From the Outside Looking In

I've had a life of privilege.  I never realized it until I started living and travelling in developing countries.  Compared to my friends, my life as a child had seemed deprived.  My brother and I never had snacks to bring to school; we never went on family vacations; we only went out to eat for birthdays; and when I was six, my dad couldn't afford to buy me the Christmas present I longed for: a fluffy white walking robot dog with a leash attached to a remote control.  I was bitterly disappointed when I opened my Christmas present to find something else that was so insignificant in my eyes that I have forgotten what it was now.  

I began to realize how privileged I was when I started working at an international school in China.  Knowing no social boundaries, I became friends with my hairdresser.  We had gone out for dinner one night, and as we were walking on the streets to take a bus, I wanted to use the washroom.  Now I must confess, since I was a kid, I have had a fear of public bathrooms.  I remember trying to avoid using the relatively clean--now in retrospect--washroom in my elementary school because I thought it was "smelly."  So in China, what my expat friends and I often do is to bluff our way into a fancy hotel and borrow their restrooms.  Even though I can speak Mandarin, I would always emphasize my Canadian identity as I waltzed into 5-star hotels and asked where the WC (they call restrooms water closets in China) was.  My friend told me later that this incident had highlighted the social gap between us.  As a local, in best-case scenarios, he'd be shooed out of the hotel.  And I could enjoy my status as a foreigner.

I recently travelled to Darjeeling, the queen of hill stations.  I was able to book 3AC tickets for my 34h train trip to north India.  Let me explain--3AC means you're in an AC compartment with 3-tier bunk beds.  The cheapest tickets are general compartments where people have to stand (or if there's enough space, they sit on the ground) and the most expensive ones are 1AC.  On the way back, however, I was only able to obtain sleeper tickets.  They're also 3-tiered, minus the AC.  I went from 20C in the mountains to 38C on a hot, stuffy, smelly train.  

Even though I've travelled extensively in underdeveloped rural areas in India and China, I still haven't completely conquered my fear of dirty toilets.  So I usually try to drink as little water as possible and hold until I can't wait any longer to use the washroom.  When I was walking toward the washroom at the end of the compartment, I suddenly had a brainwave--maybe I could use the toilets on the side of the adjourning 3AC compartment!  They might be cleaned more frequently.  I discovered they weren't.  But I also discovered that the door sealing off the AC compartment was ajar and there was cool air leaking out!  Blissfully, I stood at the entrance enjoying the cooler temperature.  But then I looked furtively around me.  Would I be reprimanded for standing there where I didn't belong?  But I didn't move.  The AC was too wonderful.  Every now and then, however, I glanced around to ensure no one was coming to tell me to scat. 

I peered into the AC compartment and thought about how the people were just going about their activities in the train not fully realizing the luxury they were enjoying.  I was that person 10 days ago.  I contemplated walking in boldly, smiling at a random young man and asking if I could sit down (3 people sit on a cushioned bed/seat).  I know I could probably get away with that as a young foreign girl.  But I was scared of getting in trouble, of being recognized as someone who didn't belong.

How many people in this world are on the outside looking in?  How many are treated as the scum of the earth for trying to enjoy a privilege that others may feel they don't deserve?  How many are treated without dignity and insulted just because they are the powerless ones?

Silent Dignity

As I gazed out the window, trees, thatched huts and grazing cows flashed by.  Sometimes I'd see laundry hanging on the walls separating the community and the train tracks.  "What's the point?" I'd think sometimes.  "After all, doesn't the train make all the clothes dirty again?"

Something moves and enters my line of vision.  A half-naked boy in faded black cut-off jeans crawls on the floor, collecting all the garbage while mopping the floor with his dirty gray t-shirt.  Not wanting to stare, I look away, but can't help but observe him out of the corner of my eyes.  He moves into my berth's cabin.  I lift my legs so he can clean the space under the seat.  "Maybe I should take a picture to show the world the plight of the poor," I think.  But I don't.  It would rob him of his silent dignity.  It would turn him into some curio for others to gawk at and consume.  

As he finishes up in the 3-tiered cabin, he stands up  to ask for compensation.  I realize that he's not more than 10, 11.  Unless if he's severely malnourished.  Then he could be a teenager.  Fighting back tears, I give him a pack of digestive biscuits.  He takes it wordlessly, without meeting my gaze.  The child pockets the change and continues mopping the next cabin with just one hand.  He finds a discarded plastic bag and sticks the biscuits in.  Later, when the train stops, I see him walking alongside the coach, the plastic bag swinging in his hand.

Two stops later, another boy gets on and begins sweeping the coach with a short coconut-fiber broom.  He sweeps too vigorously and ends up spraying a middle-aged passenger with some candy wrappers.  The man shouts at the boy's lowered head.  And I cringe for him.

The Widow's 2 Coins

A week before I left India, I spent a few hours with the kids to help them make thank-you cards for their sponsors & donors.  While we were making cards, I casually commented that it was Vimal's (the director of the ministry) birthday that day.  After the girls had finished with their cards, they immediately sprang into action.  They went into their room and started drawing cards for Vimal.  When Vimal arrived at the children's home, I beckoned the girls to him.  They shyly shuffled forward one by one and handed him their cards.  The last girl, eight-year-old Supriya, presented a 10 rupee note (equivalent to 20 cents) into his hands, saying that she didn't have a birthday gift for him, so instead she was giving him birthday money.

I talked to Supriya later and found out that her mom had given her and her sister a total of $2 for snacks.  They tithed and bought snacks in bulk.  Their spending money had slowly dwindled over a month.  The 10 rupees she gave to Vimal was all that she had left.  She had given to him everything she had!  Supriya inspires me to love others more and to give with abandonment.  All that I have came from God, so whatever I give, I'm just giving it back to Him.

Sweet Supriya

I Feel Abundant When…

-          The water tanks are full & I know we have enough water to do the dishes, flush the toilet, and take showers for a day

-          We have 2 dishes instead of 1 to go with our rice.  Usually for lunch, we get lentil soup over rice and dinner, vegetable curry over rice.  I feel abundant when we have an additional dish of egg and tomato.

-          I have a mattress to sleep on because when I sleep on hard surfaces (like floors), there’s always a huge gap between my back and the surface.

-          I have meat in my bowl.  Eating meat is something special for those who are eating on a tight budget in India & it only occurs once a week.

-          I don’t have to wash my underwear for a week because I have more than 2.

-          I have 2 different fruits to eat in 1 day.

-          I can stop and buy a 40 cent chilled drink if I’m thirsty.  I can afford it while many cannot.

-          There is electricity and we can pump water from the bore well and I can play the keyboard without wasting the batteries.

“I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty.  I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.  I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” (Phil 4:12-13)

An Outsider’s Inside Look on Rape & Domestic Abuse in India

I just want to start with a disclaimer: I am only writing to present my perspective, personal experiences, and musings.  I do not seek to represent the whole country or culture. 

Rape.  A word filled with trauma, dehumanization, and shame.  Even before I left Canada to return to India in early Dec (before the infamous Dec. 16 rape in Delhi), my best friend’s mom handed me a newspaper clipping from The Georgia Straight about how India has been voted by sociologists and anthropologists worldwide as the worse country for women to live in out of all the G20 countries.  According to a BBC article, strong policies against violence and exploitation combined with good access to education and healthcare make Canada the best G20 country to be a woman, while infanticide, child marriage and slavery make India the worst. As TrustLaw states, "As a child, [and Indian woman] faces abuse, rape and early marriage and even when she marries, she is killed for dowry.  If she survives all of this, as a widow she is discriminated against and given no rights over inheritance or property."

My background is I’ve been here as a tourist twice for a total of 7 weeks, visiting 5 different states.  I’m currently staying in Andhra Pradesh (in south India) for longer periods.  Here’s what I’ve encountered of the objectification of women (as sex objects) and rape.  While travelling with friends in India, there was 1 incident in which we were on a packed train—it took us 15min to walk 8 steps in the sea of people—and there was a man grinding against her while her enormous backpack kept her tightly lodged for a few seconds.  There is this lady who is around 20 who lives near my friends who has had a child out of wedlock.  The adorable and energetic 5-year-old is a product of rape.  Her mother always had trouble speaking & can only utter sounds.  She got raped when she was working at a motel.  I have also met a vibrant, intelligent, and western (in her way of thinking as well as dress) socialite who is a product of rape.  Her mother travelled for 6 hours to drop her off when she was only 3 days old.  She grew up there and was adopted as an older child.  My friend told me that there are at least 3 stories of abuse, rape, or murder every day in the newspaper in their district alone, never mind the entire state.

Although there are many sources that build up a certain mindset and perception of women in the minds of men, I have to say that the media is quite interesting here.  Not that I usually watch Bollywood or Telugu movies, but I am subjected to this mind-numbing form of torture when I take overnight buses to cities.  Although there is no overt nudity, girls dancing in the musicals in movies are often scantily dressed by western standards.  Imagine what a shocker that is to your average Indian who sees only women dressed in traditional clothes that cover your shoulders, chest, and legs.  I always cringe at the objectification of women as merely sexy eye-candy in movies.  Even the framing of the camera lens (do forgive me if I don’t know film jargon) is often male centered.  A little zooming in here, a little elevatoring there, and voila, you get your male audience drooling.  The catchy theme songs aren’t much better.  I once heard this song that had a chorus dedicated to the repetition of “your eyes, your smile, your curves, your legs” or something similarly shallow.  Movies here also often show a very superficial side of relationships.  I’m not saying that Hollywood is much better, but at least the protagonists usually talk to each other before falling head over heels in love.  I’ve seen so many movies in which the male and female protagonists fall in love during a prolonged, electrifying glance or a mere touch of the hand.  Talk about over-sensualization of relationships!  I’m not saying that movies make men take extreme actions, as each individual is responsible for his/her actions, but it does help to form attitudes.  

I haven’t personally experienced any degrading treatment from men.  It is probably due to the fact that 99% of the people I interact with are Christians & they highly respect me as foreigner.  Also, the 1% of people I interact with who are not Christians are usually skilled tradesmen or construction workers; they also give me my due respect. During my 6 overnight train rides and maybe 20 overnight bus rides, I’ve never had a problem.  I’ve even taken an overnight train for 20h alone to save money.  I’ve taken lots of autos (auto rickshaws) and private taxis, often with just another girl—my fearless best friend, Catherine.

(As a side note, interestingly enough, despite the fact that India is a tough place for women to live, most people—especially in the countryside—feel a sense of security.  Because the home is half indoors and outdoors, housewives are always out and about.  Even if they’re inside, the doors are open to let in air.  People are often outside their one-room houses to cook, wash clothes, and use the washroom.  As a result of frequent power outages and no AC in most rural homes, people always keep their doors open with only a curtain hanging at the doorway.  In the summers, families take their cots to sleep in their courtyards or on the terrace.  I’ve even been in homes in big cities where people leave their front doors open for ventilation.)

I have heard many stories of domestic abuse.  I have witnessed it from my 2^nd floor veranda.  The husband and wife were fighting so loudly they could be heard miles away.  For some reason, the husband was trying to beat his wife.  He ran after her with a knife and when he was intercepted by intervening relatives and neighbours, he picked up a giant stick.  I wanted to run out and say something, do something, but I was told that they’ll settle it in their own community.  If any outsider intervenes (even someone who’s Indian), they’ll end up turning on the outsider.  There’s something magically unifying when there is an outsider to form a coalition against. 

I’ve also heard many stories about fighting in the house.  One time I naively asked the child who was narrating the story, “who was hitting who?  Was your dad hitting your mom or your mom hitting your dad?”  The child didn’t even understand my question.  I was told by the translator that, that question isn’t even necessary because no woman in India would lift a hand against her husband.  I’ve seen 2 children I formed relationships with bawling on the street because they just witnessed their dad hit their mom.  We’ve had an instance when one of our construction workers threw a shovel at his wife who was also working with us.  Apparently, she was nagging him too much about his harsh discipline of his sons. 

I’ve found that domestic violence is often linked to the abuse of alcohol.  Alcoholism is a serious problem here.  Alcohol is dirt cheap in liquor shops and even cheaper when made at home from palm trees sap.  In some villages, homemade alcohol is the main source of income, above whatever farmers can make from agriculture.  Domestic violence is generally accepted here and most people won’t interfere unless if the wife’s life is in danger.  I think sometimes men look down on their wives because of their “failure” to produce a male heir.  I wonder what these men would say if they knew that they are the ones responsible for the chromosome that determines the sex of the baby?  For many, raising girls means saving a lot of money to pay for their dowries when they married.  Although this practice was outlawed in 1961 under the Indian civil law, it is still prevalent and there’s nothing the government can do to stop it.  Having girls also means that you make an investment with little returns: girls end up joining their husbands’ families.

All of the bad media and musing above aside though, I’ve met many decent, respectable, and humble Indian gentlemen.  I’ve witnessed tears trail down Vimal’s cheeks as we read through articles about rape in India centering around the appalling Dec. 16 incident.  As in any other country around the world, India has all sorts of people.  It’s just sad that certain pockets of the culture condone the degradation and objectification of women, and failures of the system allow appalling forms of this dehumanization to unfold. 

Don’t get me started now on the reports I’ve read about rape victims that go to police stations to only get raped there again by the law enforcement officers.  My blog is long enough already.

What I’ve Learnt in Rural India

Below are the top 10 things I’ve learned after living here for a year.  Not bad for a Canadian city girl, eh?  (haha, I just can’t resist the temptation to use a Canadianism)

1. How to use safety pins effectively and in an economic way to solve all my clothing and flip-flop woes
2. How to use less water
3. How to maximize my instant noodle soup
4. How to hand wash my clothes
5. How to make the best of a food budget at the poverty line: 60 cents for 3 meals
6. How to flush a western toilet thoroughly with water from a bucket while using the least amount of water
7. How to stop your ceiling from leaking onto your bed in 2min
8. How to get rid of the lizards that appear at night to flick their tongues at all those crunchy bugs
9. How to stop a heat rash from itching
10. How to turn my stove—an open fire—up and down while ensuring the 30 eggs I am scrambling don’t burn in the huge wok

Well, here are the simple solutions:

1. See “The Safety Pin” blog to gain enlightenment on new ways to use that handy invention of advanced technology.

2. Just try carrying 20L of water (weighing ~ 20 Kgs) in buckets up a flight of stairs and down a long veranda.  Making the trip four times a day is a great way to get a free work-out.  Thank God I started carrying 4L milk jugs and ice-cream buckets from gr2 or so, so I’ve built up the muscles for it.  And I’ve worked out to a scientific precision the exact amounts needed for everything:  5L to flush #1;  10-15L to flush #2; 15L for a regular shower; 20L for a shower that includes washing my hair; 500mL to wash my hands.  I did a bit of research and discovered on the Environmental Canada website that household toilets use 20L to flush (that’s like an entire shower!) whereas 6L would do.  According to the government website, the average Canadian’s daily domestic use of fresh water per capita is 343L whereas in France, it is 150L and America is 382L.  My usage?  Well, including my drinking water & water used for cooking & washing dishes, 90L a day.

3. After cooking instant noodles, savour some of the soup & save the rest.  Day 2: take the soup out of the fridge (if you have one) and re-boil it with noodles, veggies and a poached egg.

4. Hmmm…. This is still a challenge for me.  I’m not good at getting the spots out.  But I’m quite good at soaking them for a long time and procrastinating at washing them.  The good thing is soaking clothes in soapy water is very effective at getting all the dust out.  The water turns into a murky brown colour.  I always do my laundry in Jangareddigudem (30km away from the school & children’s home) when I go back once a week because there’s running water there.  It flows from an outdoor tap.  It’s easier to wash my clothes in Janga because I don’t have to carry buckets of water around.  The trick is to finish your laundry between 6am and 9:30am when the government pipes provide running water.  After that, all you can use is stagnant tank water. 

5. Eat rice.  Lots of it!  And when you cook dal, use less lentils and lots of water.  Flavour the watery dal with some masala (spice mix) and voila!  For dinner, add lots of salt and chili peppers to your vegetables so that a small scoop is sufficient to flavour your mound of rice.

6. The trick is to pour the water slightly to one side of the toilet bowl to create a swirl (don’t know the scientific terms for this :P  Need my nerdy roomie, Cath) and enough momentum to get everything down with minimal water. 

7. Wedge an umbrella between the fan and your AC, that is, if you’re lucky enough to be among the 1% of Indians (or those living here) to have one.  If not, look for a cement shelf.  This will help to redirect the drip off your bed and onto your floor. (See “You’ve Got to Be Kidding Me!”)

8. Close your eyes.   Now gently push your knowledge of the lizards into a small, forgotten corner of your mind.  Tell yourself, “if I don’t see it, it must not be there.”  Ostriches do have strategic instincts, you know.

9. Try heat rash powder, then anti-itch cream.  If all fails, take out your antiseptic ear solution (typically given to you after you get your ears pierced in Canada) which says “solution ideal for heat rash” on it and apply evenly over rash.  Repeat 3 times.

10. Ask the kids helping you to do so.  They’ll either add more sticks and/or blow at the fire, or they’ll remove the twigs from the center of the fire pit.  Yay for a plethora of volunteers that never tire of helping me cook!

Ants in My Pants

After living here, I have gained a new level of understanding of the phrase “ants in my pants.”  Ants are not only in my pants—they are EVERYWHERE!  I ate my first ant last week.  On purpose.  Oh yes, you heard (read) correctly.  I opened up the jar of honey and low and behold, a gazillion ants frantically running to and fro inside not to mention those who drowned in the viscous liquid.  For the 3^rd time in the last 3 months, I started the task of fishing out ants from my honey.  If I was home in Canada, I would have thrown away the honey like most westerners.  However, honey is a luxury item here and few can afford it.  I usually use it to sweeten my curd (bumpy yogurt with no addictives) and museli breakfast.  With whatever I receive through people from God, I spend it very carefully and wholesome foods are definitely a priority.  If I throw the honey away, I have to invest 10% of my monthly support once again.  So I diligently remove all the dead ants in the honey so they don’t decompose and add extra protein to my breakfast.  The next morning, surprise, they’re back again!  I had closed the lid tightly, but according to Vimal, they keep marching in circles until they get around the seal.  Magically.  This time I’m too hungry and weary to remove every single ant.  So I just disposed of as many as I could and took the plunge.  I scooped out some honey with ants in it and mixed it into my cereal. 

One thing I’ve learned here is how to turn the blind eye to many things.  When the kids are generously feeding me a bite of their snacks, how can I start thinking about where their hands have been and reject their love?  When someone feeds me a bite of cake for his/her birthday, how can I contemplate all the mouths those fingers have been in before they started shoving cake in my mouth?  When I eat my rice, how can I ponder which cloth Ama used to strain her rice and whether it’s the super-brown discarded sari blouse on which I saw 30 flies alight upon earlier?  When I dip a pail into the water tank to fetch water for washing the ditches, how can I consider the swirly insects that I’ve observed swimming playfully in the water or all the decomposing leaves that have fallen in or the buckets that have been dunked in which most likely weren’t cleaned properly after being set on the bathroom floor?  I can’t.  I just lock those thoughts into a tiny drawer in my mind and keep going about my tasks.  That is my survival tactic.  Just keep going, just keep going, just keep going and going and going. 

That being said, I do take note of some repeated unhygienic behaviours and educate (as well as nag!) the kids accordingly.  But I just gotta pick my battles and deal with a few behaviours at a time, otherwise I will drive myself as well as the kids up the wall nagging.

I digress.  Hmmmm…. Here are a few more interesting places I have seen ants:

-          Pouring out of every crack and crevice in my 16-year-old cement wall as well as behind electric sockets

-          Crawling all over my dirty clothing

-          Swarming over my brown rice sealed tightly in a heavy-duty plastic bag

-          Creeping out of my instant noodles

-          Dancing on my favourite multigrain biscuits (unfortunately, I saw—and felt!—the ants after I took a bite of the biscuits I had opened the previous day)

-          Trekking on my walls in a uniform line

-          Teeming in a circle around a dead baby lizard on the floor of my room

I’ve discovered that the tiny red ants have super sharp teeth: they can gnaw through sturdy aluminum-lined plastic (such as my instant noodle packages), chew through cardboard and even bite human beings!  A bite feels like a little sting and afterwards it’ll swell up like a freshly-scratched mosquito bite.  After they carry off the bits of food they want, they leave behind this crumbly residue.  There have been several times I’ve opened my instant noodles only to discover that the ants have already ravaged it.  In those cases, all I can use is the spice and flavouring packages and then I take from my supply of dry noodles.  My solution: put my food in a plastic tub, fill the lid with water and place the plastic tub on the lid.  The moat works. 

I asked Vimal why ants suddenly appear in huge armies overnight once summertime rolls around (in India, that’s in March).  I mean, why can’t they just be content with eating food all year round?  It’s not like the winters are actually cold and the coolest temperature I’ve experienced is like ~12C late at night.  Besides, I’ve seen them wandering around in the winter time.  Maybe those were the outcasts that were exiled from their anthills (or rather, ant crevices).  But I guess the ants here are extra diligent in the oppressive weather because the behaviour of ants is the same all around the world.  

The Safety Pin: Versatile & suitable for all needs

Here are some common uses for safety pins in India (at least where I live!):

1. Pinning fresh flowers in your hair.  You stick the needle part through the stem of the flower and then stuff hair through the closed safety pin to incorporate it into your braid.  Or you cheat like me and just stick a barrette through the safety pin.
2. Keeping your sari (6 meters of fabric that is draped on with only a tiny top and a long slip underneath) together.  And they only use safety pins, nothing else!
3. Patching up holes that rats bit in your shirts or torn seams.  The solution?  Simple!  Make the holes disappear by safety pinning them on the outside of course—why miss a chance to make a fashion statement?
   
   
   
4. Fixing missing or broken buttons.  Yes, it is possible to have half a button on your dress shirt.  My theory is that this happens here because people beat their clothes on a rock to wash them (maybe beating them helps clean the clothes better due to a combination of momentum and friction?), so buttons break off in chunks.  You just safety pin 2 spots on your dress shirt and you’re ready to go out!
5. Fixing broken zippers.  Zippers are dirt cheap here, like 20 cents for one.  However, the old adage that you get what you pay for rings true.  Most of the zippers on our girls’ dresses and the boys’ jeans and shorts break in a matter of months.  To fix a zipper quickly and economically, simply put a safety pin near the top of the dress and you’ve got a new style going!
6. Tightening loose elastics on skirts.  If your elastic is too loose, just hold the skirt together so it fits just right & then safety pin it.  It’s dirt cheap, foolproof and only takes a fraction of a second. 
7. Cleaning your ear.  If you’re adventurous, open the safety pin, otherwise take a closed safety pin & use it like a Q-tip!
8. Fixing your flip-flops.  Another way to keep your flip-flops together is to stick your safety pin through the thong (the one that keeps popping out) underneath the shoe so that it won’t pop out anymore.  A personal tried and true method.

My theory is that people use safety pins so often to fix clothing because it saves them time and more importantly, money.  Why spend the extra 40 cents (like a third of a day’s salary for those with the least income) to fix your clothes when you have a safety pin?  After all, a pack of safety pins (around 15) is only like 10 cents.  Using safety pins as a quick fix for clothes is super economical, but like one of my friends commented, it makes one look sloppy. 

At the end of the day, those living below the poverty line are concerned about survival.  Pure and simple.  One does not have the money to consider how to look tidy and smart.  All your money is spent on basic necessities like food and rent.  Whatever you save, you use to purchase a set of new clothes for your children for Christmas or their birthdays.  For the underprivileged, gifts are almost always clothes.  Very few can afford luxuries like giving a stuffed animal or a game or new sports equipment.  Books?  Unheard of.  I have not seen a single family with books for pleasure reading.  All the books I’ve seen here are merely textbooks.  (ok, I know I started this with safety pins & have once again landed squarely on the subject of poverty :P  You know where my heart is!)

Today a child came with biscuits and candies to my door to distribute.  It is his birthday.  The tradition here is that you go around treating everyone you know to candies and sometimes biscuits or cookies.  As he handed the goodies to me, all I could think of was 1) he was contacting the biscuits directly, and who knows whether he has washed his hands with soap first?; 2) I don’t like that kind of biscuit and I will save it for my beloved puppies at the school.  Now as I reflect, I realize I’m quite bourgeois compared to those around me.  I know what kind of biscuits I like (the butter cookies that cost 10 cents a pack) and I wrinkle my nose at the cheap biscuits (the ones that cost 4 cents) that I think are tasteless and stale.  I also wrinkle my nose at the birthday cakes sold in the bakeries in the town: they’re dry, crumbly, and the frostings are artificial and grainy with sugar.  After delectable mango mousse cakes in Vancouver, my favourite tiramisu cake, and Catherine’s scrumptious black forest cake, how can I possibly wolf down a piece of Jangareddigudem cake?  But the kids here are appreciative of almost everything they receive, from tasteless biscuits to stale chips.  Perhaps it’s partly due to the lack of knowledge of what’s better.  I suppose this is an example of how the cliché “ignorance is bliss” as a core of truth. 

Regardless, no matter how I try to live like those I serve, it is virtually impossible.  I can’t eat the same diets of which 90% is rice.  I get constipated.  I get lethargic.  I get grumpy.  And I can eat a bite of Jangareddigudem cakes in celebration of a child’s birthday, but I can’t possibly enjoy it.  And if I get suddenly sick or in an accident, I know I have a vast support network in Canada and elsewhere in the world to call upon.  Those here either have to borrow money or die slowly in their homes.  I am fortunate.  I am blessed.  And now, I’m called to be a blessing.