Ice chips

We are creatures of habit. We need our comforts. Rice when I am sick sounds awful, but to an Indian, it is essential (because you haven't really eaten unless you've had rice). Chicken noodle soup when I am sick sounds wonderful, but to an Indian, that's not enough to sustain you.

I watched as some of our ladies loved on Beth while she was sick. They were trying to bring her comfort, but it was a bit overwhelming (a lot of foot rubbing and touching the arms and face and words about water and what to and what not to do all at once). There's so much beauty in their love, but, whether we are American or Indian, when we are at our worst, we just want someone to care for us the way we were raised. The way Indians show their care and the way Americans show their care are vastly different because our cultures are so vastly different. When I am sick, I prefer to have fellow North Americans take care of me because the way they care is familiar and comforting during a time when I am absolutely out of control. So I wonder, how much of our physical comforts are more emotional than what is actually better for us physically?

Beth has brain malaria. She's been running high fevers, and what is most comforting to her physically (at least until the tylenol kicks in) are ice chips. When you are hot and when drinking water is hard, ice is so beautiful.

But, how odd we Americans are to the Indian staff at the hospital. To Indians, health is about balancing hot and cold. When you are sick, do not take in anything cold. If you drink something cold, you will get a sore throat. Ice cream will potentially give you a cold, so if you have something important coming up (like a school test), don't eat ice cream. Don't lie on a cold floor, you will get a cold. Don't put your feet on a cold floor, you will get a cold. If you are starting to feel a cold coming on or if it's cold outside (like in the 70's), then cover your throat--a hankie will do.

So, over here, ice chips are a super-big no-no.

For us in the Western world, we don't think about hot and cold like that. It's a de-bunked myth for the most part. Colds become more prevalent because of pressure differences that often accompany hot and cold weather--not just because of hot and cold things. And if I am very honest, it can become a bit annoying to me when I am constantly told not to drink cold drinks . . . I would like to rid the world of wrong thinking in this arena, but it seems that if I tried, I would be way in over my head. And then, what's to say they aren't saying the same about me?

So this morning at the hospital when Beth's fever went up, we asked the nurse for ice. She seemed a bit taken aback, but she very graciously brought in some ice. I wonder what went through her head as Beth ate the ice. She was probably incredulous with the foreigners: don't they know? But then I think about all the times in the hospital when my patients asked for things that I felt incredulous about (people can be strange), but as long as it wasn't harmful, I did what I could. I liked Beth's nurse; she was a good nurse.

Cultures are so different. I just have to remember that for as many times as I shake my head and laugh at silly things over here, they are doing the exact same back to me. Although I could swear I am right, I still feel a bit humbled.

Marriage

Yesterday, Gita got married. Gita is one of our WMF staff members and one of the founding members of Sari Bari. It was an exciting day for Gita because she is marrying a good man, which is sometimes difficult to find. Both she and her new husband work within the same area: she works for Sari Bari and he works for another organization doing similar work to Sari Bari. Quite incredible.

It was funny that when the ceremony because, Gita was not smiling--she actually looked very unhappy. At first I thought something was wrong; the no-smiling Gita is not normal. But as the ceremony progressed, Beth informed me that in Bengali weddings, the girls are not supposed to smile. And actually, if it's an arranged marriage and you really don't know the man you are marrying, you probably wouldn't smile. Gita, however, did start cracking some smiles, and she does know her husband.

And yes, it was semi-arranged by Sarah, Beth, Upendra and Radha. Funny.

It was a long day, but it was a good day. I loved seeing our Sari Bari ladies at the wedding, and they gave me such praises about my sari; however, they also critiqued everything about how I was dressed, but, as Sarah said, they only do it because they love me. And I love them. I can't really describe what seeing them at the wedding, all dressed up and smiling did to my heart. It was wonderful. They are so beautiful and precious.

It was my first Indian wedding and it was my first time wearing a sari. Dang, that sari with all the sequins was uncomfortable. It's a bit blingy-er than my normal style, but what won't we do for the sake of beauty. Something about a sari does make a girl feel beautiful.

The loss of a friend

On Thursday Melissa and I received the news that a dear friend of ours from Bangladesh, Kati, was sick. On Monday we received the news that she died.

It's hard to process this news; it all happened so quickly. In a little over a week, Melissa and I were going to go to Bangladesh to celebrate Kati and Musa's 16th wedding anniversary. We were going to stay with them. I took it for granted that even if we weren't able to make it, Kati and Musa's party was going to happen--that Kati would be there, would always be there.

Oh, how my heart grieves. Please pray for Musa through this time.

Fear-inspiring

I am not usually a person who strikes fear in the hearts of people. I tend to be a nice person who smiles easily. Today, however, I struck fear in the hearts of many . . .

Our newest Sari Bari unit is in a village about an hour by train outside of K-town in a village called Canning. Those of us who work in the city take turns going out to Canning to visit the girls out there, to get to know them, to let them get to know us. It's actually a pretty great trip because when we go, we are going to where it is green. Oh, beautiful green.

As per Sari Bari norm, whenever a group of girls finishes training (3 to 4 months duration), we begin to set them up for medical care. Part of the medical care is tetanus shots. One part of my job is to administer those shots. Since our Canning girls are all new and just finished training, none of them have had the shots before, so they didn't know that my coming foreshadowed pain.

Ugh. I don't like being known only as the one who gives shots: the ladies in the Gach unit come up to me and act like they are going to give me a shot. Kind endearing.

When I first got to Canning this morning, I asked Gita if anyone knew what was coming, and she said no, but as the morning wore on, rumors started. I think they all assumed that a doctor was going to come (which is the norm here) to administer the shots, so when a man came to see Upendra, everyone began talked and yelping when Upendra left the room with him. They were saying, "That's the doctor. He's going to give us the injections!" Upendra overheard their nervous exclamations and stuck his head in the room, "No, he's not a doctor." Then he points at me, "Sheila will give the injections." I think he smirked as he said this.

All the girls looked at me like they were betrayed. They made all kinds of noise and fuss. I just laughed sheepishly at their reactions. When the shots started, some of the girls were brave, but I definitely had one who was sobbing and another who was completely terrified. It's kinda funny . . .

On the way home from Canning, two things stuck out to me: 1. I saw a beautiful story unfolding: a young man brought his girl to the train and stood outside until the train took off. His smile was what got me; his smile for her was beautiful. I had many questions for them because I assume they are not married (she was not wearing the normal red Sundor in her hair that signifies a Hindu woman is married . . . she could have been Muslim or Christian) so I wonder what their story is. One thing I did know was that they were in love. 2. When we got in our auto to get from the train station to the metro, a guy who was very high sat in front with the driver. At one point he draped his arm over the back of the seat and his hand touched my knee. My first reaction (because it's happened before) is to become angry. However, this guy was definitely not putting any moves on me--he was out of it. I actually got to the point where I was afraid he was going to fall out of the auto, so I had my hands ready to grab his arm should that happen.

All in a day . . .

Oh, this darn language

Well, I have no good news to share about my mad language-learning abilities. I am not any more confident or brave. I have had no stellar conversations.

However, yesterday Melissa and I began a new class with our language tutor here. We in K-town have been going to Protima Didi since the beginning of the field, so she knows our organization well. She's an amazing lady who has too much to do so decided to consolidate her evening language students to a three-night-a-week class. It's a lot to process and it gets out too late in the evening, but our first class yesterday was really fun.

There was one moment that made me feel so much more at ease. I was trying to speak, albeit haltingly, and I asked if I said it right--kind of shyly as per my norm. The teacher, a new teacher to us, said to me, Don't worry about if you say it right. Say it and I will correct you later. In essence, I heard him say, Make mistakes and make them boldly. Whew. I will try.

And then today at Sari Bari I was working hard sorting saris (which caused endless sneezing), and I did a darn good job organizing them by color (apparently, Upendra later told Beth that he will hire me as his assistant). After sorting saris, I was given the task of cutting bag handles, which, I found out, is not easy task. The scissors are huge, but it is tough material. Nazir, our master tailor, saw me struggling, came over to move me along quicker (at which point I thought he was giving up on me), and then tried to show me how to do it better. He was very patient, but I tried telling him that his hand is stronger. He said it wasn't not true. The entire time I was cutting bag handles, I was laughing with Nazir at myself. I think he was shaking his head at the bumbling white girl, but it was funny. Not a whole lot of language was going on, but a lot of good communication was. Laughing brings people together. And it's good medicine.

I'll take it as a God-thing

Somehow, I lost an hour this morning. All day I have been trying to figure out how it happened. I woke up at 7:30 and did my morning ritual of making coffee and oatmeal. Echoing the words Beth said to me this morning, I have to say that liking coffee is such a pleasure because each morning has a routine that no matter what happens the night before or the rest of the day, there is something that is normal and comforting.

Every Monday and Wednesday I go to Sari Bari in the south of Kolkata, which means I have to take the metro. After my first day back to Kolkata in June, I always leave at 8:45 so I don't have to fight the crowds at the height of morning rush hour.

I could have sworn I looked at the clock just before I went back to my room and it said 5 minutes till 8. So I am sitting in my room, drinking my coffee, eating my oatmeal, and reading my Bible when Melissa comes in and is startled to see me. She said, "I thought you had left already, and I was going to turn off your light." "I don't leave until 8:45." She looks at me like I am going crazy: "It's 9:15." What?! This is not possible . . .

I did this somewhere on my trip to the States where my clock was set wrong, so I woke up late, but my clock was right this time, and my alarm was set for 7:30. I wasn't putzing around. How did I lose an hour? I really have no idea; I am still quite perplexed. Melissa and Beth say I can still attribute it to jet lag if I want. But, what the heck?! Where did it go?

And so, after this realization, I decided to just take my time. At 9:15, the metro is insane, and trying to cram into a train where there is absolutely no room gives me a panic attack just thinking about it. Instead I left at 9:45 and told myself that if the first train that comes is crowded, I will just wait . . . and I did. I let 3 trains go before I finally got on one.

It's actually a bit embarrassing to admit that . . . am I that much of a wuss? Yes and no. Yes because getting caught in the middle of men and then having to stay there for at least 15 minutes until the larger part of the crowd gets off is liable to give me nightmares for days, which is what happened back in June. On the other hand, no because I want to keep my heart in a soft place where I don't become angry at everything and I don't want to be scared, so to be wise with how I react, I am choosing my battles. I was already late, so why rush now? There will be plenty of other days where I will have to get on the train in that crowd. Today was not that day.

I arrived at Sari Bari in time for tea. Really, I was only a half hour late. And as I was sitting there drinking my tea and eating my biscuits (aka crackers), I realized just how much I love our ladies. I don't always say much to them--working on that language thing, and I don't often understand the gist of the conversations floating around me, but I love being there. They are so incredibly beautiful.

God really is really great.

The Return

I was trying to tell my cousins (whom I stayed with for 3 weeks in August), that since I left them, I had such a great time . . . but it came out wrong because my time with them had been so good as well. I just meant that life is good.

The last two and a half months in the States were really good and refreshing. I am not sure that I deserved my time there, but I definitely made the most of it.

Just a quick word to say that I am back in K-town, India, and that I will be returning to the blogging world.