Sign of the Week

On our daily walk we try to vary our route so that we see different things. As you can imagine the variety of things to witness is endless and will be unveiled as the individual stories are written.

We also try and observe things that represent the values of the people we are living with. This leads us to the Sign of the Week that we witnessed a while ago.  We photographed it, but somehow in the process of transferring from Camera to Computer, renaming and filing in the relevant folder, it got lost.

So this morning we retraced our steps to recapture this icon of Indian culture.

Education is paramount for the people here and wherever we walk we see signs offering coaching in English or Hindi, tutoring in maths, how to be effective users of time (don’t think many people do this one) etc.

These all pale into insignificance compared to our sign below.

PS We can only assume that because education is important to the people, they expect their chickens to be educated as well!!

Hit by a Dead Rat

In the very early days of computing I was the proud owner of a Commodore 64 complete with cassette tape backup. One of the first games I encountered was ‘Frogger’

It was a simple game where you had to get your frog to hop across a five lane highway of fast moving cars, buses and trucks then a crocodile infested river to reach its home. It you were good you made it, but one simple error of judgment and you were roadkill . Dead and flat. The graphics were poor and the sound was over the top but I grew to like the game.

It taught me a lot that I did not realize I would need later in life. You see, in India, every day is Frogger day and those skills acquired while others said I was wasting my time are now central to my physical survival in road crossings.

NOTE TO PARENTS: Be careful criticizing your children about wasting time on computer games. The skills they are obtaining could be life saving later in life.

In Australia you see a fair bit of roadkill on country roads but in the city it is minimal. In India, Chennai in particular, roadkill is prevalent. The main source for roadkill appears to be rats and the main beneficiary is the crow. Not a day goes by when you do not witness the crow feeding on the carcass of a dead rat while avoiding the traffic. What a skill that bird possesses. I have not witnessed any crow roadkill since I have been here.

They rip and pluck and strip the dead body bare leaving a mix of bones and fur to slowly disintegrate in the weather.

Wow – that was a long introduction to an incident that I witnessed this week.

While minding our own business on our daily walk for coffee we were standing at the edge of the road eagerly working in tandem to get across safely. While waiting we witnessed a crow at work. Then a special moment occurred. Just as the gap in traffic appeared for us to advance one lane further, a motor bike sped up in the lane where the crow and the rat were getting acquainted.

The result of this was the crow having to make a hasty departure, but unfortunately its claw was still hooked in the rat. As it soared towards us in its escape, and we advanced one square in the road crossing game, the crow lost its grip.

I did not think Lynn’s new fur brooch looked that bad but it only resided on her salwar for the briefest moment before the now patented rat-removing scream/jump/spin, dislodged it.

We did enjoy the safety of our Coffee Shop that day as we recalled the exciting events of the walk.

PS Even when with a trusted friend, disasters can still occur.

Why DOES Lynn cry?

After sharing in our Palm Sunday story about when we were invited to pray with the Year 9 girls at the end of the day (and the ensuing conversation about why I cry), someone’s comment on that blog was “Why DOES Lynn cry?” I know this was just a joke but I have been lying in bed most of the night (it is now 5.20 am), thinking about it and as I couldn’t sleep (because I was thinking about it and the mosquitoes were hungry), I decided to get out of bed and come out to the computer to put down some thoughts.

These are not in any particular order:

I cry when I’m happy. I cry when I’m sad. I cry when I’m angry. I cry when I’m tired. I cry when I hear sad news. I cried when I first saw my daughters after they were born.  I cry in sad movies. I cry when someone I love is sick. I cried when I first saw my twin grandchildren. I cried at the birth of my grandson. I cry when my children hurt. I cry when I see disabled children at the shop. I cry when I see photos of starving children. I cry when I see beggars in the street here and we are told not to give them money. I cry when I pray. I cry when I praise God. I cry when God says “no” when I wish he had said “yes” (and vice versa). I cry when I think that Jesus died for me on the cross.

I cry when I see 13 year old Indian girls praying up a storm. I cry when I’m homesick and can’t see my family and friends. I cry when someone I love dies. I cry when I remember good times with people I love. I cry when someone hurts me. I cry when I think I’ve hurt someone else. I cry at the marriage of two people I love. I cry when I’m away from my church family at Easter. I cried right through our wedding reception. I cry when I sing songs I love. I cry when I read beautiful verses in cards at the newsagent. I cry when I see a beautiful sunset. I cry when I recall special memories. I cry when I hear Christmas carols playing in the shops because I love Christmas. I cry when I think of my Mum. I’m crying now just thinking about all the reasons why I cry. So why do I cry? Good question!

Most of you will think this is a ridiculous story but I have never really thought too much before about why I cry.  

Quite a while ago I was talking to a lady about my crying. I told her that I wish I didn’t cry so much because I got embarrassed about it (I mean people would lay bets on how long it would take me to cry in certain circumstances). She told me that she had the same problem and asked God to stop her tears. When God did she said it was the most miserable time of her life because she couldn’t cry with anyone or have empathy for anything. After 12 months she begged God to give her back her tears which He did, to her relief.

This helped me to realize that God gave me tears for a reason and so I am no longer embarrassed about them though it is difficult to help 13 year old girls to understand that you can cry for more reasons than being sad.

A psychiatrist looking at the above list would say “this woman is an emotional wreck and/or depressed” - Maybe?? - Maybe Not?? I’d like to think it stems from my spiritual gift of mercy.

A few years ago at our church we were exploring our spiritual gifts. I registered very high in the gift of mercy. So I’m thinking that crying is part of my mercy gift. When I look at the above list I see quite a few things where my mercy gift “kicks in”. I would also like to believe that with this gift comes a tender heart which feels deeply about many things and if this is who God has made me to be then I am content.  

So, for a definite answer to the question, “Why DOES Lynn cry?” – only God knows - Sorry!

PS:  I'm sure there are lots of people who ask and have asked over the years - "Why DOES Lynn cry?"  These are only my thoughts but I hope they have been helpful.

Sweeping

I have reported earlier about Dirt so it goes without saying that one of the primary occupations of people in India is sweeping. It happens everywhere, whereas at home it would generally be confined to inside the home or perhaps an outdoor BBQ area and I have seen it occur on roads after a crash where tow truck drivers would sweep up broken glass etc.

In India everywhere is swept, especially outside. It seems that the early morning job for every house and shop is to sweep the dust away from the front door so as to try and avoid people walking it into your house/shop. (Taking your shoes off is of no assistance because you have just as much dirt stuck to your socks/soles of your feet).

I must say this appears to be a futile exercise as rubbish seems to be swept into a pile and left to be redistributed by the wind or the very next inattentive person who walks straight through the middle of it. The puzzling thing is that this sweeping is a religious activity and nothing stands in its way.

The Indian broom is a specialty piece of equipment (not that I would rate myself an expert in the art of sweeping).  I have tried to use it but my efforts pale into insignificance when I see a 12 year old wield it. In the hostel the girls are sweepers, they sweep continually outside. It is another thing that puzzles me – that sweeping dirt makes it clean enough to sit on!!!

The quadrangle in the centre of the school measures about 100 X 40 metres and is dirt (surprise, surprise). Every morning at 6:30 am a team of 4 people sweep the quadrangle. When they finish it looks beautiful and I wish it would stay that way. It is swept/raked so that there are straight and curved lines in all sorts of patterns. This is good.

I have watched this for a few weeks and have noticed that it only takes on average seven students to walk across the quadrangle to turn it back into a 100 X 40 metre piece of dirt. Why does this enormous effort happen every day?

As Lynn was sweeping this morning, I was reflecting on the symbolism of this sweeping. I have noticed that some people sweep multiple times a day. It happens when it is needed.  It does not mean that the previous sweeping was wasted or ineffective.  It did the job but more dirt arrives so they need to sweep again.

PS I do a lot of sweeping on the outside where people can notice but am I doing enough on the inside where it really matters?

JOB of the WEEK – 3

This is an addition to the story about Horns.

Last week we travelled to the cathedral with the Hostel girls for a special service for Lent. I discovered a new job, Indicator Man.

We had to travel in peak hour which is a daunting and slow experience. On a large bus it is fraught with danger as motor cyclists with a death wish see how close they can ride. They are obviously unaware of the fact that where they ride the driver has no visibility of them.

Daily, local newspapers recount accidents and fatalities where motorcyclists are hit by buses and trucks.

Indian Buses generally have no doors. This allows passengers to jump on and off at will without the bus actually having to stop in traffic. It is quite an art form, especially when the bus is travelling at pace and a passenger leaps from the back door, legs pumping frantically, careering across three lanes of motor bike riders to the safety of the footpath.

On the school bus there is added safety as it has a half door. 

There is a person (Indicator Man - pictured) whose job it is to hang out the door and signal to all road traffic when we are turning left (For countries that drive on the RH side please insert ‘turn right’). He is equipped with one of the loudest whistles I have heard which, while holding on with one hand and leaning out as far as he can, he blows incessantly while waving to other drivers indicating what the bus's intentions are.

The bus is equipped with normal indicators but in India these serve no purpose on moving vehicles and are generally ignored.

PS I was going to call this job ‘Human Flasher’ but changed it after some strong counsel from Lynn

Palm Sunday

We are creatures of habit so as we work our way through the Lenten season, away from home, it magnifies how much we miss our home communities – home, church, work etc. This was highlighted this morning as we attended CSI Redeemer Church for Palm Sunday.

The morning started with the bus driver not arriving to take the girls and us to the service, until 2 minutes before the service was due to start.You should realize how this made Gary feel (refer to story on “Time”). Half of us arrived about 13 minutes into the service and the rest another 15 minutes later because someone in their wisdom decided that we would take the 28 seater bus for the 95 people that were attending the church service.  Please note it only takes two trips with a 28 seater bus to transport 95 people. In 37 degree heat that is not a very comfortable trip.

We think the reason for the decision to take the 28 seater bus was that the 28 Standard 10 (Yr 10) girls were not allowed to stay for the procession that followed (because they had to come back to study for their government exam tomorrow) and were transported home straight after the service. Gary and I naturally assumed that they would bring the large bus back to pick up the 67 remaining people, after the procession. WRONG!! The 67 remaining “easily” fitted into the 28 seater – in the now 41 degree heat. Praise the Lord for our air-conditioned house, after the bus trip. Gary struggled a bit with the logic of this but in the end it worked and all got there and back.

After the 7:00 am service there was a procession of palms for a couple of kilometers around the poorer areas close to the church.

The whole church congregation walked and sang, accompanied by a small truck with a very tiny, tinny Casio keyboard being piped through the largest speaker they could fit on the back of their truck. The volume on everything was turned up as high as possible so the distortion achieved was absolutely magnificent. We marched and sang and handed out palms and crosses made out of palms – a quite incredible time for us. It covered over our struggle during the service of not being able to keep our minds on what was happening because we were thinking about what we were missing by being away from home.

We had a special Palm Sunday celebration lunch with the girls - the first meal we have eaten with them.  However, our expectation was that we would eat with the girls and eat what they ate.

But that was not to be.  Cook prepared special dishes for us and the girls set up a lovely table for us.  We sat at the table while the girls sat on the floor.  The food was lovely but there was a mile too much for the two of us and we weren't able to eat it all no matter how hard they tried to press us to.

The girls eat huge amounts of rice for every meal and couldn't believe that Gary and I between us couldn't eat the large bowl of rice set before us.  In fact we didn't even eat 1/4 of it.

At about 3:00 pm we decided to take a walk down to our favourite coffee shop about 2 km away. Before we left the school grounds we met another two families of the girls, who were there visiting. We spent time having a chat, then off for coffee and home later for a little rest.

At 5:30 pm we went down to chat with the girls before evening prayer. Some had noticed Lynn crying in church so we went into the “why does Lynn cry” explanation which they found hard to understand but led to a good conversation about emotions and feelings and how we deal with them. After prayer the Yr 9’s (now called Yr 10’s, even though the new year hasn’t started) invited us to their prayer session that they have every night after group prayer. We were not aware this occurred. It was the most uplifting time. They shared memory verses. They learn a new verse, or several verses or whole psalms, every day. They sang, then shared prayer concerns and requests, then prayed for each other and us What a great finish to the day. Just when we thought we were missing out on something back home, God provides a group of 13 year old girls to bless us.

PS: We have found that it is best to keep our minds on what is actually happening and discovering God in that event, rather than wishing we were somewhere else.

FASHION!!

I thought that seeing as Gary has written most of the blog (with my help of course), that I would write about 2 things that are close to my heart – SHOPPING AND FASHION!!

FASHION is the first instalment.

The men working in offices or the like, mostly wear long sleeved business shirts and ties and long trousers and shoes and socks but others wear collared T-shirts and long trousers with sandals. Very few wear the traditional Indian shirt and even though we have tried to get one of these for Gary we haven’t yet succeeded. 

There are almost as many men’s fashion shops here as women’s, which is pretty unusual. Shirts, trousers and shoes are very cheap here. Gary needed another casual t-shirt and so we picked up a DKNY one for $2.50Au. Last of the big time spenders!! He also has a couple of new shirts at a cost of about $12.00Au each.

I am sorry to have to tell you all though (especially Sandra, Anna and Katie), that Gary has succumbed. Yes, he is wearing long pants (rolled up) with slip on sandals (see pic below). The girls at the hostel think he looks cute??? I’m not commenting in case my children never speak to me again.

One of the things I worried about the most was what to wear. In fact I didn’t need to worry because according to our school liaison lady, Becky, the Indian people have really relaxed over the last couple of years. While the majority of women (rich or poor) wear beautiful saris or salwars or churidars (similar but with narrow legged trousers) - all in amazing colours, and gold jewellery, we actually saw one older Indian lady wearing shorts yesterday while doing her shopping. I was stunned (she is definitely in the minority). There are also lots of younger girls wearing jeans and t-shirts though I can’t image why in this heat when the salwars are so cool.

Most of you will know that I do like to do a bit of clothes shopping from time to time and India has been no exception. The second day we arrived in India, Paul Quigley, another Australian missionary over here, took us to T.Nagar (totally unsolicited by me I might add), the clothes shopping street of Chennai. I bought my first salwar – long top (mid thigh) with huge trousers and scarf – very comfortable - especially for a gal with my shape. They are very reasonably priced here – about $12 Au and can be more depending on quality of the sewing, the fabric and the amount of beading/sequins etc.

Thus started my search for salwars of different fabrics and styles (and most of you know how much I love fabrics). Actually the style is the same except for different necklines so you just have to pick the fabric and decide on which one of the 150 styles of neckline you want. They actually have “salwar packs”, not material by the metre, so you choose a pack which includes material for the salwar (top), trousers and scarf. It’s kind of scary really because there are literally thousands of choices and the shop assistants will sit for as long as you want and pull out and dismantle pack after pack waiting patiently for you to make your decision.

To date I have four – 2 casual ones and 2 custom-made “good” ones (which are very cute according to the girls. But then again can we believe anyone who thinks Gary looks cute in long pants and sandals???).

    

I wear these to church. I am having another casual one custom-made at the moment, in a little shop over the road from the school, for the grand cost of $4.50 Au - ridiculous really.

The girls in the hostel keep pestering me to buy a sari. I told them I am putting that off until June in the hope that I might have lost a bit of weight by then. They said they will show me how to put it on. They also said I need to grow my hair. I told them that I wouldn’t have mine cut untiI August so they could see why I kept it short. I have noticed that all “older” (over 20) women over here have long, tied back hair. Girls only start wearing saris after they are married.

We had a farewell to the Year 5 boys last week (boys are only allowed to attend this school until then). While the boys looked cute in their coats and ties and rolled up long trousers (in 38 degree heat), the young girls looked absolutely stunning. They wore sequined skirts and sparkly tops and dresses and things that we, in Australia, would call totally inappropriate clothes for children at any function, but here, are the norm. Even the tiny children wear sequined outfits called Chollis. Hayley will look cute in one of these.

Some of our girls wear Pattu Pavadia which is also a traditional dress worn by young girls. These are really pretty – plain silk in all different colours with gold edging around the hem of the skirt and the sleeve top. The top also has lacing at the back. I hope to be able to bring one home for Amie.

Jewellery is also very important here. The girls ask if your jewellery is “real” so it doesn’t necessarily have to be, so long as it looks okay. There are literally hundreds of jewellery stores. Gold, silver, semi-precious stones, pearls, costume jewellery – you name it, they have it, and at excellent prices in comparison to Oz. If I forget to put my earrings on in the morning I am chastised by the girls. They also got excited a couple of weeks ago when I bought a couple of “fake” gold bracelets.

Another little quirky fashion thing here is that some mothers put knitted bonnets on their babies and beanies on their toddlers. I remember Anna telling us this but wouldn’t have believed it possible if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. (Again keep in mind the 38 degree heat). Unfortunately we haven’t been able to get a photo.

I am totally out of fashion here because I wear a hat. It is amazing what a novelty that is. A lot of the girls have had photos taken in my hat. I usually get stared at when we are out but I think secretly in this heat they are all envious -too bad because as yet we haven’t seen any to buy. Some women (and occasionally men) use umbrellas but not as many as you would think.

Most things (except for luggage) are cheap, cheap, cheap for us but not so for our Indian friends. The girls always want to know what we paid for things and think that when something costs 300 rp it is a fortune when in actual fact it is only $9 Aus.