bird shit, slums, and the like

Finally writing from the subcontinent after an eventful week. While on the flight, one of the young leaders from the group had a seizure. Unaware of any medical conditions, myself and the One World director feared for his life. Panic made me dizzy as I put my head between my legs in order to avoid fainting. The occasion also made me do something I rarely do: pray. As an increasing number of inquisitive Indians gathered around the isle, some claiming to be doctors, I prayed for his wellbeing and our safe landing. Thankfully, he came to after puking and his untroubled attitude reassured us that he would be ok, at least for the moment (we would later see a doctor as a precautionary measure). But the incident would not have any ominous consequences, as we have spent a wonderful week so far. After a warm welcome by our Indian hosts, we made our way through pulsing Mumbai. A myriad of memories came rushing back as my senses were inundated by the sore sights, sounds and smells of India. The incessant honking left a ringing in my ears and the foul stench of latrines trounced the fainter smell of sweat and curry. Passing the great number of homeless sleeping on the concrete below a Virgin Mobile bill board and luxury cars passing rickshaws really highlighted the despair amidst development of this oversized city. Overwhelmed, we arrived at Summer Land Guest House in East Dadar well after midnight and fell asleep to the loud buzzing of the AC.

On the second day of my arrival, I got shitted on by a bird, an auspicious sign according to one of the young leaders. So with my lucky brand, I along with 7 of the 8 young leaders and the One World director, walked around to the bewildered stares of the locals. After breakfast, currency exchange, and some waiting and walking, we headed to the slums of Mumbai. Most of the people in these slumps are barefoot, hungry untouchables. Their skins toasted a dark almond brown by arduous work, smoke and sun. The undersized children with their hopeful eyes and dirty cheeks followed us around with smiling faces as we visited the homes of pottery makers. They spat back the few English words we had taught them and giggled confused by our responses. I am constantly amazed by the undying fervor of the human spirit. Despite all odds and atrocities, these people persist. I am truly looking forward to improving the lives of the Dalits and hope that I can make a change, albeit small.