Goodbye and India (or, Hey man! That wall could use a[nother] calendar!)

Words are used in countless languages. In while teaching elementary and middle  school in an English medium slum school in Mumbai, we  began to realize that we use words to convey meaning–they are simply vehicles which transport meaning for us. But as we prepare to leave India,  language  falls short of getting across the meaning.

Nearly two and half months ago, we arrived in this strange land. We found ourselves in a swath of unknown culture and language. But those people who were first beside us seemed so foreign—foreigners themselves, though we stood as the true foreigners. They continued to bear with us as we at first endured and adapted, and later awkwardly beginto learn their custom and language. Today we are highly honoured to find ourselves standing beside them, brothers and sisters, friends and different family on the other half of the world. Their home is far away from ours, but even this place has the feel of home to it. In the midst of these, India has become for us, a strange place to call, a home away from home.

Today  with tears in our eyes, we say goodbye to these good ladies and gents. To the Asirs our family, to Binesh first our brother and second our roomie, to our Uncle and Aunty Thomas Rajan, to sister Jackquelin, to our street and the neighborhood kids at Thangam colony, to India a land in which God continues his Revelation to his World, which began here so long ago.

We are grateful to these and to our loving and good Father for bringing us safe thus far. Our journey leads us onward to Italy for a week of reunion and debriefing with five other friends and students who’ve been scattered across the globe for the summer as well, and three professors from Bryan, our college. We proceed homeward August 6 and meet our families and homeland, whose presence’s we expectantly await. We look back to the friends we leave behind and ahead to the faces we shall soon meet. And not much of anything makes either all so easy. But It is life in this world, and these are the one’s whom we’ve grown to love. Onward.

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below is a scrawled, short account what happened in Madurai, (written earlier):

Our last trip into the field ended the 25th of July. It was a crammed week spent in Madurai, where we had a nice ordered schedule (typed up and handed to us! A first since we’ve come to India. Usually there is no given schedule, except once we sat down upon arrival in Pondicherry (in the house of Rishi David) and were told, “I don’t know what God’s plan is for you while you are here, so we shall wait and see.” And so things simply unfolded as they came.). The home we stayed in is the New Life Center for handicapped and mentally retarded children, run by Word for the World staff. We slept upstairs and ate in the office downstairs with our host Packiraj, and our guide (and schedule giver) Ebeneezer. When we would go out, it seemed we would end up squeezing out of an cramped  auto-rickshaw only to find ourselves addressing an all Women’s college. Other ministry included visiting a three old folks/retierment homes and elementary/middle schools.

Here too there is much more to be told, of ‘kerchiefs and muslim young ladies, of kids with unbelievable energy and hunks of 500 year old concrete and a man named Packiraj. These stories too shall lay low. Snaps from the trip may mysteriously arrive on this page in weeks to come. We are grateful for your prayers and thoughts. Faithfully, the Father has kept us.

decontextualized, uncompromized, quite nearly hypnotized: onward march

July 13 marked two months for my (real) brother Caleb and myself hanging out in India. By this time we’ve moved in, come to stay, it feels like. We’ve been here long enough to find ourselves waking up from the best naps in the floor, concrete or tile; when this occurs two things seem to have happened: we’ve adjusted to Indian sleeping arrangements (a straw mat on warm [or cool, if you know the secret] concrete), and the richest times in India have truly tuckered us out.

Life separated from your own kind, kin, and culture draws out of one a deep desire to return to home. More than strange food, oppressive climates, or the throwback of India’s state as a developing nation, interactions inside a culture that is a world away from your own brings on the greatest weariness to the soul. Though our native tongue, English, may be the “lengua franca,” we think broadly in a different spectrum from those outside of our Western context.

Caleb and I pick up Tamil words and phrases here and there, we can give greetings and ask for names and give our own, compliment the food and give our thanks for it, but still we wrestle inside a box that limits us, and somehow cuts our freedom down from the fullest extent which common communication in our own “native place” lends to us. Deep in my psyche (where ever that is), I’m internally troubled by this—-to the extent that every now and then I’ll almost try and rely upon some shaky Spanish I once thought I knew. And it just boggles me when I realize that I’m stuck. Not even bad Spanish will get me out of this one.

“Giving messages,” “Sharing the Word of God,” or “preaching the Gospel” to People (in twos and threes or twenties and thirties) doesn’t get any easier when filtering words through the understanding of a translator. The rhythm and cadence of normal speaking (in public even) slows to a sentence or two or an idea at a time. Ideas given in steps. Words limited to a minority. Vocabulary strangled to concrete words which will make the jump to the ears of someone who understands your culture to be just as foreign. The audience may or may not laugh at your humor which you tried to help along with a big smile and a laugh and body language that in this setting may not mean what you know it to mean. A full Sunday schedule along is enough to wear a couple o’ suthern boys out—-plum tared.

Surely, God is good. Grace gives life to us, the same as it does to the leper, or the blind man, or the lame man who Jesus heals. And somehow that is also our message. Somehow it’s one I find we’re living inside of and at the same time, through such poor means of our own, proclaiming as Gospel.

Our souls long to for our homeland, and that time too shall come. Soon.

(July 31 we will leave India for Italy debrief with other students from Bryan who have been around the world this summer.

Aug. 6 we will leave; final flight from Frankfurt to Dallas: O South, O Texas, how we shall be happy to meet thee.)

Bay on Bengal: a blue sunrise (dawn)

Hello World.

Pondicherry

On the road once more, we came to Pondicherry (recently changed it’s name to Puducherry, still called Pondi) on Friday morning by bus from Chennai.

Stop for breakfast en route to Pondi

Caleb and I are two “plain and tall” country boys from America’s heartland, and somehow we’ve wandered into a story in India that is far too large for us. We find ourselves in the company of full-time missionaries from India who minister continually to the dejected, the broken, the downtrodden. They go to the sick and the lame and the leprous; when you look for them they will be found in the places where the lost dwell.

In these darker corners of the world–in these slums, villages, and leper colonies, we go with Aaron and John, two missionaries here, to take good news to the hopeless. Simply put, we sit in with the lame, or the blind, or the leprous and touch them and love them and pray.

We listen to their stories, and tell them our story, the story of a loving Father who loves his children. It’s the only story of hope, and still sometimes it’s hard to see that hope. Sitting on a concrete floor in a dark room next to an old woman who bears the image of God but whose physical body is marred by the marks of leprosy, we shared this story with Evan-Marie. She reminded me of my own grandma, I told her; yet she asks how can God be good while she suffers from her wretched disease that robs her of touch and sense and feeling. While the weight of her words gets lost in translation, the deep lines and tangling expressions of Evan-Marie’s beautiful face communicate the ache of so much that she’s lost. The dark shadow of leprosy has stolen her hands from her, her feet are shrunken, and her life is empty and void of people, relationships, and love.

It is no health and wealth prosperity gospel that comes to save this world. I don’t think such gospel ever penetrates the heart of the darkness here in these villages and huts and colonies (“nagar”). It seems that it can be, it will be, and it is nothing less than God himself coming down to save us from our darkness.

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. And from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.”

God Standing in our darkness with us, saves us from our darkness. God coming inside our dark and cramped huts, brings to us light. Joining himself to our sickness and our sin, he heals us. He came to save us in our darkness. To save us in our sickness. To heal us in the midst of our disease.

“The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.”

I am a liar if I look in the mirror and find myself any more healthy than Evan-Marie. Or if I think that my house and my body are anything more than this poor woman’s. God came into my hut, he came into my leprosy, and he came into my village to save me. And today, he still sits in my sick hut comforting me, he still bathes my wounds which I still suffer from, which the world still feels. And even though leprosy doesn’t at all lose any of its peicing sting, hope is there–is here, because God is here.

Where a nose once was beautiful, now depressions sink it into her face. Here his leg used to stand, now only a thigh is still there. Where did these things go? How did they slip away? Mahgiemai or Immanuel’s disease robs them of that which we all long for–the feeling of touch. They’ve been sealed from the feeling of pain, but I’m sure, in actuality, it is pain that they well know. Our father knows this well also. And in an extrordinary way, these two lovely people have hope and joy. They have an understanding of this God who comes to save them, which wealth and prosperity gospels do not. They know a God who gives more and offers more than riches and even health. For what the heart of man truly longs to know is his Father who also desires to know his children.

Caleb, Aaron, John on the coast outside the leper colony (Bay of Bengal)

On a different note, we are still very much in India, which at all times (except for a few strange moments or moments of great frustration at the lack of what we’ve always considered “normal”)–at all times we are provided with the most interesting of sights and experiences. Such as this good fellow (he wears a lungi, a traditional Indian skirt-like piece worn by men in the mornings…sometimes all day).

“]

Another great scene but even better experience when sweat has drenched your kurta (traditional Indian shirt) is this:

Indian airconditioner.

There are many more of these experiences we want to share with you–our friends and the world–but only so much can be spoken here. Pondicherry has not given us any less reason to roll on the floor with laughter at times at the crazy things that happen during our days. Like why we, along with our host Jacob, always walk on one side of the road on the 3 mile (or so) journey by foot back to his place every night when at the end, only to have to cross the road to the other side. Or like our friend, who walks everywhere (such an enigmatic man he is; but we enjoy him and walking).

For so many prayers we are vrey greatful. Our health continues well and our lives are continually enriched; we do feel weariness of the roads of this journey, but we are blessed to be among such people as these. Thanks be to our good God.

In a very cramped booth in a 4 “system” cafe near Rajiv Ghandi Square in Puducherry,

John

Chennai, Chengalpatt

Many stories we carry from the city of Bombay, an old and large place. A city that contains one of the worlds’ greatest populations (nearly 20,000,000) where more than fifty percent find their homes in slums. Many things happened that we didn’t exactly know what to do with at first, yet as we continue we learn that all human beings desire relationship. In our simple earthly (or complex) context, it so naturally begins with man–person to person–and so easily, if allowed, it ends man-God. In every case it’s because our Former has loved first. Here we see how the heart of man yearns for relationship and how the brokeness of the Fall destroys relationship. Here, it is in the pieced-out society, the divides left over by the fading caste system. Among those who dwelled in the colonies in Mumbai and the surrounding parts, we didn’t really see this separation between society and these people. But today, we journeyed from Chennai to Chengalpatt and stepped into the homes of beloved people who carry the disease of leprosy. Like the caste system it too is dying out, but those who carry it are divorced from society and relegated to a life below all.

Thomas Rajan walked into their homes and greeted them, shaking their hands or wrists, laughing and loving those who are never touched by anyone outside of their families, and perhaps not even family. He began ministry here nearly 20 years ago, coming here to Chengalpatt for seven years before those who mocked him slowly began coming to the hope of the Gospel. The message offers what nothing else and no one else in this world does: hope. Hope for a better life to come. Hope for a redeemed heart. Hope and faith and “rest for your souls.”

Peter

There remains an inordinate number of stories which accompany the tales from Mumbai and our precious time there, they may be shared in a few photographs and explanations, or they may wait for a glass of sweet tea and a porch swing in Roe, Arkansas. So many silly things happened, and so many changing things.

Tomorrow night we say goodbye to our friends Matt and Danielle who came for a short visit, and then in a few days we’re off to Pondicherry. Pray for Matt and Danielle as they continue on to China to see other members of the Bryan College team on field there. We will head down the coast on a 3.4 hour bus ride to this former French colony; our prayer is to simply follow the steps of our Savior.

With mosquitoes in Chennai,

John

Rice is there? Navi-Mumbai and other storiesAt

I don’t know where to begin. I’m sitting in a “cybercafe cafe” in Airoli, Sector 3, Navi-Mumbai, an inland extension of Mumbai’s sprawling circumference. The “browsing centre” has interesting booths (with double doors) where it seems popular to squeeze two chairs in and surf in pairs. I’m secluded in a corner on the last free “system.” We tried browsing a couple of hours ago and the power in the city (this sector at least) shut down for about an hour and a half, a common occurrence all over India (there is a lack of electricity to power everything all the time everywhere). On our way down the street back to our room, we found this small cafe which happened to be a few steps closer and air conditioned.

On Friday, the 6th of June, Caleb and I caught a flight from Chennai to Mumbai, aka Bombay. Coming in, our plane swooped low over the small mountains which hem in the city to the sea–the Arabian sea.

Here we are staying in a small, two room teachers’ house which is vacant at this time. School begins June 11 for a Word for the World school in Chinchpada slum, one kilometer away. At that point, Caleb and I will begin teaching in the school there. At this time, we are going out and visiting slums with Limma, a W/f/W missionary (originally from Orissa) who lives there in the slum. We are being taken care of by Ponraj Abraham (Uncle Abraham) and his wife, Auntie. Our conversations in English consist of a few incomplete sentences comprised of misplaced words and further interpretations when Caleb and I get back to our quarters. Still, much joy is found in our fellowship with them.

Also, great joy is found in visiting these slums around. The day we arrived we went out to a prayer meeting in Chinchpada where we joined in with nearly 30 folks in a one room house smaller than a two person  dorm room. Mostly women and children, seated on the floor with legs crossed, worshiping God. Chairs were, as always seem to be, given to Caleb, Limma, and myself. I joined in on a guitar and Caleb shared a message translated into Hindi by Limma from Psalm 90. Afterward I prayed for these kind, beautiful people, for the family whose home we were in. We sat and shared puffed rice and cheese type crackers (or something similar) and then sipped chai out of small metal cups.

From there we took an auto rickshaw to Nocil, another slum where we met a family in their home. They are believers; three generations of women: grandmother, mother, daughters. It was a small, one-room tin building with a concrete floor. We watched Pop Eye the Sailor in Hindi on a small TV in the corner and then Caleb and I were given Pepsi in glass bottles and biscuits (small cookies). We sang a few songs, I again accompanied with guitar, and then I shared from John 1, the story of the world. It was condensed and unplanned and as simple as it truly is; Limma translated. Caleb prayed for the family, again translated, we talked, laughed at our short, poor Hindi phrases we keep trying to use, and then, as Limma says  “moved” ["We move?', accompanied by a head bobble].

The story continues, and it spills into the next day when we went back to Chinchpada and on to another slum and visited Hindu families Limma has gotten to know through his magnanimous love (and his wonderfully big, bold smile, full of very white teeth). There, in a small two room shack,  I told the ancient story of a giant and a boy, David, to children sitting around our feet. We took chai with the people and then prayed for them. Limma translates our prayers for these people to come to know the true, living God. Our messages, even to the recent believers saved in these slums from Hinduism, are the story of the Living God who created all things. As we read the Bible, it is this God we find chasing after the heart of man, and finally becoming man himself. It’s the story in which God takes on flesh and dwells with us. It seems unthinkable, with a description of this all powerful, all holy, living God. But it seems the only story that may at once and finally give hope to a young woman from Chinchpada whose husband has died and who has one small child. It seems that this story of a God who lives with men and then dies for them could be the only story that gives hope to the hopeless who live in the shanties where they always give us the chair to sit in while they take the floor and their always sure to  serve us something, even if it’s only water we can’t drink. These people have joy. They find life in the midst of a slum. I find life and I find joy in the eyes of these, the hurting but hopeful, those who are stricken but have come to put their trust in this God who we are told of in such a story. They are wrapped up in this same story. They too are at the heart of redemption, even in the middle of a slum you’ve never heard of in a land worlds different than your own.

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Scenes from Navi-Mumbai

Worship in a house church

on the back edge of Nocil slum

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Scenes from the journey up to Mumbai (some that you never saw)

a view of a few foothills of the Himalayas. a winding, sickening road up.

at the back of the taj mahal, a side (and a river) you may never see.

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a series of trains

authors on a train

train to chennai: the pensive traveler

the local train, local style

had your breakfast? homemade: grill cheese, cheese toast, and bread with jam. this is Navi-Mumbai style (*peekaboo*)

morning chai with binesh in chennai in our friendly neighborhood tea shop

thanks for all prayers. our health remains good, glory be to God. We are somewhere in the middle of moving into the life of those who only know the slum and the all too funny mistranslations of Uncle Abe and Auntie (who keeps giving us rice even after we tell her to stop). We don’t always know what to do, know what to say, or how to preach. But somewhere in the middle we are met with enduring graces of our Savior Christ Jesus. Thank you, thank you for your prayers.

By his grace,

john, Navi-Mumbai

on a train from delhi to the hot suburbs of chennai

On a cool train from Delhi, we traveled through the night, through the day, through another night, and arrived in Chennai (Madrass) about 8 a.m. May 27. The train was cool as we were riding first class with the Asir family (and co.–about 15 folks total or so), however most of the passengers on the train did not ride in the comfort of cool. Caleb and I ventured to the back of the train, through the “pantry car” (the kitchen car) which felt about 50 degrees warmer than the cars with open widows (which must have been in the 90s or so). Journey by train was great adventure, especially when it came to using the toilets on board. Here, a decision had to be made: would it be IC or WC, as the plaques on the bathroom doors read. The IC is an “Indian style” toilet (a porcelain hole in the floor) while WC is a standard (not quite so sturdy) Western style commode. The IC is what seems to be found in most houses here and on the train, in every other bathroom. On a moving train, the IC  likely to be voted as greater adventure, though both bear a certain risk in the small compartments they reside in.

But riding on trains in India is much more enjoyable and adventuresome than just flipping a coin to choose between the old IC or WC, it’s actually a great time to gaze out the window for unaccounted lengths of munites and hours and days; simply to watch and wonder.  At night it’s good for playing connect four with Jim Asir and reading a book, which may quickly become a group activity (not that we found ourselves reading aloud but that there are just constantly people around you, and sometimes they want to talk. Great!). Also, nights are good for sleeping. So fold your seat down into a your bed, or jump up and take one of the upper bunks, spread your sheets out, and curl up into your berth. Pull the curtains closed and do some journaling, then snooze and sway with the rolling rhythm of a train rumbling through the night in some new part of the Indian Sub Continent.

Our journey continues to go well, and here in Chennai we are relaxing a bit and continuing to get into the gait of Indian culture. The heat is turned up a bit on the coast and the humidity is pretty outrageous. Admittedly it feels a lot like Eastern Arkansas in August, hot and muggy. There are a whole lot of air conditioners around here, at least None that I’ve seen, so we everyone leaves doors and windows open and sleeps under ceiling fans which are going (hopefully) at all times. And still, we all sweat a whole lot, even in sleep (I woke up from a nap this afternoon pretty drenched; it’s just so n0 nice to sweat during nap time).

We are encouraged by the believers here as well. We are staying with Binesh, a good and funny friend (or “bad man” as he may jokingly call himself) at Word for the World Chennai regional office. We love Binesh, and we count ourselves privileged to share the small living quarters with this devoted, loving and lovable young Indian gentleman. We wake in the mornings a bit before 7, ease out the door and walk down to a tiny but busy little tea shop just around the corner and past a Hindu temple (a common sight) where we sit down inside the open shop on a wooden bench. Binesh reads a Tamil (the spoken language here) paper while we take about three minutes and sip down our tumblers of tea. Then we follow Binesh out as he gets up, pays, and casually strolls home. Then we bathe while Binesh puts in his earbuds and listens to somekind of FM radio and “brooms” the floos with a weed sort of broom (it’s doubtful you’ve seen one of these in the USA). And we just take it easy untill  a couple of office workers show up around 9:30 or 10 and then we have sing a couple of songs, read a selected passage of scripture, they ask for Caleb and I to give our insights on the text, we ask them to try and tell us theirs (though the language is sometimes tough to translate spiritual or theological truths into) and then we pray. Thus begins our day in Chennai. Tomorrow I think it will be the same, but you don’t really always know.

We are here until the 5 of June when we fly out for Mumbai. We’ll return with our beloved friends Matt and Danielle on the 28 to Chennai. If you think of us in your prayers, please remember those we are with. We’re not exactly sure what our time here is about or what exactly we’re doing for the next week, but we hope to be an encouragement and bring joy to those we are with. We are delighted to have opportunity to teach some spoken English to some boys and staff workers today, and I think that will be routine. Caleb and I have little idea of what we’re doing, but we bring a distinct American humor and flavor to the language. It’s safe to say that this, like so many other experience on this trip, is yet another adventure of life. And really, viewing all of our situations where we have no idea what we’re supposed to be doing (which is so much, so much!) as an adventure we’ve fallen into, makes life all the more enjoyable and interesting, and many times confusing. But by a great and wondrous grace, we have managed thus far and each new day continue.

I’ve said plenty here and with no photographs to go along with all these words.  Sorry to bore you and your techno, consumerist, immediacy-driven, Western minds, but Caleb and I have come to the East and here…well, let’s just say, folks think differently. We might do photos tomorrow. There’s a whole ‘nother story here too on culture and thought, but perhaps for another time. Don’t take the above comment as a slam, it’s just a remark on the contrast of the mindsets in the two halves of the world.

Thanks for reading along. ‘Till next time, sweating in Chennai,

John

P.S. And for Joel, Justus, and Amanda, and the other Bob Dylan fans, here’s a link a friend passed on to me. Talk about crazy:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=104620237&ft=1&f=2

Had your breakfast?

Breifly, here’s a fast backtrack to an excert from my journal from the very first entry, scrawled in the dark in an odd (to me at the time) hotel (but not like you’re thinking of) room late at night in Delhi:

5/13

“Made it into Delhi. Spending night at guest house of a mission. Met Jeetu and father, David. Wake tomorow and meet Augustine. Ride from airport to here was memorable. Nothing like the 3rd world at night from the back of a taxi. I love it. And I’m loving India and Indians so far. This seems like a wonderful country and a place I will have to return to. We shall see what tomorrow holds.”

Current:

Caleb and I are at an internet cafe a short, 10 minute walk from the Presbyterian Theological Seminary where we are staying, the small campus where the Word for the World conference is being held. Officially, we’ve “gone out for browsing.” (Jeetu, unfortunately we forgot to stop and get a Thumbs Up and a bag of masala (sp) chips.)

Everyday is a bit of an adventure. Though by now we’ve, at least a little, adjusted to this setting, the experience does not grow tame. As we get used to many of the things we at first found odd, the small differences begin to strike us more. It’s now the strange taste of the water, the continual spice in our food, and the lack of A/C anywhere that Caleb and I remark about. I don’t think we suffer too much from these, but now we notice them…or we notice the lack of something which we don’t have here. But it’s experiences away from home that make you understand how much you enjoy and appreciate your home. And it’s also these sorts of experiences that make life interesting and give you something to write about…somewhere or another.

Our time here in Dehradun continues to go well. We’re now getting to follow along with the speakers. We follow along on a powerpoint projector with rough English translations (maybe not so rough, we’re not really sure) typed out by Sister (–all men and women are either brother, sister, auntie or uncle, according to their age; our good friend and wonderful guide Jeetu told me that anyone 40+ is uncle or aunti) Sharon, Augustine’s daughter. It is very helpful as we now have an idea of what’s being said. It is very insightful into the Christianity of these Indian brothers and sisters.

Here is an excerpt from my journal from 5/20:

//”This morning, after a bad-night of sleep [which I later came to realize was due to a fever--just a fever and was soon on the mend], I left the room at 5:30, not wanting to sleep any more. I made it to the tallest roof on the campus [and one of the highest points in the city] and from there watched the sun come up in the East, rising over these Himalayan foothills. On the roof I met a man from Karnataka [the state of]. He was brushing his teeth. His name is Frank [not real name]. Thro’ broken English he asked me about my family and my siblings [a question often asked us very genuinely]. . . . I asked him about the persecution of Christians going on in his state. He said that, “some days ago,” they [a hindu mob] came and took him and they beat him and left him. “//

Along with this brother from Karnataka, Caleb and I have also met Christians from (along with all over India) the state of Orissa, another state where Christians are being persecuted. The people that I’ve met and that we continue to meet and to get to build friendship with know Christianity in light of the world; the world Christ spoke of. These we find here are those he called “blessed” for their suffering for his sake.  The Christianity of these very real human beings is itself simple but very real. The things they believe changes the way they do daily life, their future, their families. It truly has meaning, and it is very real to know that Jesus cares. And he may very well touch your heart, or your soul, and for that these warm people are grateful.

Our adventures range from meeting Christians such as these to meeting strange bearded men…one of whom we’re very fond of, and it seems he is very fond of us. When we say strange, we do indeed mean odd. For the most part, this one interesting friend …of ours is indescribable, certainly on a blog like this. We might give it a shot later on, but for now lets just say, “…so…” And, that every good adventure story needs a strange bearded fellow.

Asking you, “had your breakfast?” with a South Indian British accent, here’s Caleb and John from Dehradun.

 

John 

And here is a link to my good friend and companion’s blog, Caleb Beasley: check it out for some fine writing, good photos (taken on the one camera we have), and some more story from our journey:

http://planestrainscurry.blogspot.com/

scenes from the journey

Below is an except from an email to two good friends. It contains some humor and story that in the shortage of time, I’ll tell here through that message to Matt and Danielle:

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stotrum! (“praise the Lord”, in Tamil)

 

Matt and Danielle, we’ve made it safely! Thanks for telling our families. Life in India is good, certainly different, but “nalla iruku”–its good (tamil). The food is spicy and the chicken is strange, but all is well with the old digestive tract thus far. Augustine asks us how we are (stomach wise) nearly everyday, and our response has been, so far so good. We did have a mango slush on the street yesterday, bought for us by our good friend, Jeetu (son of David, from Chandigar…don’t think he knows you Matt), and it did have “a little ice.” We’ll see how it goes…

 

We’re in Dehradun until…sometime. The train ride north was crazy. close to 7 or 8 hours packed in a car, caleb, myself, and another smaller Indian named Pinesh in the small backseat. The A/C did work, but the windows down was cooler. The ride was a good slice of Indian culture from our backseat windows. We saw men with turbans riding motorbikes, buffalo drawn carts, Muslim men and women, cows sleeping in the streets, and many more Indian things that aren’t quite describable. I would wake up from sleeping and get a jolt of reality when I realized where we were. Fortunately, that stopped happening after a couple of days. But still, Caleb and I laugh and marvel many, many times a day. We’re bathing in a bucket and eating with our hands, things our mothers never allowed us to do so many years back. Finally our dreams come to fruition.

 

Thanks for your tips and guidance, Matt, before we came. We bought Indian shirts (traditional, super light cotton, no buttons but a V neck) yesterday in the market and are continually adapting. I think by the end we’ll be beginning to almost feel at home. Maybe you’ll be able to recognize us when we get to Italy.

 

Look forward to seeing you guys. Thanks for your prayers. You can continue to pray for our health and wellness, and we praise God for the few days of good health we’ve had thus far. We’re popping the malaria pills and sleeping with mosquitoes that aren’t too bad. And getting used to the spicy food. Pray that our Christianity will connect with the Indian Christians, though language and custom differ so greatly. I play guitar along with a dude on the keyboard, but the songs are all in Tamil. There is no music and it’s all by ear. It’s pretty fun, and funny too. This whole experience borders from intense culture difference to sheer comedy. The kids are hilarious and cute, and we’ve made friends with many of them. We’re also beginning to learn a little Tamil.

 

The good Indians here send their greetings–Wanacom (Tamil greeting)

 

Tell the boys hello from India and that we met some friends who remind us of them.

 

From Dehradun,

 

 

John

 

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scene from window of a taxi somewhere outside of Delhi

from the window of a taxi

mango slush on the street in Dehradun. "Thanks" Jeetu!

Dehradun

Sitting in an internet cafe in Dehradun, about 8 hrs. by car, north of Delhi. Caleb and I arrived in Dehli the night of the 13th; we’re currently at a conference Word for the World is holding for their sponsors and missionaries (two conferences back to back) in Dehradun (on the campus of a small Presbyterian Theological Seminary). Caleb and I made it safefly to India, via a 16 hr. flight from Chicago. Spent one night in Delhi, and after picking up the Asir family and company at the train station, fresh in from Chennai (2 nights and one days journey by train from Chennai to Delhi), we loaded up with 36 pieces of luggage in a bus-like vehicle and a car and traveled 9 hrs. north to the almost-mountain town of Dehradun. We’re about 30 kilos from the base of the foothills of the Himalayas, a gorgeous view. We spend the next several days here at the conferences and then head to Delhi for a couple of days sight seeing and then the long train ride to Chennai. Thus far, good health continues with us. Caleb and I both greatly appreciate your prayers. We are both well and in good health; though cultures are very different, we are truly appreciative of the hospitality and kindess of the Indians we are with; many of them we now call our friends. Will keep you posted as the days go on.

With a mouth full of curry,

John