Father's dilemma

‎"See it clearly without judgement and let it go. Come back to the present moment. From now on until the moment of your death, you could do this."
 ~ Pema Chodron


I've spent a lot of time with beautiful Jyoti here in Anandwan. I guess you could call Jyoti my main "project," though that would be a pretty lousy description. She started calling me Father early on, so I started calling her Daughter. Then some of the women who are just younger than me started calling me Father, then some of the older ones, and today one who's got to be 70 called me Father. Shachar, who was on the work retreat, says that they see past your physical body and look into the qualities of your heart - and that's why they call me that. Whether that's true or not, I accept the explanation and the title, pleasant as they are.

I do some fatherly things for Jyoti, including buying her way too many sweets and basically whatever else she asks for. And sometimes I'll use a baby wipe to clean her face - she closes her eyes and she gets an expression like she's being pampered at a spa. A fellow volunteer found out that Jyoti loves to read in English, even though she can't understand the vast majority of it. So I picked what I thought was the most direct style of writing that I had on my Kindle, oddly enough ending up with Ernest Hemingway's "For Whom the Bell Tolls." I have to hold the book for her and turn the pages, and I'm amazed to say that she just gone over 200 pages read. And I worry about her like a Father would.

So here's my question, I guess rhetorically stated: what kind of a Father leaves his Daughter in the old folk's home of a leprosy community while he's traipsing around the world enjoying himself? I don't have an answer. The worst answer I've come up with so far: I don't have any obligation to Jyoti.

Much love to you,
Dave


Dang, this one breaks the mold of what you ought to look like to be at the old folk's home. And check out those non-bleached probably-never-been-to-a-dentist choppers. She's very sweet, and the only thing I know about her condition is that she lost one leg about mid-calf.



Raging Bull. I get a little stomach ache when I see this photo, because I remember the mysterious drama that lead Baby to unload her formidable intensity in Jyoti's direction. And I remember Jyoti towards the end when she exclaimed, in complete exasperation, "Oh, Bhagwan!" (God.) Not a nice memory.



Sweet and confused Neelam, schizophrenic and pretty adorable. "Namaste, Father! Neelam. NEELAM!" she started saying recently.



Not all of the grandmas here are lovely! (Jyoti thinks this photo is pretty hilarious. Maybe it has some cultural significance that I don't grasp.)



One of my favorites, she's sure to give me the news, regardless of how many times I tell her I don't speak Marathi. She just talks and talks, and I just nod my head and nod my head. She fell in the bathroom recently, splitting the back of her head open, and was wearing a white bandage. Poor Prasad, my 18 year-old friend and translator, says "every time I see her she tells me AGAIN about what happened!"



It's my "Born to be a Rebel" friend enjoying his daily ration of hot milk.



A very quiet woman that I don't interact with much.



I've left the confines of Anandwan I think four times in the eight weeks I've been here. This photo might give you a hint why that is. Not too much see, really, although there is the "BOOM Beer Shopee."



In another newsletter I said that this beauty and I were dating in a parallel universe.



This is one of the ladies who scoots around on a little wooden cart that's only a few inches off the ground. I just about fell over when she came around the corner with her new artificial leg. She looks completely different standing up.



Part of my morning commute.



A fence in front of guest accommodations in Anandwan.



They are crazy for sweeping around here. Every morning before it's even light they start up. Apparently it started as a way to protect the feet of lepers who don't realize when they've stepped on rocks. Dirt, street, sidewalk - if it's horizontal it's getting swept.



My eccentric friend Kadar, who insists on using my phone every single time I see him. Once I heard him talking to a woman who it seemed like was maybe his daughter, and he started crying. He had streams of tears coming out of his eyes like I've never seen. I thought, Kadar, you can use my phone whenever you want.



Doing each other's hair in the old folk's home.



Ditto: Doing each other's hair in the old folk's home.



I always think of this Lady in Red as a fading movie star. I'm not sure why. She really funny - she mimes at length like she's deaf, (which is handy for EnglishOnlyBoy,) but then also speaks perfectly fine, too.



OK, this is the same lady, and she's not looking so movie-star-ish here. She's got the shades, though.



Sorting through the beans, I think, and taking a nap in the sunny courtyard.



Oh, this sweet man. He's looked like this, more or less, since I've been coming, but he's becoming unbearably thin. He doesn't seem to be able to speak, but he makes this hands-together namaste sign, then holds them out flat and wobbles his head to indicate that everything is all right.



School kids squeezed into a three-wheeled rickshaw.



Enjoying a late afternoon chat in the shade.



Kelsabhai, who takes care of Jyoti, and a friend from the next room.



This old guy seemed proud to stand, stiffly, in the door of his room at the edge of the old folk's home.



I think this gentleman's a Muslim. I haven't seen him before, but I like his face.



A young mother and child in the big "mega kitchen," as it's called.



A one minute video of a blind man singing at the old folk's home, just outside Jyoti's window.

(The End)

"It is all God's grace"

"Look into the eyes of whatever arises."
 ~ Jetsün Khandro Rinpoche

I was walking in the halls of the old folk's home here in Anandwan, the leprosy and outcast community where I've been volunteering on this trip for six weeks today. I saw one of my favorite old guys, fluent in English but deaf-as-a-post and a real gentleman, soaking his uber-gnarly feet in buckets of mystery solution, presumably to some benefit. I was showing a few American nursing and pre-med students around and we stopped to investigate. My bucketed friend looked as relaxed as he always does as he turned his palms upward and exclaimed, "It is all God's grace. We cannot see what we did in previous lives, but here we are, and all happens through the grace of God."

This beautiful war zone is for me equal parts inspiring and traumatizing. Beautiful Jyoti, 25 and bedbound-for-life, can't stop smiling. Whenever there's not much of some treat to eat, she insists on me eating it, or her neighbors. But she's skipping meals so she won't go to the toilet so much, and begging me for "stomach medicine" so she'll only go to the toilet every three days, because going every day is too much work for the old woman who cares for her. The beautiful old grandma's can be gentle as bunnies one minute and fighting ferociously the next.

Inspiring and traumatizing. Can I love it all, or at least accept it all? Can I see it all as God's grace?

Love to all of you, (easy since you're at a distance!)
Dave


Lovely Jyoti, smiling as always. If anyone has a good reason not to smile around here...



We had a special guest one night in our room. Adorable little bugger.



These two visitors to Anandwan don't even realize how cool they are. They'll figure it out soon enough.




Shachar works her magic on this woman's hair. Impressive.



Two of the older guys in the place meet most days for a chat and a little business, unexplained to me. The guy on the left is bed-bound and in six weeks the nasty wounds on his foot show no signs of improvement. His friend comes by for a visit most days. I don't think there's one whole finger between them!



This seriously-tiny Grandma only has one arm, and here she's working her tea cup with the short fingers of her left hand. I saw her taking a bucket to dip in the hot water tank and was tempted to help her. She had that bucket scooped with her one arm and was halfway down the hall before I could even ask. She is fully capable and doesn't need my help.



After coming here for the first time I noticed that as I was sitting on a train I was absent-mindedly counting my friend's toes. "Yup - these feet have all their toes!" These lovelies appear to have all their toes, too.



A slow bike ride at the end of the day.



Sunset over the lagoon, just near where we stayed during the work retreat.



"Sleep all day, party all night, never grow old, never die. It's fun to be a REBEL!" This is my buddy from the photo a few before this. He's a super friendly, lovable old fart.



Some of the regulars from the women's wing of the old folk's home.



Nice one, Grams!



This young woman wasn't here last year. It turns out she has schizophrenia(?) or something like it. She's taking meds and is quite a character. She's really friendly when she's tracking but has a far-off look in her eyes frequently.



You thought I was exaggerating about her being seriously-tiny?



A light moment in our daily chai break during the morning work period. Shachar and Lily.



What a beauty.



Such cute kids, on their way to school.



This gentleman was going to town, whacking weeds with that metal tool that's all covered with cloth and rope to protect his hands.



Are you getting tired of people's faces? I'm not. I guess I'm really fascinated by faces.



This barn and old wooden carts are still used here.



This is Kelsabhai, who provides all the care for Jyoti: bathing, washing clothes, getting her food, taking her to the toilet. It's way too much work for a woman her age. We tried desperately both this year and last to hire someone to help her, with no luck. 



Oh, this poor guy was miserable at this point. He's the one who has an amputated foot, and though it's healing well, he was woken up one night by a mouse or rat chewing on his cheek near his eye. It swelled terribly and he was so frustrated he was gesturing towards the sky, like, I give up - take me! His eye is all better now and his foot is really healing quickly. He's usually very funny and smiling. He loves to see photos of his foot. You, on the other hand, would not. Trust me on that one.



Jyoti's universe. For 11 months a year, (except when we're here,) she lays on this bed, only getting out to go to the toilet and shower.



Last week everyone got new saris. That's a big day for these ladies who don't have much to look forward to.



A little celebration on the last night of the work retreat.



I don't remember what these two beautiful kids performed. But I remember how adorable they are. (Rosemary, Linda, and Walter in the background.)



The annual Henna Party, where the deaf girls draw these patterns on the retreatants arms. It leaves kind of a temporary tattoo that fades over a week or two - all drawn by hand without a pattern.



Four of us went on an overnight tiger safari near Anandwan. That's not a stinkin' tiger. Some kind of deer-whatever.



OK, now we're talking. The tiger was walking towards us as he spotted a much heavier species of deer-whatever, and we thought we might get to see him attack. But the deer perked his ears up, looked in the direction of the tiger and let out a loud honk, more or less. Then he fled. Exciting!



A south Indian tradition of painting these patterns on the pavement. (I took this photo with the illustration mode.)



This poor lady, Saidrabai, who I've known since I've been coming to Anandwan, has hardly been out of bed in the six weeks I've been here. I look in on her periodically and wonder how long she can keep going. This morning I looked into her window and saw her covered head-to-toe with her blanket and thought, how could you even tell if she was breathing? This afternoon Jyoti said people are saying someone died. I went to her room and found an empty bed. I'm sad for a lot of reasons, and also taken aback a bit that her passing appeared to be such a non-event in the women's courtyard. Partly I think it's too hard to allow yourself to care; it's easier to keep it all at an arm's reach. An old woman seemed to be consoling me and explaining something when she saw that I was sad, and I could only understand one word, Bhagawan: God.



One of my commute-to-work days. I walk down this road for about five minutes to get to the old folk's home.



Baby, the gangland boss of the women's quarters, and one of the other women. At one point Baby told Jyoti that I couldn't take her out for chai anymore unless I also brought something back for Baby. I was, let's say, displeased. Today Jyoti told me that Baby made her an omelette using eggs that I brought for the purpose, and Jyoti was saying how nice Baby is. Jyoti is a saint.
 


The HDR setting of this photo exaggerates the wrinkles and colors of her face, but I like it. She gets her hands bandaged everyday because she scoots around on a little cart using her hands for propulsion. The cart has small metal wheels and is only inches above the ground. At one point I saw her backing the cart up and smashing her fingers with the wheels, but not realizing that she was, since she has no feelings in her fingers. That's much of why so many leprosy patients need wound care.



Jyoti looking cooler than usual. The doctor prescribed these to keep the flies off of her eyes. Gross. The flies are sometimes thick, and all over her.



I love the mix of people here in Anandwan, the able-bodied and the differently-abled, all getting along with life and each other. It's beautiful.


(The End)