We arrived back in Bangalore, India on Thursday morning, April 17th at 12:05 am. The moment the doors of the Lufthansa 747 opened, I began losing weight. For some reason totally unbeknownst to me, Cokie and I decided to come back to India at the beginning of Indian summer (i.e. April - June). I have been sweating like a pig nonstop ever since. Between the sweating and my normal Indian diet of no beef or pork, walking everywhere, and dysentery every other day, the pounds are melting away faster than the polar icecaps. Fortunately before heading back to India, I had gorged myself with heavily fat-laden food items, much like a bear preparing for hibernation.
Between my constant hydration activities and praying to God for a snowstorm, I have been getting my office back up and running. On the afternoon of our first day back, I had discovered (much to my horror) that while we were away in the US, one or more of the eleven dogs which were living in our compound, had somehow gained access to our roof and had chewed through my telephone/Internet cable. Yes, I realize that it was a mixed blessing. The dogs prevented our house from being robbed while we were gone, but the mess they left behind was horrendous. Four of the dogs were puppies which had been born several weeks before we left in February, and I suspect they were the culprits since the other seven dogs were well aware of my intense need for a good Internet connection. I had lectured them on several occasions about how their future supply of food and water depended upon that connection. Although this was an unforeseen issue to contend with but one which I fixed the next day with wire cutters and electrical tape, Cokie and I have understandably acclimated much more quickly this time than last September when we first arrived and had thought we had been dropped the face of the earth. At that time, we felt we were at the mercy of everyone and everything around us. The American unfriendly house, the pot-ridden dirt road to our village which time forgot, the lack of good utilities, the constant pressure of being approached for money by seemingly everyone around us, and the widespread poverty brought us down to levels of despair which we had never experienced before. This time, however, we came back with a vengeance. We knew what challenges lay ahead of us and this time we were prepared. For example, this time we knew how to handle Indian customs when we arrived. For the first time traveler to India especially with a lot of luggage, going through customs is very painful and acutely expensive. Thanks to dear friends who work at the airport, this time around we knew what to say, what things to look for (e.g., chalked X’s on your luggage means someone quickly looked through your luggage upon arrival and has warned customs officials about who to approach), and what doors to get out. We walked out of the place without paying one rupee unlike the $200 US we paid last fall. (Hey, I know that sounds like a lot but the customs officials first wanted me to pay 400 Euros (~ $600 US) for the 21 pieces of luggage we had but I managed to talk them down to the $200 US).
The next day after our arrival, we got a car and driver and went into town to buy food and pay a few utility bills. Our driver, Swami (yes that was his real name) was a soft spoken Hindu man married with two children. We picked up our friend’s son, Sunil who is like an adopted son, from college and began our errands. I instructed Swami to first take us to a bank where we knew our US ATM cards worked. After I withdrew some cash and got back into the car, I leaned over to Swami and told him that I could now pay him. Swami looked back at me with this mix of surprise and terror. The thought that a white American may not be able to pay him had never crossed his mind before. It was a priceless moment.
Finally, last Sunday, April 20th, Cokie and I attended Indiranagar Methodist Church. During the service, the congregation was asked to stand and “meet and greet” each other. I turned around and faced a little ole’ Indian man with a big bushy white mustache. He was smartly dressed in a grey three-piece suit. He reached out his frail right hand and shook mine and then with his left hand he reached up and gently tugged on my “equally white” goatee. He whispered to me, “I just had to pull that.” I was so taken back that I just started laughing and he began to laugh as well. It was unexpected intimacy, but within a place where it should exist. Afterwards, I thought what courage that small action took. There have been many times in my life when I have seen men and women with strange hairdos, facial hair or clothing that made you want to touch them just to see if they were real.
Life in India was back to normal.
L to R: Merci, Me, Dr. Moses and assistant (name unknown) in medical camp after the Tsunami, January 2005, Cuddalore, India
