Vrindavan is an ancient city that is known as the birthplace of Lord Krishna and as the home to a large number of Bengali widows. In some communities, women and “their sins” are believed to be at fault for the death of their husbands. Thus when the husband dies, the widows are thrown out of the home as they are perceived to be a bad omen on the family. Devoting their lives to the adoration of Lord Krishna, is seen as the only way to earn salvation. For this reason, the widows migrate to Vrindavan (some independently and others are brought by their families) to become spiritually wed to Lord Krishna. Their livelihood largely depends on the benevolence of others. Few have access to pensions (300 rupees or US $6.6, a month), but many of them are not aware of such benefits or lose motivation to complete applications due to bureaucratic barriers (sound familiar?). They are often seen begging or singing at temples for 3 rupees a day (US $0.07) and a small serving of rice.
Maitri is heavily involved in restoring the dignity and hope to destitute widows. They do so by managing the Chaitanya Vihar Ashram --a sort of convent that looks very much like a school-- and providing one healthy-midday meal. Our intent in going was to meet the widows and to participate in the distribution of food. While we missed the distribution the first day, Meli and I were fortunate to participate during the second trip.
From the time we entered the ashram, elderly women in saris greeted us “Radhe Radhe!” --a hail of sorts to Lord Krishna. In response, we would place our hands in prayer position, bow our heads, and say “Radhe Rahde!” If there is one thing Meli and I have memorized is the broken phrase “Hindi, nehi. Inglish" (No Hindi, English). After reciting these words, some of them would kindly smile, nod, and continue on their way, while others would continue speaking in Hindi, despite knowing we didn’t understand. The majority of these women are in overall good health, as good as can be expected, but a good number are seriously are ill. One woman approached me, again I recited my broken phrase, but she didn’t seem to mind the language barrier. With sadness in her eyes, she pointed to some dark-red bumps she had on her arms as she repeated some words --it seemed like she was pleading for help. At that moment, I was so mad at myself for not speaking Hindi. I desperately wanted to know what afflicted this frail woman and to offer her an ear and some words of comfort. Instead, I gently caressed her arm and hoped to communicate, non-verbally, that I was sorry for her pain. I don’t know if I was successful, but I made sure to mention it to Anita, my coworker for further inquiry.
Snapping his fingers, Mr. Jo
lly-Sir exclaimed “Go to the other ashram! Go, go!” We followed our coworker out to the van and set out to the “old ashram” (I don’t recall the name). Driving through the narrow and bumpy roads, felt like moving through a labyrinth, while sitting next to a cow, smoking a cigarette of smog, watching a wild monkey documentary, and grooving to a musical mix of honks and hollers. It was wild to witness the spatial awareness of the people.
We finally arrived to the ashram, without anyone who spoke English. Uh-oh! Watching the widows set up, Meli and I tried to find the right time to pick up a bucket filled with food, and serve the meal to the widows. After an opening hymn, some women picked up buckets, and we took that as our cue to “get to work.” I asked “Ek? Do?” (One? Two?) as I held the spoon filled with vegetables, hoping to glean what portion I would distribute. “Ek!” Replied the woman. Non-verbals saved us during this experience. The women, who were seated in rows on the thin mat, would point to the place where they wanted each of the entrees served
. With their hands, they would indicate if they wanted more, if they had enough, or if they didn’t want any at all. I learn that “bas” means enough, and “mor” means more. We went around a couple of times, and I noticed that some had a healthy appetite (my kind of women! lol). With a mischievous look on her face, one woman kept asking me for more lol... and of course, I supplied it (can’t oppress the chubbies- you know, the hungry people in our head). As they ate, they chatted loudly, laughed, saved “seats” for each other, and advocated for those who weren’t there by asking for another serving in a container to go.
Grateful for their food, the women picked up their plates, walked back to their rooms as they exclaimed “Radhe, Ra
dhe.” I was incredibly moved by these women, who despite the abandonment of their families, laughed, gave thanks, and had the will power to return to the temple to sign just for 3 rupees a day. I am incredibly privileged to bask in their energy.
Ps. In route to Vrindavan, I witnessed the first sighting of a cow, camel, elephant, and monkey. All in a days work! :)
Pss. According to Mr. Jolly-Sir my name is Eva... he thinks it easier for him.
We had the pleasure of spending time with Chloe and Scott, who arrived yesterday after a backpacking trip through Nepal. They needed to buy some gifts so we decided to go to Janpath Market. And so we went, bartering with rickshaw drivers who often resist transporting more then three persons (in our case, we settled for meter cost + 40 rupees).
Along the way we were approached by children and women, some begging and some selling little trinkets. The first occurred at a stop light, where I was approached by a beautiful little girl, around age 7, who was selling pencils. Signing food and rubbing her belly she said, “10 rupees... food.” Con el corazon en la mano (with my heart in hand), I declined “No thank you, love. I don’t have money!” She insisted, which only made it harder to look her in the eyes. I really didn’t have any change. She offered again as she placed the pencils on my lap, “ten rupees, yes?” Once again I declined with humbled eyes and a nod. Pointing to my glasses and then to herself, I wasn’t sure if she was implying an exchange or if she wanted me to give them to her. As the light turned green, she removed the pencils from my lap and graciously smiled, despite my lack of patronage. I couldn’t get her out of my mind as I recalled scenes from Slumdog Millionaire where children were being extorted and exploited by money-making, scam-artists (note: I am not suggesting that the film is accurate, simply that I was reminded of it). That thought was quickly interrupted by a tap on my leg from a woman holding a child without any clothing on his bottom. The intensity of her eyes was hypnotizing. “5 rupees... food for baby” she said. I responded kindly “No money, sorry!” She starred at me for a few seconds before moving on to the auto behind us. Light turned green. My heart was aching for them: for her, her child, the little girl, and everyone that has to beg to survive.After this experience, it was difficult to really enjoy of the energy of Janpath market, but the company really helped to lift my spirit.
Cashing travelers checks was a hot mess! Actually trying is a more appropriate word. Bouncing from bank to bank (8 to be exact), I finally was directed to a travel agency where the doorman assured me I could cash TCs (travelers checks) using my Drivers License ID. Hopeful to finally resolve the issue, I waited for Melissa, Chole, and Scott to follow me into the b
uilding, up the stairs, and through a hall into an office that seemed to be taken out of a low-budget, 1943 film. El lugar me dio mala espina, but at least I wasn’t alone. The man made a couple of calls only to tell me that it could not be done without my passport. This was an incredibly frustrating situation and I am so grateful that Melissa, Chloe, and Scott were kind enough to accompany me in this adventure. Frustrated and disillusioned, we took a car to G.K. Market in search of some tights for Chloe. Along the shopping strip we found Turtle Cafe (an English style coffee house, according to the travel guide). There we had some refreshing fruit juices before continuing on to Fabindia- the most popular clothing store in Delhi. Luckily, Fabindia accepts credit cards and I was able to purchase another kurta as well as an organic mango jam.
Our day came to an end after dinner when Scott and Chloe set off to the airport. Safe travels!
Another early morning for Melissa and I. I woke up around 4:30am with no hope of going back to sleep. Expecting Sandip, Melissa and I got ready for our first day at the office. Sandip arrived around 11:30am, then took us on the route to the MAITRI office. Upon arrival, we met the kind and welcoming Mr. Jolly-Sir, the Director of MAITRI.Our office visit was pleasant. During our stay, we were given the chance to use the computers and internet. Without hesitation, I planted myself in front of a screen and began to read and respond to emails. Following my internet extravaganza, we had the pleasure of meeting Sonal Ma’am, the CEO of MAITRI. She was warm and accommodating. Soon after, we returned home for lunch and awaited the visit of Anita and Priyanka; our kind tour guides who would take us to purchase traditional Indian clothing at the G.K. Market (Part I).On our way to G.K., Anita and Priyanka were advised to return to the office. While I was anxious to purchase some clothing, returning to the office turned out to be the highlight of the day. Instead of entering the office, we followed the stairs down, into the basement, where the education tutorials take place. There we were greeted by a group of beautiful, smiling, and energized children who in unison exclaimed “Hello Ma’am!”, while standing at their desks. Walking through a narrow path found between the desks and the wall, the children crowded around us and extended a handshake and a smile. After shaking the hands of 16 children, more or less, we found our way to the back where we located some vacant desks in the colors yellow and blue. The children were incredibly curious and bright-eyed. Slowly, they each made their way to the back of the classroom, where Meli and I were seated, and practiced introducing themselves “Hello, my name is ...” To which I would reply “Hello, my name is Ee-vet. Nice to meet you!” All of them were very intelligent, but I was struck by one child, who despite surviving a brain tumor (illustrated by the concave shape of his left hemisphere), was able to articulate his name, and the names of all of his family members by order. Following his introduction, he kindly asked to sit next to us which he did until the end of the tutorial.
Throughout our visit, other children demonstrated their linguistic abilities as they giggled shyly. At one point the entire group sang “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” (which reminded me greatly of my Little Boo)... it was awesome! Then they asked us to teach them a new rhyme. At first, Melissa and I couldn't think of one, but finally Meli suggested a modified version of “Mary had a little lamb.” They learned it very quickly and sang it sporadically throughout the remainder of the tutorial. I have a feeling I will be spending lots of time with and getting to know them. :)Without getting to lengthy, our evening ended with a loving farewell on behalf of the MAITRI children (car milege- see you tomorrow!), a shopping trip to G.K where I purchased my first traditional Indian outfit, and a rickshaw ride home.Note to self: must be diligent about learning Hindi. At least when it comes to riding rickshaws and purchasing food.
Beginning with a trip to the Internet Cafe, we set out to inform our families of our arrival- 16 hours later... Knowing Mamma, she would be losing sleep over this. Luckily, we have an internet establishment within the apartment complex (mind you, not very cheap) and were able to send emails to our loved ones. Soon after, Melissa and I decided to explore... In our adventure we discovered the sector 9 market; its colorful banners, immediately drew my attention. Holding hands, we crossed the street to where the market was located. We were immediately greeted by a host of pungent smells (a combination of food and decomposing materials), vendors, and flies. Left and right, vendors made offers we couldn't understand while holding up vegetables. With no Hindi in our repertoire, we shook our heads and gave a kind, bowing gesture in decline.After our adventurous trip to the market, we called Sonal Ma’am to inquire about our work schedule and the internet problem. In a comforting fashion, she assured
us the phone/internet problem would be resolved soon and that Anita and Priyanka (our wonderful coworkers) would be picking us up around 3:30pm. Aided by their bartering expertise we purchased a kiji (kilo) of potatoes, half a kiji of tomatoes, a kiji of onions, some ginger, garlic, chilies, papaya, and a melon. In addition to produce, we bought some milk, cereal, rice, and dal (lentils). Later in the evening, some of these items were the protagonists of our dinner, which was prepared by Laxmi. Laxmi is the woman that we were required to hire to assist us in the preparation of meals and upkeep. She is great and we are grateful to have her supporting our settlement process.My jubilus belly and I bid you a subh ratri (good night).
Vrindavan is an ancient city that is known as the birthplace of Lord Krishna and as the home to a large number of Bengali widows. In some communities, women and “their sins” are believed to be at fault for the death of their husbands. Thus when the husband dies, the widows are thrown out of the home as they are perceived to be a bad omen on the family. Devoting their lives to the adoration of Lord Krishna, is seen as the only way to earn salvation. For this reason, the widows migrate to Vrindavan (some independently and others are brought by their families) to become spiritually wed to Lord Krishna. Their livelihood largely depends on the benevolence of others. Few have access to pensions (300 rupees or US $6.6, a month), but many of them are not aware of such benefits or lose motivation to complete applications due to bureaucratic barriers (sound familiar?). They are often seen begging or singing at temples for 3 rupees a day (US $0.07) and a small serving of rice.
lly-Sir exclaimed “Go to the other ashram! Go, go!” We followed our coworker out to the van and set out to the “old ashram” (I don’t recall the name). Driving through the narrow and bumpy roads, felt like moving through a labyrinth, while sitting next to a cow, smoking a cigarette of smog, watching a wild monkey documentary, and grooving to a musical mix of honks and hollers. It was wild to witness the spatial awareness of the people.
. With their hands, they would indicate if they wanted more, if they had enough, or if they didn’t want any at all. I learn that “bas” means enough, and “mor” means more. We went around a couple of times, and I noticed that some had a healthy appetite (my kind of women! lol). With a mischievous look on her face, one woman kept asking me for more lol... and of course, I supplied it (can’t oppress the chubbies- you know, the hungry people in our head). As they ate, they chatted loudly, laughed, saved “seats” for each other, and advocated for those who weren’t there by asking for another serving in a container to go.
dhe.” I was incredibly moved by these women, who despite the abandonment of their families, laughed, gave thanks, and had the will power to return to the temple to sign just for 3 rupees a day. I am incredibly privileged to bask in their energy.
