Random Thoughts from India

This part of the country is flat F-L-A-T--flat! And I am from Saskatchewan, so I know flat. I mean this is watch-your-goat-run-away-for-6-days-standing-on-a-chapati flat! I can't imagine where the water goes when it rains. It must go into the soil. If you were to put the proper slope on an average sized parking lot here, the center would be the tallest hill for miles. I guess it makes it easy to make rice patties and there is no shortage of those.

Hair. These people know how to grow hair: long, thick, shiny, black hair--and not just the women! The men all have perfectly quaffed, Elvis-sized, thick, black hair. It is like there is some naturally occurring Minoxidil in the water. And it is not just that they all have a lot of it. Their hair is always clean and shiny and never seems to move in the wind. Maybe it is so thick that there is nowhere for it to move. I, on the other hand, had an emergency haircut 10 minutes before leaving for the airport, and it is the best thing that I could have done. (Thank you, thank you, thank you to my daughter for that!) Even with all my hair only 3/8 of an inch long, I somehow still manage to look like I have just been drug through a hedge backwards.

Sari's in the surf. It seems that bathing suits have not made it to southern India. We stopped at the beach where three seas meet. The sand part of the beach was very small and packed with people. Most were wading in the water, some swimming, but I was the only guy in a bathing suit. The women were in their saris, and the men were in pants or shorts. I am glad I didn’t bring my Speedo! The crowd seemed to part as I walked through, and there was no problem finding space to swim. They were all very polite, but you might have thought Moby Dick had just washed ashore with the stares I got. I would have been less conspicuous in a sari, I think.

Chipmunks! Yes, there are chipmunks in India! I guess there is no good reason that there shouldn’t be, but I was quite startled to see a couple of chipmunks running along the wall in front of my window this morning. I wonder what Alvin would sound like with an Indian accent?

Bay of Bengal, Baby!

(I don’t know exactly where my blog is right now, as I have only a very poor connection, if any at all. I have enough connection to send a rough copy to my editor, but I haven’t actually seen my blog in a while, so if you like them, great, but it's all in the editing. Thanks to my editor! I also need to thank Carol Perrin and Pastor Sagar without whom I would still be in Hyderabad and would never have met up with Pat and the gang. With the right contacts--and enough money!--you can do anything in India!)

After touring the orphanage and having some very productive meetings yesterday, I retired to my room for a sound sleep. I was fortunate to have a room; there was a very large wedding in town that was eating up all the space.

This morning I took my taxi for a tour of Narsapur. This is a pretty big place by Canadian standards but barely makes the map by Indian standards. As with all Indian towns, there is non-stop shopping--little stores everywhere! The town is divided into districts, so all the tailors are in the same area, and all the plumbing supply stores are in another area. This makes for quite a bit of travel if you want a skirt tailored for your sink.

Narsapur is on a large river near the coast of Bengal, and it sports quite a fishing industry. Fish are caught in both the river and at sea, with the boats coming up the river to a little tributary to unload.

Small boats filled with sand used in concrete for construction in the area also come up the tributary. I asked Pastor Chand about the beach and swimming the day before, but he said it wasn’t safe.

After touring the town, I decided to see if we could find the coast. We went to the guest house to see if Pat and Sisay wanted to come along (much to Pastor Chand's chagrin). Google Earth shows mile upon mile of sand beach. Thirty minutes later, we drove past a beautiful Catholic church looking out on an amazing sand beach! There was a little park where one could eat lunch and some stalls selling drinks and snacks. We walked on the beach for 10 minutes until I couldn’t take it any more! There were great surf waves: one break, 3 foot swells rolling on shore at about 15 degrees.

There were little kids wading in the break--no evidence of a riptide. How bad could it be? I didn’t have my trunks, but I was wearing brand new underwear. I asked Pat if she would mind if I went in for a dip, and she said it would be fine, but I don’t think she was ready for the bright white streak across the sand, and I am not just talking about the new underwear! The water was like a bathtub, the waves were just right for playing in, and there was almost no rip at all. Besides, worst case scenario: I get to see Sri Lanka again! I am sure Pastor Chand was worried the whole time I was in the waves but perhaps was more worried that at some point I would have to get out! Pat averted her eyes as I rolled up on the beach like Moby Dick gone wrong and dashed up the beach to a little hut to change.

I didn’t go to the beach just for my own entertainment; I was checking it out as a possible point of interest for when I bring a group over in February. It would be a great activity to bring the kids to the beach to build sand castles, eat a picnic lunch, and play in the water. One adult to every 4 kids just like a family day at the beach. I didn’t mention this to Pastor Chand. I think I need to pick the right moment and make many promises to bring my swim suit this time.

Pastor Chand treated us like VIPs. It is obvious how important Pat is to him and the orphanage. He has a big job there, trying, as someone must, to meet the need where there is no shortage of need! Tomorrow, I brave the roads again to go to Guntur and meet Pastor Sagar and visit the orphanage where Carol Perrin worked last year. I feel safer in an ocean full of sharks than on the roads. Until then, it is "bye" from the Bay of Bengal, Baby!