~with love, there are infinite possibilites~

The General took Winnie and I to his ancestral home in Neriit yesterday. I woke up at 6:30 a.m. to make sure that I was ready for our 7:00 a.m. departure. Neriit is two hours outside of the city in the country. Having heard many stories of the General’s childhood, and even more about his home, I was eager to make the trip. The General and his older brother own the house, and the estate is split equally by both brothers. His mother, who is 86 lives there as well, and is taken care of by her daughter-in-law. We passed through many little shanty towns on our way to Neriit; the countryside is a refreshing change from the trash heaps that claim much of the streets and sidewalks of Delhi. We passed by men, women, and children riding in horse drawn carts filled to the brim with fresh produce and on one occasion, even a couple of children racing on horses along the roadside. Ancient ruins were scattered throughout the trip, and at times, I felt as if I were in a moving time machine only stopping at points to slowly maneuver over bumps in the road. When we entered the town, the first thing I noticed was the lushness that surrounded the town. Though people moved hurriedly in a hustle bustle kind of way, the blaring of car horns and rickshaws was absent. After a couple more turns and passing the old railroad tracks, we entered a small private road that stopped at the end with a large iron black gate. The driver honked twice and the gates slowly opened….I didn’t know what to expect, for the gate itself was impressive, but nothing prepared me for the feast my eyes had for the General’s home. There was a neatly trimmed yard that was encased on all four sides with seas of roses, lilies, and palm trees. Every leaf had a specific place, and every flower was at full attention, almost as if they knew the General was coming to inspect. We drove up to the terrace which was completely encased in green and gold marble. A long porch was lined with large white stone pillars, and the house itself was a pristine white. Just one look could not do the General’s house justice, I spent the rest of the day roaming the gardens and peeking at the cows. I later learned, the General’s mother has a passion for roses, as she stated many times throughout my visit, “roses are my friends, they never leave you.” At one time in her life, she had a commercial business in which she exported roses all over the world, but now, as the General later explained to me, the roses are just for his mother, as her mind as departed from our world and vacationed to earlier times. Later on that day, I slowly walked with her to her favorite place in the rose garden in which many years ago, she used to sit and watch the workers packing her roses to be shipped. I had a lovely time meeting and talking with Winnie, the General, his brother, sister-in-law, and younger sister. Their company was most entertaining. So after a hearty meal and as much adventuring throughout the property I could take, we packed up the car, said our goodbyes, and headed home with a trunk full of fresh vegetables and plants form the gardens.

For the last couple of days rain has visited Delhi in sporadic sheets of rain and hail, but just as quickly as it arrives, it departs in the same manner. With the increase of moisture and ‘pani’ (hindi for water) mud is everywhere. So when we arrived at Ekta Vihar today, my jutties immediately became caked with a dark sludgy colored mud, which eventually made its’ way through the soles and onto my clean feet….Having stepped out of Sonal’s little compact black car, I felt the heat great me with the dancing of sweat drops sliding down my back and neck. With soggy feet and a sweaty body, I hopped along the dry stones to our center. Donna, a doctor/photographer took some more pictures of the slum for us to use in our presentations and funding proposals for the UN and US Aid. As usual, the children swarmed around us like “a hive of honey bees.” As we progressed deeper into Ekta Vihar, again, more attention was drawn to us, and children pulled on my shawl and hands happily begging me to take their picture. But…a sense of guilt squeezed my heart when I thought about bringing a camera, I felt in some way I was betraying their innocent trust and perhaps, in a way, using them for my own benefit. While I want to document the life of the slums, I also want to respect the privacy and sacredness that is life here in Ekta Vihar. It is my belief that while it is important for us to document the struggle, so that people can’t block this from their minds, it is also vital to preserve these individual’s dignity. After all, we were intruding on their territory, taking pictures of their life. It can be unnerving to have foreign people with no know real understanding of their situation in poverty happily shoot photographs, in many ways oblivious to what is being captured. Something about sharing some of my moments seems wrong, as if I am committing a sin. I feel so protective of these people and their dignity that I can’t bare to see someone who doesn’t understand their beauty to turn their nose up at them or worse, to judge. So, it is my decision that many of my experiences at the slums will not be documented in pictures, due in part to establish a trust with the community, but also in respect for their dignity and their privacy. I am here in India to help promote empowerment, not to make myself look good by posing with the people I am supposedly “saving”…..If I must be brutally honest, they have “saved” me in a sense, for while I probably will never experience their particular situation, I have come to realize love is in so many forms of life, and material items are truly not the signs of love…. Love is the smiles on the children’s faces, perhaps a warm bed, or even clean water….maybe a cool breeze or the sounds of a mother singing to her child. With love, there are infinite possibilities…… I have been saved by love and with that, I bid you all a goodnight. ~K