Namaste!

Namaste!

So I’m in India. And let me tell you, it’s quite the experience.

My arrival here was somewhat tremulous. From plane delays, missed connections, screaming babies and gross airline food—I had 30 exhausting hours. When we finally touched down in the Hyderabad airport at 4am India time, I was wiped out. The facility where I am staying is in the northwest corner of the city in a suburb called Kukatpally, whereas the airport is in the south.

To get here from the airport I had to ride for about an hour and a half through the city, and my eyes were glued to the window the whole time. The level of poverty and destitution here is indescribable. The entire drive we passed shanties made of scrap metal and rags, and people huddled around garbage barrel fires. Crippled beggars line the streets, and the air in the city reeks of pollution. This initial experience made me feel pretty uneasy about being here.

When I first arrived at my house on Sivananda, the rehabilitation complex where I live, it was still dark. The taxi drove me into the complex, where a middle aged man with a kind face waved to me. He spoke no English, but he helped me pull my bags from the cab and walked me over to a small concrete building marked “Guest House 1.” Producing a key, he unlocked a padlock, handed me the key and waved me inside. Then he turned and walked away.

I felt so alone.  I was tired, scared and not entirely confident that I could handle the next several months here. It started to sink in that not only am I so far away from my home, but that my time here is going to be so radically different than anything I’ve ever experienced growing up in the West. Even worse, I had no way to contact anyone back home yet. No phone, no internet. Just me, my bags, and the quiet little guest house. Exhaustion won out over anxiety. I found a woven mat, (no mattress- I sleep on a coconut mat on concrete) pulled my pillow from my suitcase (they told me to pack a pillow, which I am REALLY glad that I did) and wrapped myself with the thin blanket from the airline. I passed out.

I awoke to the sound of a small man with white hair ringing my doorbell (which is more like a buzzer, really) at about 10am India time. My brain was so foggy from travel and jet lag- I had no idea what was happening, but when I unlocked the padlock and cracked open the door, the man beckoned me to follow him. I threw on my sandals and followed this stranger into the unknown.

In the morning light, I could properly see the campus of where I am living. The trees, paths and flowers are all gorgeous. Also, there are peacocks that roam freely and colorful butterflies everywhere. I followed this short man like I was Alice in Wonderland, until we got to another building where he pointed me inside.

In the back of this first building I found a place where I am universally comfortable, the kitchen! There were four women there, two young and two old. One of the young ones, the shortest of these women, made a big fuss when she saw me saying “the American!” She tried to shoo me out of the kitchen and make me sit at the table in the front room by myself, but I kept coming back showing her that I wanted to be with them. Finally she relented, setting a chair for me in the kitchen (the other women sat on the floor with bowls and knives, cutting up some okra, I think) and handed me a plate of food.

This breakfast was the spiciest thing I’ve ever managed to eat (and as you know I’m not one for spicy food). It was some kind of pasty rice, with cooked vegetables and seeds that I didn’t recognize. Overall, it was sort of yellow/reddish in color. I got it down but my face was flushed and tongue on fire.  The lady then gave me some water (which I was dubious about, until she pantomimed to me that it was safe to drink), and I downed it in an effort to douse my burning digestive track. Next, she made me tea. These people are nuts about tea. As you can imagine, its fantastic. Its chai tea made with buffalo milk. The black tea powder is steeped with cardamom, cinnamon and many other fragrant spices—I love it. It’s warm and creamy and fragrant. The young short assertive woman who handed me all the food introduced herself as Sunita, and the other young woman is Mary.  When I told Mary that my sister is also called Mary, she smiled and she told me that she will be my sister while I am so far from home (at least, I think that’s what she was saying? I speak about the same amount of Telegu as they speak of English. That is to say, essentially none.)

When I finished my breakfast, the little man with the white hair appeared again to wordlessly take me to my next destination. (Sunita calls him “uncle”, which is an affectionate name for someone you know that is older than you.) I followed him again, and this time Uncle brought me to the HIV ward where I met the woman doctor who runs the HIV branch. She is not an infectious disease specialist, rather she’s a general practitioner (like an internist) who has taken on the responsibility of the HIV ward. She speaks English (phew). Dr. Suhguna was very pleased to meet me, and she showed me the data that I’ll be working with. It’s basically a mess from an organization standpoint, but the story behind the numbers is in there and I’m excited to shine light to it.

Sivananda is a private (as opposed to government run), non-profit, free clinic. The majority of the patient present very late in the disease process and the doctors just have to do the best they can with what they have in the setting of advanced infection.  The available treatments are limited, and diagnosis happens so late– the HIV takes a very brutal course in this patient population.

After glancing over the at the databases, the male doctor who is works in the leprosy ward came in to the office to meet me as well. The two doctors spoke English (better than anyone I’ve encountered so far) but its still very difficult to have a conversation. They both told me that they understand me, but I can’t always say the same for them. They speak quickly, and my ears aren’t really tuned into everyone’s accent yet. After we talked, the woman doctor rang a bell and Sunita, the cook from the kitchen, appeared with three small cups of tea. Sunita smiled and winked at me before she walked out, which made me feel good. We drank our delicious chai, Uncle magically appeared again, and I was off once more.

This time we took a different path over a dried up creek and through many gardens and trees to the main clinical building, the leprosy ward. Here I met Dr. Hrishikesh (pronounced Hurshi-kesh, which sounds a lot to me like “hershey- kiss”) who is the man in charge. He is 83 and the director of this place, but doesn’t look a day over 65. Kindness radiates from him. He speaks really good English with a softly British accent and he has a gentle demeanor. We talked for awhile, about leprosy, HIV and the work I helped Dr. Yadavalli with at UH. He also ordered us (another) cup of chai (crazy for tea, I told you!) which was brought to us by a different woman. Then this woman brought me a cell phone (cue the chorus of angels). A good friend of the Kermans who has family in this area arranged for me get an Indian cell phone and had it delivered here before I arrived. (I’m not sure how to make calls outside of India yet, but I will have to talk it over with the cellular provider. I promise to let you know if I call anyone back home- wouldn’t want you to miss a call in the middle of the night from a number out of India!) Next, Dr. Hrishikesh showed me the staff computer and offered to let me email my parents. This was a great relief, because I hadn’t been able to contact anyone back home yet.

As an aside, the power goes out here all the time, probably every other hour for a few minutes by accident, and then at least once a day for a full hour when they shut the grid down on purpose. Its incredibly frustrating as I have lost some work already and it makes typing emails difficult (case in point, I’m typing on my laptop with battery backup presently). I have stuff set to auto-save. But still. Yikes. On my first day I have been compiling a LONG list of things I never knew how much I have taken for granted my entire life- high functioning power grid is on that list. So are mattresses.

After I was dismissed from Dr. Hrishikesh around 2pm, Uncle did not appear this time, so I just wandered my way back to Sunita’s kitchen. On the way, I met a woman who is a leprosy patient here, who smiled at me. She was sitting on a bench, her cane propped next to her. I smiled back and said hello, and she said to me (surprisingly) in English, “You are the American?” I nodded and took a seat next to her. She looked me over and said “very far from home” as she patted my hand. This lady has big eyes, slightly graying hair and chipped teeth with bandages on her legs. I must have looked sad or anxious, or maybe just completely zombie-fied from jet lag- because she scooped me into a big hug and said “namaste.” And you might think it sounds weird to have a total stranger in another country unexpectedly wrap you up in their embrace- but let me tell you, at that moment, in this place- it was so comforting.

Sunita and I have become fast friends as well, and I am so so grateful for her. Sunita makes me feel like less of a stranger, and her friendship gives me confidence that I can manage it here. She is the head cook, and speaks virtually no English although we have swapping words. Its funny to think that we are so close in age but our lives are so different. Sunita is 22 and has been married 7 years and has a 6 year old son named Bittu. I’m 22 and I’ve got a worried boyfriend in Cleveland whom I told not to wait around for me. Sunita lets me help her in the kitchen and watches over me sharply at mealtime making sure that I get served the least spicy food and explaining to everyone else what I like and don’t like to eat. Sometimes I feel a little like a small child, or a pet– but I always feel thankful for her friendship.

I’m getting better at eating with my hands. Or I should say, Hand. Everyone eats with their right hand, and its not particularly dainty, although there seems to be a very definitive etiquette that I have yet to grasp. They mash the rice, spicy chutney and yogurt together through their fingers and from there is kind of a scoop-twirl motion. No one makes a mess. I make a huge mess. But there are no forks, so I am going to keep working at it. Sunita is helping me (my mothering same-age-as-me friend).

Each day brings a new small adventure. I’m becoming more and more accustomed to being here, but every so often something shakes me up and I remember how far I am from home, and I really really miss my family. I’m learning to appreciate simplicity and kindness in new ways. I’m also recognizing how much I take for granted– such as sleeping on a mattress every night, or being able to call or text my family and friends whenever I please. Do me a favor, next time you’re using silverware, think of me!

Honestly, what I miss most from home is all of you! Please keep me in your prayers, and know that I pray for you and think about each of you every day. And please keep me updated on all the happenings in the states.

With all the love in the world,

gina