pictures from mah trip

nurses being trained to run the integrated counseling and testing centres in rural areas.

view from the roof of a small village convent. the nuns run a primary school and farm the plot of land behind it for money. you can see their waterbuffalo and her calf.


in the city's zoopark on a day off. yes, those are white tigers.

at a farm/newly started Care and Support Centre/soon-to-be nursing school the NGO is working on. the crops are grown for both medicinal purposes as well as for profit to help fun the endeavors.


the view from inside a rickshaw.


visiting one of the government hospitals in the city (huge!!!).


visiting a nursing school - this is the practice room.


this is the nursing station/medication room for the HIV/AIDS Care and Support Centre. i can't really post any other pictures from it - confidentiality and all that.


doing some touristy stuff - visiting ancient ruins, climbing on things.

the world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point.

i really am glad to be back in Toronto. i have missed home. and yet there is something that worries me about being back.

you see, being in India i had the privilege of seeing the world through tourist's eyes. not belonging to a place and having no (or very limited) responsibilities, and being somewhere quite alien puts a sense of wonder and the exotic on everything.
everything is interesting and strange and beautiful. i recall the daily 'parades' of Eluru and realize that i probably did not represent them to you entirely accurately, as even while they stared at us walking by, i also stared - not in the same way, but at the beauty and wonder of this strange new world and its people.
it's sort of like reading the beginning chapters of One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (hence the title) - where the ordinariness of life is so magical and surreal that you are filled with continuous wonder - (before the world he paints descends into chaos and ruin).
i would catch myself thinking all the time, i wonder if anyone else realizes how beautiful this moment and everything is. just the way the sunlight falls, the way the ground feels beneath your feet, the buildings greyed with dirt and pollution, the walls covered with moss and creepers, birds calling, traffic blaring continuously, children laughing, and people everywhere, busy, going about the stuff of life.

i know that now i have returned i will soon get caught up in the stuff of life myself, and lose the wonder and appreciation of life and its beauty that i gained while being here.

it's strange how we learn to be in a way that isn't being at all.
eyes that don't see, ears that don't hear.
and i know that soon i will start to take for granted the people that for months i longed to see. we will argue and fight and become bored and exhausted and stressed and disconnect, and want to be away from it all, all the while blinded to the wonder and beauty and love.

on flying.

i hate flying.
i hate flying.
i hate it so much it had to be said twice. i used to think aeroplanes were wonderful marvelous magical machines - oh naive fool that i was, for in reality they are horrid and evil.
i don't know who came up with the whole aeroplane/airtravel/airport process, but whoever it was is sadistic: combining the experience of being treated like a terrorist, a criminal, an illegal alein, an imposter, and cattle, all into one 33 hour long day. cramming into a shaking aluminum box, sitting still for hours on end, having your seat kicked by whoever happens to be behind you and listening to children shrieking as unconcerned parenets ignore them.
i think being frisked is my least favourite legal activity, and it is made so much worse by being told to have a nice flight directly afterward.

have a nice flight?
yes. i think i will do that.
same to you.



it wasn't that bad, really: there were no kicking/screaming children, the kids that were there were quite good actually; the plane didn't crash; they constantly kept coming around with food; i watched Prince Caspian (and bawled - but it was dark so it was okay) and about 4 other movies aaaannnd,
i'm back.

yay!

'Z' is for zoomzoom

the end.

'Y' is for yard

'X' is for xylem

... didn't expect that, did ya?

'W' is for waterbuffalo

'V' is for veggies

'U' is for unpalatable

'T' is for table

'S' is for sweet lime

'R' is for rooftop

'Q' is for quiet time

'P' is for parlour

'O' is for overgrown

a picture.

the train ride from goa to bombay was breathtaking.
it looked like a painting you might see, ever changing. i didn't have a camera, so this is the best i could do.

the first thing that your eyes took in was all shades of pink and orange blended together. the coulds blanketed the sky, making patterns like whipped cream being stirred about in a giant bowl that was the atmosphere. here and there the sky peaked through, pale and blue but ever darkening. clouds against the horizon had a purplish hue, looking like mountains from another world. in front of these the mountains of this world, green, covered in thick, dark forests, silouhetted against the sky.
in the foreground, every shade of green - the grass and shrubs a bright, fresh hue, and then the trees darker against the sky. here and there a cultivated patch of land, cows and waterbuffalo grazing, and the occasional cottage or villa standing bravely in the midst of nature.
the pools of water left by the rains mirrored back the colourful pallete of the sky. the mud, rich and red. the train cut a path through the hills on either side, lumbering along its way, drowning out the other noises around. all along the trees reminding you that this is jungle.
the wind, wark but refreshing against your face from the open windows. strong, whispering to you that this is real, not a dream.
darker and darker as the sun set. the train shuffled on till everything took on the same shade of black and the sky darkened to match it. first rose, then deeper, almost crimson, violet, grey and black.

it was awesome to behold. not awesome like the ninja turtles, but awesome as in instilling awe and making one wonder incredulously at the fact of life, of existence, of being here to behold and marvel at beauty.
the only thing distracting were the cocroaches crawling all over the inside of the coach.

'N' is for nightview

'M' is for market

on death. part 1...?

i don't want to die. not yet. i know that's sort of an odd statement. but in india, it feels sort of like life is cheap and plentiful. that is, not meaning that the cost of living is inexpensive, but that dying is much closer than it seems to be in the west, and it's not such a great big deal, but a part of life. death is a fact. it is expected and inevitable. they say that the west has made it 'unnatural' to die. so that even though death is universal, it is a tragedy each time. i suppose we are not exposed to death as often. (although being in the hospital setting, that might change for me). and so not being around it, you don't tend to think about it or talk about it.
well, here, i feel like it is around a lot more. or maybe it's just circumstances and my situation that makes it seem that it is around a lot more. and that makes me think about it more. death and age and sickness.
i don't want to die yet. i have some things that i would like to do first. i don't mean a "list of things to do before you die" but unfinished business.
maybe i'm morbid.
maybe a 20-something year old shouldn't be thinking about these things.
and yet, during my time here i've seen 20-something year olds die. one minute they are here, then you go for lunch and the next they are not.

when i walked through the cemetary that day, i read the inscriptions that family and friends had put on the tombstones - things like "although she is gone, she will live on in our hearts" or some such thing. it isn't true though - and i don't know why we try to pretend that it is. memories aren't the same as people. you can't live on in a memory.
mostly though, there were not even those inscriptions, just names and dates, which i found to be even sadder.
i always thought that i would die young. did you ever read "little women"? do you remember beth? i always thought i would be like her. but i've found that i'm not quite done yet.
this has just been a jumble of thoughts, not cohesive at all - i'll have to think through it again.
maybe i'm morbid.