We broke up into groups of two and went visiting the women in their homes in the slum. This was such a moving experience. I am still trying to figure out exactly what it meant. Visiting these people in their slum homes was like traveling to another world. And for the most part these were good slum homes. They had tin roofs, cement walls, tile floors, hydro and running water. They even have property ownership. The embroidery work that St Mary’s provides has been key to making this possible for these families. Today we have experienced first hand the beginning and the end of the Ten Thousand Villages supply chain. It all starts with identifying the needs of these families and it ends with providing for at least part of those needs. This is why I’m here. This is why I’m involved with MCC. This is hands and feet for my faith. This is meaningful discipleship and profound ministry. Spending my time at the Board table doesn’t always reflect the holy ground on which this work treads. God goes before us in this work and we need to see his face in these people.
The curiosity about us was at least equal to our fascination with the slum life. The doorways were crowded with neighbours who came to see who was visiting and why. One young girl, with a three month old baby, appeared in the doorway and asked our interpreter something. He waved her into the room and then announced that she was requesting if Luke and I would give her a new name for her baby! We kind of smiled politely and laughed it off and proceeded to change the subject. However, she persisted and asked again. This time taking the covers off the baby and showing her to me for a picture. So, Eleanor, Yvonne or Lana if your reading this there may be a baby in Ahmedabad that is your name sake!
The slum was just beside St Mary’s and as we walked back I came upon a scene straight from Rohinton Mistry’s “A Fine Balance” which you simply must read. There were three tailors, all young adult men, crammed into a old shack right beside the street. Veejay, who was our interpreter, said they would be working as sub-contractor’s on a piece work basis – just like in the novel!
In the afternoon we went to Ghandi’s Ashram and toured the grounds. The 82 year old Tour Guide there pointed out to us that the name of Ten Thousand Villages comes from Ghandi’s writings. I noticed that one of the principles of Ashram life was control of the palate and this included not eating spicy food. You have to be here to imagine just how radical that is! There are entire markets devoted to spices of every flavour you can imagine and more.
After the Ashram we went to the Stepping Well of Adaj. This is a beautiful stone sculptured well from the 15th century and it has a tragic romantic history. If I got the story right it was built by a Muslim King for a beautiful Hindi woman who said she’d marry him if he built the well for her. He built the well and had the architect and master builder’s murdered so that another well could never be built. Marriage between a Hindu and Muslim was forbidden that the Hindi women threw herself into the well because she could not marry the King.
Nonsense Journal (1)…
India has this interesting, quirky, beauracratic, and trivial tendency that we keep running into in hilarious ways. For example, while visiting the Jain temple, there was a “keeper of the shoes” (there is a person for every little task imaginable, particularly at monuments and public historical sites…I often have no idea why there are people appearing in pathways and doorways, apparently just to watch us in a pretentiously official way as we walk past) and he processed the storage of our shoes in most ceremonial and official fashion. We had to line up in a semi-circle around him and remove our footwear one by one while he took out numbered tokens and proceeded to give them to each of us. Behind him was a large box with cubbyholes for the footwear (like in a bowling alley) and there were corresponding numbered slots. When he finally got to Luke and me (everything being done slowly and with much deliberation), he paused for a long time to assess where to put our shoes in the virtually empty box with about 75 cubbyholes. Finally, he selected slot 66 and then but both pairs of our shoes in their and gave us token number 49. Luke and I held our sides until we were a respectful distance away and then roared! Ah, India! (Remind me to tell you also about the Tour “Nazi” at the Textile Museum some time…)
In the evening we went to a night market and then out for supper to a great Indian restaurant. Sister Lucia and Sister Sylvia from St. Mary’s hosted us fabulously. After the meal, walking to the car, we attracted the attention of street beggars again, as had been the case most of the day. By now my money belt was feeling like a lead weight. The boy shadowing me, maybe 13 years old, was carrying a couple of balloons that he had twisted together and was trying to interest me in for 100 rupees (around $2). The price quickly dropped to 50 rupees and then to nothing as he simply held out his hand and pointed to his stomach. My heart was breaking, if there was any structure left to it that could actually break after these past 5 days, and the wad of 50 rupee notes in my pocket felt like a file of convictions. All of them writ large with greed, indulgence, over consumption and injustice. Sister Sylvia came to my rescue (“my” rescue, the irony…) with a doggie bag of leftovers from supper, which she had thoughtfully requested and now gave to the boy. Matthew sums up Jesus’ ministry in Mtt 4:17 by simply stating, From that time on Jesus began to preach, “Repent for the kingdom of heaven is near.” I find that popping into my head for some reason. As India takes another piece of my heart, another day ends.
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