you know when you put on fresh jeans from the dryer on a cold day and it's the best thing ever?

This morning was the opposite of that.

It's been raining and very very cold here the past two days. Mind you, by cold I mean 65 degrees Fahrenheit. I know, I can hear your screams from Oregon all the way here in Kolkata. The weather is a funny thing here. First of all, I've already acclimated to the 90-100+ degree weather I've been use to for the last month. A 20-something degree drop over night is crazy ridiculous. Secondly, it's super moist here. The humidity makes the cold cut through your clothes and leaves everything in it's path a soggy, damp, cold mess--like my pants this morning before work. Luckily, I have plans to head north soon to colder weather which means I am in possession of some super sweet long underwear my parents sent me. If you need proof of my coldness, here is a picture of me as a ninja last night (AKA wearing my long underwear spandex).


The cold is unbelievably off putting for the locals. Everywhere I look there are bundled up, grouchy Indians in super funky wool sweaters. I hope to be the owner of one of these sweaters very soon. They say this cold is very late, way past monsoon season. Most are yelling global warming.

It's hard to deal with the cold, not for me personally, but for the women at work. I was fretting for a long while last night about the condition I'd find the patients in this morning. They are very old, very under dressed and the windows of Prem Dan are just metal bars, no glass closure to keep out the wind. I was running around wrapping up women in shawls today and rubbing cold, sockless feet. I really hope the weather turns soon for their sake.

Speaking of going north, indeed, it is happening... I'm going to the mountains! Next Tuesday marks my last day of work at Prem Dan and my last day in Kolkata. I'm already getting a bit anxious and/or nervous for my goodbyes. However, I can't lie, there is a big part of me that is itching to get back on the road. I'm going this afternoon to purchase my train tickets to Varansi and Agra (!!!!) and to get my Nepali visa from the embassy. And! Last night I called and the ashram to speak with Anand ji about visiting in late November. It's happening! November 16th to the 30th I'll be living at the ashram Ben and Chad have so fondly fell in love with. Some of you may remember Ben and Chad's strong words in their blogs about this place. They elevated the ashram and the school and the children to a near paradise level for me. I cannot believe I get to see it in person.

Mountains, here I come!

things I consider a big deal:

• The fact that India can have a successful, multimillion dollar moon mission succeed, but the fact remains they are one of the most impoverished nations in the world with millions living on pennies a day.

• Treating my first case of maggots in the ward. We got a new patient in yesterday. As I approached her in the med room, I could see that she had a wound on her ankle. Then I could see that the wound was indeed moving. Tons of little wormy maggots were squirming around her flesh... I felt like they were in my stomach. I sat to help comfort the patient while the Sisters worked on removing the inhabitants. I was in shock with what I saw. First of all, I don't think I've ever seen or smelled rotting flesh before. Her ankle wound was surrounded by a thick perimeter of black flesh. Secondly, the smell, the smell was unreal. I did my best to breath through my mouth, but the stale taste of Kolkata smog wasn't even a match for this aroma. The poor woman. I can't believe she sat through the whole procedure with only a mere handful of tears to show for her pain. She was completely, utterly brave. Before the Sisters could soak her leg to start to kill off the maggots, they wanted to pull out as many of them as they could. The two Sisters decided their sets of hands wouldn't suffice for the matter... and in I went, plucking away at maggots with a pair of clamps. God, how did this happen? How did I get here? I'm in freaking India pulling maggots out of a woman's ankle... Again, my feelings of humbleness and awe at this work is consuming. I don't feel equiped to be doing what I'm doing and at the same time I feel angry that no one else more qualified is here to be doing what I am doing--cap that off with a large portion of love for these patients who grip my hands and cry on my shoulders, and that sums up what I am feeling. As for maggots: when it comes to maggots I think, "Thank you for only eating dead flesh and not living flesh and, whoa, you are way stronger than I anticipated when I grabbed your butt with my clamp to pull you out."

• New friends. Remember the burn victim I spoke about a few weeks ago? The one I was scared of when I was asked to feed her. Update: her name is Pushpa and we are best of buds now. I know...I'm such a total newbie for having been intimidated by her and now be so close with her. Pushpa is really sweet. I ended up feeding her quite a few times that first week. I quickly became more confidant in my "Prem Dan" skills and day-by-day got closer with Pushpa. Turns out she actually speaks a handful of English words, her favorite of which is "FINISHED!" She yells FINISHED at the top of her lungs at the end of every lunch I feed her. It's so great. Our lunches together have become a very regular thing. It's rare that I go a day without being in charge of helping Pushpa eat now--a responsibility that I fretted about while I was out sick last week. I've spent so much time with Pushpa in fact I can tell you very important little details about her. Like, she doesn't mind eating the bones from her fish but she despises the skins of potatoes. Yeah. This fun fact has dubbed Pushpa the nickname Bonecrusher by me. I don't give an awesome nickname like that to just anyone. I really love Bonecrusher. And! I know that Pushpa loves back rubs. And English pop music. Yesterday I was sitting with her, rubbing her back while she talked at me in Bengali. A song came on the radio that really struck her fancy. I kid you not, the song was Smack That by Akon and Pushpa LOVED it. She started wiggling around on her cot, smiling and dancing to Akon. Just when I thought I had you figured out, Prem Dan... you go and throw Akon at me. Really? REALLY??

Those things are big deals. I think.

On a very different note: I've created a list in my journal. It has one title and two subcategories. It reads, "ART PROJECTS" "For Here" "For Home." I'll post pictures soon of my completed new stuff from here. Hopefully.

to the moon

today india went to the moon

this is a big deal.

someone just told the indian man at the counter behind me, "Congratulations! You went to the moon!"

he said, "i've been sitting here all morning...?"

It can be a good thing

I had been told my first time being sick abroad, specifically in India, would be a very unique experience. An important one, in fact.

Three days sounds short, but when all you have to do is stare at a Technicolor-mold infested ceiling and listen to a cat give birth outside your window, things can get interesting. I felt sad to not have anyone to talk to during the day while Joe and Traci were at work. I missed canned soup from home and watching Price is Right when I use to get sick. But most of all, I found myself reflecting a lot on my past 4 weeks of work and some what scared of the last two ahead of me.

My 102 temperature finally subsided and my throat was able to swallow solids again. Dr. Traci, one of my awesome roommates, had successfully nursed me back to health with her copious amounts of medical supplies she packed (her mom's a nurse!) and by making me gargle warm saltwater.

I had missed two days of work which felt like a lot. Laugh all you want... I was that kid in 7th grade who got the perfect attendance award. Absence is a big deal for me.

Back to work I went.

I had feared, during my bed ridden hours of thought, that my two days away from work would strip me off all the responsibilities I had earned prior and that the patients I had grown close with would have found another volunteer of a healthier state. I had wondered in bed, what are the volunteers to these patients? Don't we just shuffle through their life while they remain constant? Am I any different than the next girl who will be here volunteering next month? To my surprise, patients were relieved to see me back. In proper 'grandma' way, many of the little ladies already knew I had been sick and were urging me to gargle warm salt water (why had I never heard of this saltwater thing???). Right when I walked into the ward one of my favorite Sisters came and gave me a hug and said it was good to have me back. Louise came and found me and confessed she was worried I had left early without saying goodbye. Before I knew it, my illness had gone from giving me pain and doubts to filling me up with a sense of home and gratitude. I'm in awe that in only a short 4 weeks, Prem Dan can give me this.

I even laughed and smiled with Santi when I saw her for the first time since the punching incident. She didn't remember or care, obviously. I had expected as much. I was laughing, unexpectedly though, because as I saw Santi I remembered that the only other time in my whole life I had been punched was an accidental one by my best friend Annie when we were on an inflatable obstacle course last year. Punches in my life thus far have turned out just fine. I like that.

In case you had any doubt

I am indeed the coolest kid in glasses you know.

I bought a pair of prescription eyeglasses from an Indian merchant. Frames and lenses amounted to less than 12 US dollars.

elections from abroad

It's really interesting being abroad during a US presidential election.

Quite often non-Americans travelers ask us what we think about the elections back home. I often say I'm sad not to be home and enjoying all the excitement of my one and only college years presidential election. Campus must be so great right now. The general sentiment in return from non-US citizens is one of confusion or restlessness. "Why is it taking so long to elect your new president? And why won't your country hurry up and elect a good candidate for once and get the rest of our markets out of this recession?"

From what I hear, it sounds like everyone back home in the US of A is a bit tired of this exhausting campaign season. Like I said, there is a big part of me that is pretty sad to be missing all the hoopla. I know, I know, a lot of you think all the ads and speeches and debates are getting to be a bit much. Well, let me tell you, when you are overseas and your internet time is limited, the media coverage on the elections leaves you wanting more, to say the least.

For example, this morning as I was recouping from my fever, I sat and ate a bowl of cornflakes and goat milk while reading an Indian English newspaper. There was only one article in the entire paper mentioning the US elections and it was a special interest piece on NY residents changing their middle names to Hussein in support of Obama. I was dumbfounded. Not by the fact that there was only one article. By the article's picture. Take a guess.


If you guessed a cat wearing an American flag scarf you are my hero. I laughed out loud. Nearly spat goat milk all over the table. To boot, the caption reads, "A Bombay cat named Barack Obama..."

In the next two weeks, if you feel overwhelmed by elections coverage, think of me in Kolkata with my cat pictures. It'll make you feel better.

all's well

Sorry for the bummer blog post yesterday. Trust me, I was just venting via Blogspot. Everything is just fine here.

I did end up being a little sick when I got home from the internet place. A bit of a fever and some pretty gnarly looking white spots on my tonsils. Sorry...was that too much information? Thankfully, I have Dr. Traci as a roommate. She has been taking my temperature at least every hour or so and is having me gargle salt water. She's such a good roommate.

I feel much better now. My jaw is just slightly sore, but no bruising. I still have a fever, but all my symptoms amount to is feeling really cold (in the middle of sweltering Kolkata) and being tired. Tonight I ventured out of the hotel for the first time and got some broth for dinner. I was wearing my full length pants, two t-shirts, a sweatshirt, my thick trekking socks and sandals. Yep, that's right. Socks and sandals. I was really channeling my grandpa.

I'll right more tomorrow after work (hopefully, if I can go). Until then, I'll be missing you all and how much easier it is to be sick at home. You can think of me. In socks and sandals.

"Santi, you punched me!"

Today was an odd day at work.

The morning started with laundry, followed by another round in the med room of. "Auntie, hold down this patient!" I'm slowly, slowly getting use to some of the medical stuff. Thanks to Mr. John Borges, a Prem Dan alum, I'm now the proud owner of a medical tips and trick handy dandy field guide. It's my new bible. Thank you, John.

This time the patient had a foot problem. I've gone from hands to feet. This woman today had what I think was a pretty severe staph infection. She is a new patient, so I think this was one of the first times her foot had been worked on. Again, all I had to do was hold her down--however, I think my face still had that holycrapholycrapohmygoshohmygoshohhhhhhgeez look on it. The gauze on a clamp the Sister was cleaning the wound with was shoved a good 4 or 5 inches up into her foot. That's how deep the infection had spread and eaten away at the flesh. Geez, I almost lost my banana and chai right there on the floor. The woman was so brave. She was screaming through clinched teeth the whole time...but, not fighting me too much. I think I would have passed out. These patients never, ever cease to amaze me.

Then I went upstairs to be amazed, yet again...but, in an entirely different way. I walked to the upstairs ward, started handing out everyone's pills, when all the sudden I heard a bunch of yelling. I looked over and Santi and one of the other mentally disabled patient were fighting. I immediately reacted by stepping in and trying to separate them. I was standing forearm to each surprisingly strong middle aged woman and there it came BAM. Santi clocked me right in the jaw. I yelled, "Naaaay!! Santi, you punched me!" I was in shock. It didn't hurt too much, but to see this normally sweet woman who I'm friends with be mean and violent really shocked me. She glared at me, walked to her bed. The other girl went and pouted in the corner. I felt like doing the same. I was mad that I was mad at patients. They don't know any better. Regardless, I was already having a rough day and I didn't need a punch to cap it off. I decided physical harm is grounds to take the afternoon off. So, now I'm here, in the internet cafe feeling guilty for yelling at Santi and slightly dizzy and tired. Not every day at Prem Dan is wonderful. Or even nice.

All will be well though. Serendipitously, I received a package this morning at the Mother House from my parents and Ben. I'm going to go home now and relish in its awesomeness and open it very slowly so as to get every bit of home out of it. And then I'm going to take a nap.

my eyes were open the whole time

Since Raquel and the other medically-inclined volunteers have left, I was asked today to help with my first "medical" type jobs.

One of the Sisters pulled me aside during laundry into the med room area. Whoa whoa WHOA. I'm the girl that can't watch a full episode of Grey's Anatomy without closing my eyes. The morning was going to be interesting.

The first patient I helped with was this sweet, sweet little girl. She's probably about 7--a big change of demographic after working with the older women the past weeks.

Prem Dan is funny. Of the 200 beds in the women's ward, a good 100+ of them are for women who are very old and destitute. The rest are a hodge podge of either mentally or physically disabled individuals ranging from age 15 and up. I'm not sure how each has come to live in the home. Lots of random stories I guess. This little girl's was an interesting one.

She was getting her hands worked on by the nurses. I gathered that she had scabies on both her hands and lower arms. I think she was a little girl from the neighborhoods that line the perimeter of Prem Dan. The nurses told me her father had kicked her out of the home when she contracted the skin disease--and as if that weren't enough--sent her off by burning cigarettes in her palms. As a sort of punishment for getting sick...?

Her hands were in pretty bad shape and the nurses needed to clean all the little wounds. This meant lots of disinfectant. You know when a little kid falls off their bike and scuffs their knees and you have to put hydrogen peroxide on their cuts--the fight they put up. "No, no, not the stingy stuff." This was like that, but 100-fold worse. I was told to hold the girl down while they worked on her. She screamed and screamed. I had to put all my weight on her little body to keep her from bursting out of the chair. She cried and wailed and begged us to stop. I had to literally bear hug her to keep her from getting away. She was sweating all over the two of us--cheek to cheek. I felt so bad for her. Finally, finally the nurses stopped cleaning the wounds and started dressing them with ointment. This finally calmed her down. Later in the day she was smiling and giggling at the crows on the roof.

The next patient I helped with was also a hand wound case. This woman--probably mid-40's--had a severely mangled wrist. It looks like someone or something had tried to cut of her hand and the wound had been really infected while she was still on the streets. It turns out, one of the Sisters explained to me, the woman had been abandoned as a young baby once her family realized she was mentally handicapped. They left her, as a young toddler, on the streets. She grew alone on the streets and the traditional bangle that was put around her wrist as a baby slowly sliced through her skin and became embedded. She had to have the baby bangle surgically removed when she first came to Prem Dan. They say she's lucky she didn't loose her hand.

I helped change her bandages around the very messy, very raw, very open sore that was her wrist. She didn't cry and I didn't close my eyes.

Medical stuff I can do. Not well...but, I can do it. I learned that today.

Yesterday during lunch I went up to chat with Louise, one of my best friends amongst all the patients. She's 26 and, I think, mildly autistic. We've been reading Oliver Twist together to work on her English. She is so great. Louise asked me today where all the other Aunties were (she meant the Spanish volunteers--in India, Aunty is a term of endearment for women). I told her they left to go home. She got sad and asked me if tomorrow would be my last day. I sad, "Noooo! No. No. No. I'm here for about another 4 weeks!" She replied, "4ever!!??" "No, no, 4 weeks. Not forever. " She smiled and said, "That is good. And then you come back?" I told her, "Yes, I'll come back."

new work

Every Sunday the Sisters ask 12 volunteers to go out for a special day of work. Today, Joe, Traci and I all went for this special day of work.

We went to a neighborhood, way, way outside the city to work with street children. It took over an hour on two buses to get out to the facility. The work was really interesting. We were to bathe, feed and play with these kids who came once a week to get what would likely be their only bath and full meal of the week.

I was really drawn to be a part of this special Sunday crew because I love working with kids. I had a hard time deciding my placement--as some of you may remember. Ultimately, I went with the hospice care type work, which I have loved. But I have been craving smiling little kiddos.

Oh man. The kids. They were crazy. Really, completely, utterly off the walls. They kept them at the gate until we all had our work assignments and knew what to do. We didn't know what to expect. We could see little hands squeezing through to bars on the gate waving at us. The gates flung open and in poured a crowd of some 30 kids--none older then 10, some not even walking.

Madness. Oh geeeeez.

They all wanted to be picked up. They all wanted to swung around. They all were caked in dirt and covered in lice. It clearly wasn't going to be one of my quiet mornings at Prem Dan I was use to.

The kids were generally sweet and happy. Likely, the kids were generally hardened and mean--to be expected of little guys who've had to fend for themselves their whole lives. Instead of playing soccer and giving piggy back rides like one might imagine, I spent most of the morning riping apart little boys who were punching each other, getting my hair pulled by little 7 year olds, having my shins kicked by 4 year olds and taking a stick away from a 5 year old after he made a vulgar gesture near his crotch with said stick. It was one hell of a morning.

I had lots of flashbacks to my work last spring in Belize at the orphanage. It's funny work... kids are kids all over the world, and for that reason when you can get a hug or a smile out of one of them the whole day is worth it. But, you have to understand that working with these kids is an uphill battle. I felt sort of useless and frustrated all day. I could tell I was certainly not an authority figure to theses kids. They knew the routine: foreigners showed up Sunday, give out baths, biscuits and lunch, leave and a new batch of foreigners arrives the next week. They didn't have to listen to us. I wish these kids had more structure to their lives. Structure is good for kids. what we did today was only a glimmer of structure. Maybe there will be more of a permanent placement through the MC's to work with the kids in the future.

All in all, any day were I get to hold little adorable babies is a good day.

I did find myself really missing my little ladies at Prem Dan though. I think that's a good sign. They feel like my Kolkata home.


Fun facts:

I have been shat on twice now. Both times by birds (thank god). This is either 14 years good luck or 7 years double good luck. Any thoughts?

Also, the MIA Seattle girls finally showed up at Prem Dan. One of the girls was really stoked on my short hair. She asked me to chop off all of hers. So, I did.

goodbye, adios

Last night we had a big roof top gathering at the Hotel Maria to say goodbye to all the Spaniards leaving today.

It was so much fun. A potluck of Indian goodies while sitting in a big circle and talking and laughing. One of the girls is a really amazing singer and was singing these beautiful, old Spanish songs about saying goodbye--adios--which of course, prompted all the women to start crying. And then the singing led to more singing which led to dancing which led to flamingo dancing which led to a Grease reenactment (in broken English) which led to laughing which led to the hotel manager having to tell us all to go to bed.


It was a good night.

Saying goodbye to so many of these people I started work with was interesting. On one hand, I was so so sad to say goodbye to the comfort of their faces every morning at work. On the other hand, I went to bed filled up with this feeling of giddy happiness. There are so many people coming through the volunteer community here every week, day. These ones who are leaving now are proof that I might find new friends any morning over a cup of chai. New ones arriving everyday.

It was particularly emotional saying goodbye to Raquel--my 'sheety' friend--and her husband Carlos. They are absolutely one of the most wonderful couples I have ever known. I want to be them some day. As we said goodbye and kissed both cheeks in a perfectly European way, Carlos grabbed my shoulders and said with a huge grin, "Thank you for loving us!" And then he insisted I come and visit him and Raquel in Spain. And learn more Spanish.


Check and check.

This exciting night was a much needed end to a very, very hard day at work.

As I finished up the laundry in the morning, my last with Raquel, I walked inside eager to start my day with the patients.

I walked into the ward and saw, for the first time since I began work, a dead body. One of the women had died only two hours before our shift began. I froze. Literally. She was a very sick woman, I think she had AIDS. I didn't know her too well. We'd only interacted a few times. She slept most of the day. She died in her sleep.

And there she was, lying there in her same bed I had seen her in the day before, but now she was wrapped up in a sheet, resting on top of a cheap, plywood stretcher.

It was the weirdest feeling. Seeing her sent a funny shiver all through me. But I knew I couldn't just stand there. Everyone else was doing just the same as they always do. There were beds to be made, pills to be handed out, breakfast to be served. Other volunteers were frozen as well. A few people cried and covered their mouths.

Just as I resolved to turn around and begin work, Churi, one of the young autistic girls at Prem Dan ran up behind me and tickled me--our daily ritual first thing in the morning when we see each other. She is giggly and sweet and cries sometimes when I try and make her take her big, pink calcium pills.

Later that day an ambulance arrived to take the woman's body to the crematorium. Everyone watched her be carried out. As the ambulance drove away, a Sister grabbed my arm and asked me to help her. I had to wash the mattress of the now empty bed. I took it out back, sprayed it down, soaped it up, dried it off and back to the cot it went. I felt really unqualified to be handling the mattress. I didn't think I had any right messing with a death bed...or making it a new bed for that matter.

Yesterday a new woman was brought to Prem Dan. She arrived by taxi with two little nuns as escorts. She clearly needed help in many different ways. The open bed was for her.

A Funny Story

This is Raquel and I on the bus on our way to work at Prem Dan. Raquel is a wonderfully rad woman from Spain, volunteering here in Kolkata with her husband. We get along great at work despite our language barrier. The following is a funny story about that barrier.

The following funny story contains profanity. If you will be offended or will think I'm a potty mouth, do not read further.

While standing shoulder to shoulder over a large sink basin, elbow deep in suds, Raquel and I decided that we would try and decipher various words between our two languages that would help the Spanish speakers and the English speakers work well together at Prem Dan. With her second hand English learned mostly through her husband's already rusty second language and my two and half years of high school Spanish, we made our way down a list of words that are commonly used in the ward. Blood. Help. Clean. More. Bowl. Spoon. Nail polish. Stop. You're welcome.

Raquel lifted a sheet out of the sink we were working over and said, "And this?"

That's a sheet.
A shheeeit?
Yes, bed, sheet

Raquel started laughing at me. I didn't understand. She motioned towards her ass, making a digestive gesture.

Oh, no, no, not shit! Sheet!!!

We both are laughing.

Shit? (Raquel gestures again below her apron)

Yes, I say. That is a shit. This, holding the sheet, is a sheet.

Raquel looked confused.

Shhhhh - 'eat'
Shhhhh - 'it'

Raquel circles with her finger the shit stain on the sheet we are holding.

I explain,
Oh, well, yes these sheets are covered in shit. Shitty sheets.

We both are laughing so hard at this point everyone is looking at us. 'Sheets' and 'Shits' were being spoken left and right, Spanish speakers and English speakers alike, nuns walking about.


I thoroughly enjoy language barriers.

Happy Durga Puja!!!

Excuse my lack of blogging the last few days. I must admit, my social calendar was quite booked up.

Ahhh, I like saying that.

Right now it's wonderful, amazing, exciting Durga Puja in Kolkata! Durga Puja is an annual festival that is done big and BIG by Kolkatans. The festival is four days long featuring amazing pandals--large temple like displays created by various neighborhoods or organizations. The festival culminates with the statues of the Gods that are displayed in the pandals being thrown into the Hooghly River. Traffic has been non existant since the start of the festival and all the locals seem so relaxed and happy. The pandal-hopping doesn't start until 10 or so at night and goes until the early morning hours. Imagine all the glitz and cheesy wonder of a neighborhoods Christmas lights displays meets the hoopla of The Fourth of July on a boardwalk at the beach. That's Durga Puja.

The first night of Durga Puja we had a very unusual but insanely fun night. By chance we made friends with a man, Raja, who works in the travel agency across the street from our hotel. He insisted our group go out with him and his family when we asked him what to do for Durga Puja. We were surprised at his offer--and slightly skeptical. Random offers of 'free' tour guides in India often come hand-in-hand with a hearty scam. He turned out to be the sweetest man...with 8 kids! And! His wife had to work that night. I think he's thought process was he saw us and saw four pairs of empty hands willing to hold on to little kids at the carnival. We walked for hours with Raja and his adorable children, ages 15 down to 3. Most of the night it seemed like the kids were watching us. The little 10 year old girl was holding my hand and lecturing me about not talking to strangers. I took her advice.

The pandals were gorgeous. We must have seen at least 2 dozen of them by the end of the night. I was in awe of all the colors and textures.


And get this... we even rode some of the rides with the kids at the carnival area of the festival which was a total, utter insanity. First, ferris wheel in India = rickety spinning wheel of metal, without seat belts, likely held together by bobby pins. Second, riding said ride with tiny little screaming kids only adds to the madness of the experience. Were carnival rides in India with random children the smartest activity we could have chosen? Perhaps not. Was that night the most fun I've had yet in India. Yessss...yes it was.


By 2am the little ones were asleep on our shoulders and we took a taxi back to our neighborhood.



As if that first night weren't enough--Durga Puja Day #2 was AWESOME.

Back home I have an amazing friend named Maddy who has an amazing boyfriend named Dhruv. Dhruv has family in Kolkata they put me in contact with. Last night we went out with Dhruv's cousins pandal-hopping and such. They. Are. SOOO. Cool.

It was so much fun being shown around by locals who were so nice and pretty much the same age as us. First, they picked us up from our hotel in a car...an air conditioned car! And they insisted on introducing us to a bunch of theirs friends. We got to see an entirely new part of town, one that is much more residential. It was so nice. They showed us traditional foods to eat. We talked about music. We compare schools. They gave us tons of tips of what to see while we are here. And we even finished the night with a stop at their favorite chai place. We have plans to hang out with them again tonight. I'm so excited. Thank you, Maddy for setting up our rendezvous. Thank you, Dhruv for having rad cousins!!!

Impressions

By first impression I guessed work would get less shocking and easier after a while. My first impression was highly stupid.

Yesterday at work I was asked to feed a woman upstairs who I had only seen before, never talked to. I was scared of her. She is one of our most intense medical cases in the ward. She is a burn victim, apparently intentionally burned by her husband and then brought to Prem Dan. She can't sit up straight or even stand and walk for that matter. Her arms were so badly burned, the skin on her forearms fused to her biceps and her hands have healed, contorted in at least six different directions. Her face is very scared as well. You can hardly make out the shape of her face and her right eye is hanging out of the socket, resting on her check. When I was I asked to feed her, I literally got sick to my stomach. With fear...?

I don't know what I was afraid of. Certainly I wasn't being asked to preform any sort of medical procedures on her. I was just feeding her--something I had done a dozen times with other women. I think I was just scared of her appearance, which made me feel so guilty. I sat there and feed her the rice and lentils and I felt guilty. I felt so guilty for being timid with her and so guilty for walking past her bed so many times before. Half way through slowly, gingerly feeding her with the spoon, she yelled at me in a loud grunt. I don't know exactly what she said...I took it as, "Why the hell are you feeding me so slow!? I'm not a baby!" I left feeling sad and incapable of genuinely erasing any sort of fear while at work here. I secretly hoped the Sisters wouldn't ask me to feed her again.

Today I was asked to feed her again.

It went much smoother today. I told myself the mere fact that on two separate occasions I was deemed the volunteer that could handle this job should give me the motivation to handle it better. I think I did do better. I fed her faster, sat closer to her, actually looked at her and spoke with her. I'm glad I'm being forced into these sort of situations. I shouldn't be scared.

Matt and Marco left yesterday...another piece of evidence that I will become a veteran at this place faster than I suspected. We hugged good bye and their shifts were filled by newbies--Canadians no less! Except I wasn't as fond of these ones. One of the boy volunteers told me at the end of the day that he, "...didn't enjoy work because it was an insanely disorganized organization that could be much more efficient with it's volunteers. I just sat there all day." I chuckled a little. Efficiency cannot be expected of these facilities... or better yet, these facility are immensely efficient relatively speaking in the big picture of Kolkata poverty. Errgh. I don't know what to think of his comments. I do know I left everything I ever learned in Managerial Business Operations back in the States and I'm better for it.

Joe and I had an amazing conversation last night about the volunteer community here. It still remains one of my favorite components of my work here. On large, everyone is so sweet and so eager to sit and talk all night on the roof top with you or simply walk up and ask you how you are doing. Most of my co-volunteers at Prem Dan are older. I'm the baby by far. Many of the women are 30-40+ and we have countless other volunteers at other homes in their sixties. The advice and parental love they give to us younger volunteers is so comforting. Joe and I wondered why all of these older volunteers are European, South American, Korean Chinese or Japanese... there don't seem to be many Americans willing to give up there two weeks of holiday to come here or spend most of their retirement here volunteering. It's funny.

Great news! 1) I'm eating lots of street food and have yet to get (too) sick. 2) Out walking by myself I have been mistaken as a boy at least seven times by Indian men! This is great news because to be a girl out walking alone is apparently not as safe. I've never loved my boy haircut and flat chest so much in my life! Woo hoo!

apparently, I'm experienced

After a day off yesterday filled with copious amounts of naps, (Thursdays are our only days off during the week), I had my third day of work today.

Bernadette was very sick and couldn't make it out for work and we had a group of three new Irish girls at Prem Dan. This all amounted to me being the "veteran" English speaking volunteer at Prem Dan. What!? I showed them what to do, gave them tips, led them to the bus and got them on a rickshaw home. They looked so happy and scared with their big wide eyes--most likely exactly what I looked like the other day. It was nice seeing it from the other side... as a wide-eyed-scared-semi-experienced volunteer (who still has no idea what's what).

Good day at work today. It rained a lot. Which made me secretly happy because that meant the men's ward had to spend the day inside. The women aren't allowed outside in the courtyard, ever, but the men are. Don't ask me why. I'm still trying to figure that one out for myself.

After my chai break I've developed this routine of going upstairs and sitting with these same two little old women. It's so funny. They really like talking with me. And I really like talking with them. The kicker: we don't speak the same language. It's so hilarious. I sit down between them. I look like a mega-giant-woman in comparison--their little wrists are maybe the size of six pencils bundled together. They throw their hands in the air and begin talking rapidly in Bengali. And then the one woman pats my chest and smiles and holds my hand, as if saying, "you understand." I always talk back. I like to pretend we have topics each day. Today was world politics. The other day we were trash talking other women in the ward. For tomorrow, maybe global warming?

Making it feel like home

My day at Prem Dan started with the laundry, a task performed by 18 or so of us yesterday. Today it was just 7. It was hard. So hard. I must have climbed a couple dozen flights of stairs after hauling all the wet fabric up to the roof top. But we did it.

With this extra difficult morning of manual labor came a consoling afternoon of more rewarding slow, quiet time with the women. Some of them even remembered me--something I didn't expect for only my second day of work.

Highlights of today: Laying on the floor, stretching with Sarich who has some sort of bone disease while she sang quietly under her breath in Bengali. Carrying a little, little woman to bed. Feeding a woman lunch by hand (she didn't have any teeth--it got interesting).

I think the manual labor at Prem Dan mixed with the mild time spent with the woman is a necessary combination for me. Without one, the other would seem very overwhelming in its own respects.

Something interesting: After serving breakfast I walked upstairs and found a young woman who I had met yesterday sleeping in the stairway. I asked one of the Sisters if I should move her to a bed. She told me a lot of the woman are so used to sleeping on the streets, something they've done their whole lives, they often find it hard to sleep on their beds at Prem Dan at night. So, they nap in the stairway because it reminds them of home.

Last night I decided to do stuff to remind me of home.

I was in need of some comfort and at a loss for how to find it. Lying in my fabulously dingy, amazingly bare room at the hotel, I decided to decorate. I know... I know... this is so silly. Yes, please laugh at me. Laugh away. But this is what I do. I've always done it. Ask my parents, ask Annie Murphy. I nest. I'm a nester. I rearranged the cots, I went and got an extra sheet from the front desk and laid it out on the floor like a rug, I taped to the wall (with my medical tape from my med kit) pictures from home and I even "borrowed" a plant from one of the decks to put in our room. For me, Hotel Maria room #17 feels so much more like home now. I like it.

The evening was capped of with beers on the roof top with Theresa, my new German friend and Traci while we laughed hysterically about words and tampons. Yes, that was the depth of our conversation. I laughed so hard I almost spilled Kingfisher beer all over my puffy pants. It was great.

Thought you should know, I rode an auto rickshaw home today from work without any other volunteers. It was me and 5 other Indians. That amounted to a sweaty mess of 7 people, including myself and the driver, in an ittybitty, metal box on three wheels zooming through insane Kolkata traffic. What a day.