people in such a confined area. The smell of incense and burning flesh is very difficult to describe but does not mix well with sweat and tears.
The medical work back at Kalighat continues. It's quite routine now, but has been exiting and full of rotting feet, protruding bones, lots of burned flesh, magots maggots maggots and nasty smells. I have been there helping as much as I can.
The sisters at Kalighat have learned my name and all have a joke. "Joseph, where is Maria?" It's funny the first time, and maybe the second, but hearing it 12 times a day, everyday, it get a little old. But it shows that they like me, yes!
My time is winding down, I have two weeks and two days left of work. Then my travels through northern India and Nepal will start! (More to come later.)
This wednesday after work, I believe Katie, Traci, and I are going to a small beach town to relieve ourselves from crazy calcutta. I believe it will be great! I have not been out of the city yet to at least hear myself. I think it will help me understand a lot of emotions I am trying to deal with right now.
I hope all of you are well and planning your Halloween costumes, I haven't decided what I am going to be yet.
Missing you all.
Natalia, Elenda, Jorge, Arturo y yo all washed the head of many slum children. Our purpose was to wash all the lice out of their heads. We spent the morning massaging the children's heads with special shampoo, washed with more special shampoo, then combed the hair with fine combs. The lice was super gross. I remeber in elementray school when a child would get lice, the whole school would go up in a riot, sending home letters to the parents warning them to check their kids heads. Remembering the over paranoia of Ameria made me laugh when compared with ever so prominent lice in heads in slums.
The morning project finally was complete, it took forever! I kept suggesting we just cut all their hair off, but the girls with hair down to their waist protested adamantly, I don't know why. Once all the heads were shampooed and combed Arturo brought out the alpahbet books. All the children practiced their handwriting and colored silly picutres. While we had them self-entertained, we took a walk through the slum. Intense, somthing I really don't think I have ever seen before. It was just like one of the advertisements for the "For only a dollar a day..." campaigs. The huts were made of everything, newspaper and thatch, old plastic and bamboo. But what impressed me was the absence of begging. In the streets of Calcutta, the beginning is oh so in your face. But in the slums, there is much more acceptance of their situation and therefore much more happiness.
We even saw a pet mongoose!I fell in love with I think every child. Some of the children had laughter louder than the train station. Their happiness gave me so much hope, reminded me so much that kids are kids everywhere. Many of the girls had incredibly beautiful eyes, which help so much peace and so much struggle. I told all of the kids their eyes were beautiful, "be-u-fll" is what they heard. Many of the girls blushed and ran away. We laughed tons, one kid laughed so hard he fell over and started crying, I thought he was having a seizure, but apparently it happens quite often, a laughing seizure.
I made a great decision in giving my camera to the children, who ran around the slums taking pictures from their point of view (now posted on flickr).
The day eneded with a meal in the one of the homes. We were some what apprehensive to accept the meal, but the family pushed with all smiles to make us eat. So we did, I was reminded of Guatemala and generosity of which the people share.
The slums have a different vibe to them, a completely different movement. It encourages family unity and laughter, two things I have not seen for a while. It felt great to be appreciated and have a return gift for what we had given. The food was very little, but we knew it came from the depths of the families hearts.
The visit to the slums came at a much needed time. I have been feeling the true difficulties of Kalighat. I believe that part of the reason I was sick, was I was giving so much and not recharging my own battery. When I returned to work the first time, I realized how much energy my work takes. When I didn't much I felt it take what I did have.
I have been well. A lot of my work has been taking bodies to the crematorium. It has been a lot harder than I thought. I go just about everyday, I know the security guards there now and usually don't laugh at my floral print apron I wear. The other day there were eight different families at the crematorium. We had to wait with out two bodies as all eight families had small ceremonies with their bodies first. It was quite interesting witnessing a Hindu funeral with 80 people in such a confined area. The smell of incense and burning flesh is very difficult to describe but does not mix well with sweat and tears.
The medical work back at Kalighat continues. It's quite routine now, but has been exiting and full of rotting feet, protruding bones, lots of burned flesh, magots maggots maggots and nasty smells. I have been there helping as much as I can.
The sisters at Kalighat have learned my name and all have a joke. "Joseph, where is Maria?" It's funny the first time, and maybe the second, but hearing it 12 times a day, everyday, it get a little old. But it shows that they like me, yes!
My time is winding down, I have two weeks and two days left of work. Then my travels through northern India and Nepal will start! (More to come later.)
This wednesday after work, I believe Katie, Traci, and I are going to a small beach town to relieve ourselves from crazy calcutta. I believe it will be great! I have not been out of the city yet to at least hear myself. I think it will help me understand a lot of emotions I am trying to deal with right now.
I hope all of you are well and planning your Halloween costumes, I haven't decided what I am going to be yet.
Missing you all.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Not Sure
I'm really not sure what to write. But for all of you who are wondering, I am well. I have just got over a 3 day flu. I got a shave at a barber shop. I am missing eggs benedict and my mama's french toast.
But for some visuals got to flickr.com/photos/joepoz
But for some visuals got to flickr.com/photos/joepoz
Monday, October 13, 2008
Nabo Jobin (I think this is the name of the home) and other thoughts
This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but the power went out right as I sat down to write. I figured it was a sign that I was supposed to go to bed. So this is an experience from Sunday. What follows is one experience I had today, Monday:
"What does it mean to be happy and honest at the same time?"
With arms wider open than most hugs I have received, ever, she ran from the open gates to me. It was as if she hadn't seen me in forever, she hadn't. So as she jumped into my arms screaming, "Uncle," I appropriately said, "I haven't seen you for so long, how are you?" I'm not really sure why I said this, but felt obligated to. I did not know her, she was a street child.
Our purpose at Nabo Jibon was to simply wash and play and feed the street kids of the surrounding slums. This is a Sunday activity which I thought I might experience as to take a break from my daily routine at Kalighat. The showers took less than 7 minutes, as the greatly anticipated futbol field preoccupied their minds. I forgot the joy of hope in the youth. Working with souls who seem elusive to lief have take a toll on my expectations for personal happiness. A toothless smile has been much of a consolation. A man who makes it to the squat toilet without shitting on me is another joy, but the real joys are very soft and are more subjective than objective. But what is almost entirely and genuinely objective are children's smiles, laughs, and innocence.
He stood on my shoulders. Taller than he had ever been before. A full three feet and nine or so inches tall with another 5 feet and 10 or so inches added as his base. He was tall. I was afraid he would fall off, but connected at the hands I held him as tight as I could. He stood peering down on everything. We danced to the Bengali music, he laughed, which made me giggle. His small hands made me feel smaller than ever, only because our friendship was trivial and inconsequential ;) and pointless, also reminding me of the prominent street child epidemic. I was briefly sad, but when his spit landed on me, I was immediately brought back to the Bengali music, I continued to dance. This made me happy.
Majority of the day I had a young friend on my shoulders, and another pegged to my chest. He was so colse to me that I would wipe my face sweat on his shirt, only fair considering I was their toy, I was their mountain.
If these moments are what it is like to be a mountain with happy climbers ascending, then what a joy to be a mountain. I will give more respect to them. I was more than jubilant to have happiness on my highest peak, oh what a joy to be a tall mountain, supporting curiosity and exhaultation.
But it was difficult. I leaned over to Katie at one point and asked, "Lord of the Flies?" Sadly, that is what it was, a complete free for all. We took a break to serve biscuits. Two lines were supposed to be formed. Logically the child at the front of the line would be served first the next, right? It took three times as long as it should have because the concept of a functioning line was pointless to the street kids. I mean, I guess a free for all in the streets is more logical than waiting behind someone else. It was quite the juxtaposition.
Biscuits were served and I again served as a climbing structure. The kids would run to me, grab my hands, launch their feet forward, climb up my legs, to my chest and flip themselves around. This was spectacular! Fun! Until...one of the kids who was obviously too large for climbing me, but who would not take no for an answer, found another, in climbing terms I believe it would be called a "foothold" and in average vernacular would be called my PRIVATE PARTS! I keeled over in agonizing pain. Over dramatically I fell to the dirt ground, groaning in pain (this was not over dramatic, I promise!) The kids loved this, laughed, poked me, and yelled, "Uncle, Uncle, Uncle!" I gathered myself and stood up. There was already a sorta-line formed for more body climbing. The fun just never ends in the hearts and minds of the children, so why should it in mine? So they kept climbing.
The interest shorty shifted to futbol. I wanted to be cool like my new friends so I took my sandals off and played in the dirt without my shoes! Spectacular fun! I wanted for my father see me, he would have been so proud! Since he was not there, I said to Traci, "Look, I'm not playing with shoes on!" "Great Joe!" (seemingly not to care) I realized that must have sounded quite adolescent, but hey, after all look who I was playing with. It must have quite a show watching me hobble on the playing field, "Ouch!" wincing "Ouch!" wincing "Ouch!" wincing "Ouch!" in pain. My feet like you and me are very well privileged.
There was more body-climbing and mountaineering but not before some got jealous and wanted to climb the mountain. There was just not enough room! So what did I do? Made more. Like Wilbur, I was radiant! I walked around with three and sometime four kids clinging to me. We looked like a rice crispy treat. but pegged together with sweat and love, not sweet.
Lunch had arrived. This was pure chaos. "Uncles" and "Aunties" were demanded for more rice and dahl. More "Panni, Panni, Panni!" Everyone felt entitled to their own, no please or thank you. Was I wrong to expect? Plates were left on the ground as the children ran back through the gate to their home, the streets. No thank-you's, no good-byes. It was weird, no I guess just different.
I had romantic ideas of the children not wanting to leave, of enormous hugs, as that commencement hug to finalize everything, but nothing. It was just different. Sure I could have been upset with the lack of discipline, or their lack of manners, or I could have been disconcerted with the entire situation. But what would be the point in that? That was "My head was speaking louder than my heart" ;)! My hear was glowing. I was not there was not to teach these kids, I was there to instill anything, or to make lifelong friends, I was there to make someone smile, laugh and laugh and smile myself. And that is what resulted. It's like a satisfying meal. You eat the flavors, enjoy, and share the joy. It ends eventually and will leave your body sooner or later (in my case, meals leave sooner ;) ). You can always revisit the meal in your imagination or even the restaurant and even have the same meal, but nothing about it will really be the same as the original. That is authentic joy, as this joy was. I can revisit it in my hear, but it will never be tangible as it was that day. (Yes I just compared my day to a meal at a restaurant!) I have learned from them, probably more than they will ever know, or care to know, but to an extent isn't that almost like most of our encounters with others?
As blasse and unforgiving as that may sound, as often self-serving individuals we can easily forget to care about our actions and words and how they genuinely effect people, or maybe it is just me.
I left satisfied. I left realizing a few things. One of them being: many of my experiences in Calcutta and interactions with people may mean nothing to them, but for me I will grow big and strong from what they have taught me. Maybe that is part of their "Personal Legend."
A man I met inspired me to challenge myself to do a simple yet difficult reflection before I fall asleep every night. "Where you present to everyone with whom you interacted today?" OR did your mind wander to "meditate" on something or someone else ;)? Why? Mother Teresa apparently made the person she was with "the most important person in the world." Why not? They should be, they are in your present, they will soon be your, and inevitable will help create your future. I believe that when someone speaks to me they deserve my full attention. I am working on this. I have not been good at this in the past, but I am young and full or revitalizing energy. Even the flight attendants on the plane, I know what tehy will say and cold probably do their whole routine for them, but they deserve their dignity, as I do mine and you do yours. So as a man challenged me: Were you present to all with whom you spoke with today? Even think of one interaction, and if you weren't why not?
I have realized this has strayed from the street child day, but I don't care, your paying attention, right!?!?!
And now for an experience from today:
I cut out a rotting tendon today! The nurse is not an octopus and has only two arms. When she was positioned how she was and could not move, she said "cut", in her Italian-English, so I cut.
"What does it mean to be happy and honest at the same time?"
With arms wider open than most hugs I have received, ever, she ran from the open gates to me. It was as if she hadn't seen me in forever, she hadn't. So as she jumped into my arms screaming, "Uncle," I appropriately said, "I haven't seen you for so long, how are you?" I'm not really sure why I said this, but felt obligated to. I did not know her, she was a street child.
Our purpose at Nabo Jibon was to simply wash and play and feed the street kids of the surrounding slums. This is a Sunday activity which I thought I might experience as to take a break from my daily routine at Kalighat. The showers took less than 7 minutes, as the greatly anticipated futbol field preoccupied their minds. I forgot the joy of hope in the youth. Working with souls who seem elusive to lief have take a toll on my expectations for personal happiness. A toothless smile has been much of a consolation. A man who makes it to the squat toilet without shitting on me is another joy, but the real joys are very soft and are more subjective than objective. But what is almost entirely and genuinely objective are children's smiles, laughs, and innocence.
He stood on my shoulders. Taller than he had ever been before. A full three feet and nine or so inches tall with another 5 feet and 10 or so inches added as his base. He was tall. I was afraid he would fall off, but connected at the hands I held him as tight as I could. He stood peering down on everything. We danced to the Bengali music, he laughed, which made me giggle. His small hands made me feel smaller than ever, only because our friendship was trivial and inconsequential ;) and pointless, also reminding me of the prominent street child epidemic. I was briefly sad, but when his spit landed on me, I was immediately brought back to the Bengali music, I continued to dance. This made me happy.
Majority of the day I had a young friend on my shoulders, and another pegged to my chest. He was so colse to me that I would wipe my face sweat on his shirt, only fair considering I was their toy, I was their mountain.
If these moments are what it is like to be a mountain with happy climbers ascending, then what a joy to be a mountain. I will give more respect to them. I was more than jubilant to have happiness on my highest peak, oh what a joy to be a tall mountain, supporting curiosity and exhaultation.
But it was difficult. I leaned over to Katie at one point and asked, "Lord of the Flies?" Sadly, that is what it was, a complete free for all. We took a break to serve biscuits. Two lines were supposed to be formed. Logically the child at the front of the line would be served first the next, right? It took three times as long as it should have because the concept of a functioning line was pointless to the street kids. I mean, I guess a free for all in the streets is more logical than waiting behind someone else. It was quite the juxtaposition.
Biscuits were served and I again served as a climbing structure. The kids would run to me, grab my hands, launch their feet forward, climb up my legs, to my chest and flip themselves around. This was spectacular! Fun! Until...one of the kids who was obviously too large for climbing me, but who would not take no for an answer, found another, in climbing terms I believe it would be called a "foothold" and in average vernacular would be called my PRIVATE PARTS! I keeled over in agonizing pain. Over dramatically I fell to the dirt ground, groaning in pain (this was not over dramatic, I promise!) The kids loved this, laughed, poked me, and yelled, "Uncle, Uncle, Uncle!" I gathered myself and stood up. There was already a sorta-line formed for more body climbing. The fun just never ends in the hearts and minds of the children, so why should it in mine? So they kept climbing.
The interest shorty shifted to futbol. I wanted to be cool like my new friends so I took my sandals off and played in the dirt without my shoes! Spectacular fun! I wanted for my father see me, he would have been so proud! Since he was not there, I said to Traci, "Look, I'm not playing with shoes on!" "Great Joe!" (seemingly not to care) I realized that must have sounded quite adolescent, but hey, after all look who I was playing with. It must have quite a show watching me hobble on the playing field, "Ouch!" wincing "Ouch!" wincing "Ouch!" wincing "Ouch!" in pain. My feet like you and me are very well privileged.
There was more body-climbing and mountaineering but not before some got jealous and wanted to climb the mountain. There was just not enough room! So what did I do? Made more. Like Wilbur, I was radiant! I walked around with three and sometime four kids clinging to me. We looked like a rice crispy treat. but pegged together with sweat and love, not sweet.
Lunch had arrived. This was pure chaos. "Uncles" and "Aunties" were demanded for more rice and dahl. More "Panni, Panni, Panni!" Everyone felt entitled to their own, no please or thank you. Was I wrong to expect? Plates were left on the ground as the children ran back through the gate to their home, the streets. No thank-you's, no good-byes. It was weird, no I guess just different.
I had romantic ideas of the children not wanting to leave, of enormous hugs, as that commencement hug to finalize everything, but nothing. It was just different. Sure I could have been upset with the lack of discipline, or their lack of manners, or I could have been disconcerted with the entire situation. But what would be the point in that? That was "My head was speaking louder than my heart" ;)! My hear was glowing. I was not there was not to teach these kids, I was there to instill anything, or to make lifelong friends, I was there to make someone smile, laugh and laugh and smile myself. And that is what resulted. It's like a satisfying meal. You eat the flavors, enjoy, and share the joy. It ends eventually and will leave your body sooner or later (in my case, meals leave sooner ;) ). You can always revisit the meal in your imagination or even the restaurant and even have the same meal, but nothing about it will really be the same as the original. That is authentic joy, as this joy was. I can revisit it in my hear, but it will never be tangible as it was that day. (Yes I just compared my day to a meal at a restaurant!) I have learned from them, probably more than they will ever know, or care to know, but to an extent isn't that almost like most of our encounters with others?
As blasse and unforgiving as that may sound, as often self-serving individuals we can easily forget to care about our actions and words and how they genuinely effect people, or maybe it is just me.
I left satisfied. I left realizing a few things. One of them being: many of my experiences in Calcutta and interactions with people may mean nothing to them, but for me I will grow big and strong from what they have taught me. Maybe that is part of their "Personal Legend."
A man I met inspired me to challenge myself to do a simple yet difficult reflection before I fall asleep every night. "Where you present to everyone with whom you interacted today?" OR did your mind wander to "meditate" on something or someone else ;)? Why? Mother Teresa apparently made the person she was with "the most important person in the world." Why not? They should be, they are in your present, they will soon be your, and inevitable will help create your future. I believe that when someone speaks to me they deserve my full attention. I am working on this. I have not been good at this in the past, but I am young and full or revitalizing energy. Even the flight attendants on the plane, I know what tehy will say and cold probably do their whole routine for them, but they deserve their dignity, as I do mine and you do yours. So as a man challenged me: Were you present to all with whom you spoke with today? Even think of one interaction, and if you weren't why not?
I have realized this has strayed from the street child day, but I don't care, your paying attention, right!?!?!
And now for an experience from today:
I cut out a rotting tendon today! The nurse is not an octopus and has only two arms. When she was positioned how she was and could not move, she said "cut", in her Italian-English, so I cut.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Another Journal Entry
After rereading this journal entry, I realize that it makes almost no sense. But I guess it makes sense to me and to anyone who is willing to understand, or has had a similar "aha" moment in life. I feel know a lot of pointless things that are valuable to my life, pointless in the sense that many people don't value them, or to an sad extent don't believe in them. But, I, nonetheless, have faith that what I write and what I believe is a minor and major part of a humans life. Maybe one day I will inspire someone to believe something they never knew was there, maybe one day...
So I begin
Monday September 6th 2008:
For the first time I finally feel like I am moving. That I am thinking clear. I had the idea, when I first began working, that I could do it all, that it was all (meaning the work at Kalighat) about will and making it happen. What I have realized is that only through true love, true soulful selfless love, can one withstand a full days work at Kalighat. Dishes and laundry can be done with thoughtless, repetitive, action, don't get me wrong are very important (actually important. I spoke with a wonderful man on the bus yesterday, an older man, who mentioned that Mother Teresa spent the most time washing the clothes. It was the most important action for her) but when spending time with the patients in the ward and being present to and with them, that is difficult and that is where i Learn.
I sit with patients. Knowing there is no way for us to communicate. That I will not cure him, that I will not save him in any way. But what I can hope for, is a recognition from him, a gesture
which allows me to realize he is greatful. Here are some examples of thanksgiving:
The weird sideways Indian headnod (unless you have traveled to India, you most likely will never understand what this means) a toothless smile, hands shaking in a "so-so" gesture (another Indian movement), genuine staring not in a care free way, but in a way that passes life giving energy (something you may not ever experience, unless you really try and pay attention, and my favorite, the appropriate "namaste" with hands paralleled and bowing motion.
I am finally feeling able to move. I was initially paralyzed. Believing that I could do anything out of brain power was in vain. Actions are done from the heart. My father says, "Do it with your whole heart, or don't do it at all, it's just not worth it." This finally makes sense. This is true. Eventually when you realize that your soul is satisfies, whatever your conception of the soul is or in whatever way your soul speaks to you, you will realize that what you have done is a true act of love. Stop at this time and be greatful, be happy, remember this moment when you have a chance to reflect on the day. Actions from soulful love out of genuine caring makes things easier and more beautiful.
Realizing this I am moving once again, but moving happily. After exhausting myself with the original mindset, I noted I had to use emotion from somewhere ever less-understood than the brain and easily very Americanly taboo, from: The Soul. I was and am humbled. I felt paralyzed with humility, as I could not move. But realizing the power of the heart and soul, I can move once again, but this time I am moving out of humility and grace. It's beautiful to listen to your. Try it.
Sometimes I feel I know A LOT of silly little things.
So I begin
Monday September 6th 2008:
For the first time I finally feel like I am moving. That I am thinking clear. I had the idea, when I first began working, that I could do it all, that it was all (meaning the work at Kalighat) about will and making it happen. What I have realized is that only through true love, true soulful selfless love, can one withstand a full days work at Kalighat. Dishes and laundry can be done with thoughtless, repetitive, action, don't get me wrong are very important (actually important. I spoke with a wonderful man on the bus yesterday, an older man, who mentioned that Mother Teresa spent the most time washing the clothes. It was the most important action for her) but when spending time with the patients in the ward and being present to and with them, that is difficult and that is where i Learn.
I sit with patients. Knowing there is no way for us to communicate. That I will not cure him, that I will not save him in any way. But what I can hope for, is a recognition from him, a gesture
which allows me to realize he is greatful. Here are some examples of thanksgiving:
The weird sideways Indian headnod (unless you have traveled to India, you most likely will never understand what this means) a toothless smile, hands shaking in a "so-so" gesture (another Indian movement), genuine staring not in a care free way, but in a way that passes life giving energy (something you may not ever experience, unless you really try and pay attention, and my favorite, the appropriate "namaste" with hands paralleled and bowing motion.
I am finally feeling able to move. I was initially paralyzed. Believing that I could do anything out of brain power was in vain. Actions are done from the heart. My father says, "Do it with your whole heart, or don't do it at all, it's just not worth it." This finally makes sense. This is true. Eventually when you realize that your soul is satisfies, whatever your conception of the soul is or in whatever way your soul speaks to you, you will realize that what you have done is a true act of love. Stop at this time and be greatful, be happy, remember this moment when you have a chance to reflect on the day. Actions from soulful love out of genuine caring makes things easier and more beautiful.
Realizing this I am moving once again, but moving happily. After exhausting myself with the original mindset, I noted I had to use emotion from somewhere ever less-understood than the brain and easily very Americanly taboo, from: The Soul. I was and am humbled. I felt paralyzed with humility, as I could not move. But realizing the power of the heart and soul, I can move once again, but this time I am moving out of humility and grace. It's beautiful to listen to your. Try it.
Sometimes I feel I know A LOT of silly little things.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
The results: Waterfalls and Firecrackers!
It's pretty late over here, well, certainly past my bed time, it's 10:59 pm! I don't have work tomorrow, thursdays are the volunteers day off, so I thought I would write a new post (not to mention I have a wonderful functioning keyboard, no really!)
Well, a friend of mine, whom I volunteer with, is staying with a family in Calcutta. He invited some fellow volunteers and myself to his families house for a traditional Indian family dinner. WOW! What we got was way too swanky for our own good.
We took a 30 minute taxi ride through the crowded streets of Calcutta and found ourselves in a quite neighborhood of 5 storied apartment buildings, nice ones. This was the first time that I had heard silence in over 2.5 weeks, let me tell you it was bizzare.
The first thing that was unfamiliar to and dissimilar to my eyes was, as one of my friends described, "a gate." The apartment building had a gate. This was an interesting start. We entered an elevator which took us up to the top floor of the building. Since I have spent SO much time in the poshed up houses, I knew that the top floor of big apartment buildings mean one thing: penthouses! And that is what it was.
We walked through the front door and were struck by cool a/c air, a first since Bangkok. The house was swankier than many houses I have seen anywhere. We sat and drank in a living room, which was raised off the main floor a few inches, making the sitting experience, on very nice tassel lined furniture, that much more swanky. Gold god's and goddesses were situated on coffee tables and beautiful eastern asian cabinet ware. We met the hosts, he was a man named Arjay, an architect and she was Sonia, a very talented painter. Arjay has designed 27 churches in Eastern Inida and Sonia has works in many galleries in Europe. The two have traveled to many countries, countries which only accept very deep pockets.
The party was moved to the rooftop, I mean the rooftop garden. There was a full lawn, "large enough to play croquet on" said Arjay. A small fountain and multiple sitting areas. We got a further tour of the rooftop and discovered the "part room" a beautiful room with lights and a glass floor. There were 3 more terraces. One of the terraces was quite romantic, leveled above the rooftop garden.
We sat, ate, drank, talked, it was gluttonous, I mean glorious! The conversation was very varied. Everything from traditional Thai tattoos to how my parents met. From bombings in India to SOUTH BEACH Florida and ghost stories. The couple was very well educated which 4 children living abroad. The servants served the food on silver trays. A portable a/c machine was brought out to cool the guests. There were 9 appetizer dishes. Trendy hindi house music played in the background, oh how I wanted to dance. It was wonderful! I was just about on overload from all the appetizers: small sandwiches, three small pizzas, tons of fried chicken, fried river fish, cuban tostones, chips, vegetables, ham, and an Indian dish.
I was ready to go home, certainly satisfied, but that was not all. We were moved from the rooftop to the dinning room where the main dinner would be served! I was so stuffed I had no idea how I would be able to eat anymore. There were about 12 different traditional Indian dishes. I would name then but have no idea what they were, accept good! The conversation continued to get more and more humorous, pictures of the family and Sonia's artwork were brought out. We were also invited to the wedding of the daughter at the end of December!
The family also had a dog. More of a bear than a dog. Remember the movie Beethoven? Well same dog, but named Mozart. The beast was huge! It weighed more than me and demanded more attention that me, too! It was brilliant!
I sort of went into a food coma and was immobile for about an hour. The servants were Nepalese. After that hour we all finally, grabbing our over loaded bellies, said our thanks to the family and headed home.
The taxi ride took 10 minutes coming home. That's how dense the city is during city hours. I got home and discussed the night with Katie. This past morning she laughed at me, "you were so drunk! Drunk on food, that is!"
I truly was, it was sensational. What a wonderful night of partying on beautiful rooftops with a/c, wonderful people, conversation and food!
Going from budget meals, about $1.20 a meal, to endless amounts of food for a night, yea of course I ate a lot!
The results this morning and all 11 trips to the bathroom today: Waterfalls and firecrackers.
Well, a friend of mine, whom I volunteer with, is staying with a family in Calcutta. He invited some fellow volunteers and myself to his families house for a traditional Indian family dinner. WOW! What we got was way too swanky for our own good.
We took a 30 minute taxi ride through the crowded streets of Calcutta and found ourselves in a quite neighborhood of 5 storied apartment buildings, nice ones. This was the first time that I had heard silence in over 2.5 weeks, let me tell you it was bizzare.
The first thing that was unfamiliar to and dissimilar to my eyes was, as one of my friends described, "a gate." The apartment building had a gate. This was an interesting start. We entered an elevator which took us up to the top floor of the building. Since I have spent SO much time in the poshed up houses, I knew that the top floor of big apartment buildings mean one thing: penthouses! And that is what it was.
We walked through the front door and were struck by cool a/c air, a first since Bangkok. The house was swankier than many houses I have seen anywhere. We sat and drank in a living room, which was raised off the main floor a few inches, making the sitting experience, on very nice tassel lined furniture, that much more swanky. Gold god's and goddesses were situated on coffee tables and beautiful eastern asian cabinet ware. We met the hosts, he was a man named Arjay, an architect and she was Sonia, a very talented painter. Arjay has designed 27 churches in Eastern Inida and Sonia has works in many galleries in Europe. The two have traveled to many countries, countries which only accept very deep pockets.
The party was moved to the rooftop, I mean the rooftop garden. There was a full lawn, "large enough to play croquet on" said Arjay. A small fountain and multiple sitting areas. We got a further tour of the rooftop and discovered the "part room" a beautiful room with lights and a glass floor. There were 3 more terraces. One of the terraces was quite romantic, leveled above the rooftop garden.
We sat, ate, drank, talked, it was gluttonous, I mean glorious! The conversation was very varied. Everything from traditional Thai tattoos to how my parents met. From bombings in India to SOUTH BEACH Florida and ghost stories. The couple was very well educated which 4 children living abroad. The servants served the food on silver trays. A portable a/c machine was brought out to cool the guests. There were 9 appetizer dishes. Trendy hindi house music played in the background, oh how I wanted to dance. It was wonderful! I was just about on overload from all the appetizers: small sandwiches, three small pizzas, tons of fried chicken, fried river fish, cuban tostones, chips, vegetables, ham, and an Indian dish.
I was ready to go home, certainly satisfied, but that was not all. We were moved from the rooftop to the dinning room where the main dinner would be served! I was so stuffed I had no idea how I would be able to eat anymore. There were about 12 different traditional Indian dishes. I would name then but have no idea what they were, accept good! The conversation continued to get more and more humorous, pictures of the family and Sonia's artwork were brought out. We were also invited to the wedding of the daughter at the end of December!
The family also had a dog. More of a bear than a dog. Remember the movie Beethoven? Well same dog, but named Mozart. The beast was huge! It weighed more than me and demanded more attention that me, too! It was brilliant!
I sort of went into a food coma and was immobile for about an hour. The servants were Nepalese. After that hour we all finally, grabbing our over loaded bellies, said our thanks to the family and headed home.
The taxi ride took 10 minutes coming home. That's how dense the city is during city hours. I got home and discussed the night with Katie. This past morning she laughed at me, "you were so drunk! Drunk on food, that is!"
I truly was, it was sensational. What a wonderful night of partying on beautiful rooftops with a/c, wonderful people, conversation and food!
Going from budget meals, about $1.20 a meal, to endless amounts of food for a night, yea of course I ate a lot!
The results this morning and all 11 trips to the bathroom today: Waterfalls and firecrackers.
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