Work begins and we see our first Christmas Show

Monday December 21^st 6 AM

Today is the first work day of the trip. I’m scheduled to do some construction work, assisting on the building of orphanage dormitories, but someone forgot to clear it with the Monsoon God. It’s raining cows and dogs outside. We will see what will be.

Yesterday was group orientation day – a process of bonding and knowledge transference during which each of the volunteers selected their work for the week. The options were presented by Stephen Raja, our fearless leader in a way that was somewhat less than concise and a tad confusing. Lori, using her super organizational skills that somehow magically melt the second she crosses her residential threshold, created a mini spread sheet that cleared it up for all of us. During the lunch break Stephen presented us with his ideas for the two upcoming weekends. They seem to be at cross purposes with our itinerary. We are scheduled to visit with an old friend of Paresh’s in Pondicherry the second weekend. The group’s preliminary plan is to go there the first, which means either we go twice or we act as a twosome doing our own thing on both weekend breaks – since if we opt out of Pondicherry this coming weekend and go the following one, we will miss the group trip to the forest of Mysore the second weekend. A chance to Hunt Tigers Out in India, not to mention a visit to the 4200 St. Laurent’s restaurant’s mother ship. More to follow.

AT the end of the orientation, Matt invited a few of the volunteers to visit our guesthouse. They had the opportunity to witness our digs and saw us living in poverty which was a huge upgrade from their residence, which would be classified as abject poverty. The fact that each of us had our own shower was enough of a spit in the eye. The additional fact that the showers (ostensibly) provided hot water was almost more than they could take. There had been some talk by Stephen of us moving into the main guesthouse week 3 as the number of volunteers dropped. I can probably buy this relative Hilton for a couple of hundred dollars and stay here.

Evening was to be a night out for dinner at one of the local eateries. As seems to be the case in general, last minute come-ups trump schedule. We piled into 2 broken down micro vans to attend a Christmas show put on by the nursing staff at the local major hospital. Getting into those ramshackle vehicles to careen down major arteries competing for lane space against crowded buses, crowded motorcycles (as many as 4 people on 2 wheels) ox carts, bicycles, pedestrians, taxis and cars and cows, lots of cows, with no real sense of order underlines the philosophy of Hindu fatalism better than any Vedic verse ever could.

We turned left at the corner of Filth and Squalor and happened upon a hospital that would give any similar institution in Montreal a run for its rupees. The hospital was administered by an order of Franciscan nuns who also made up much of the medical staff as personified by Dr. Sister Rexline, who was head of the hospital. She was gracious and welcoming and all of 4 feet tall. All I could think about was the level of confusion in her household if she had a secular female sibling with a PhD – she would also be Dr. Sister.

The show was preceded by a birthday party for a volunteer from another organization. Alighting from the bus we were immediately surrounded by dozens of spotlessly clean, beautiful children, regaled in the finest party dresses with bright inquisitive and friendly smiles. It was hugely incongruous to imagine that these children were the needy that we have been sent to take care of.

The pageant began shortly thereafter; the room was an exhibition hall seating several hundred with a performance stage at the front.

It was culturally disparate seeing the story of the birth of Christ presented through the prism of classic Indian dance. The dancers were all nursing students and ranged from very good to extremely talented. There looks too, ranged from very cute to extremely beautiful. I was ready at that point to adopt and Indian child. I could have had a one stop nurse, dancer and concubine. Lori, being the eternal bad sport, nixed the plan. So much for appealing to her charitable side.

The moves of the dancers reflected what appears on those childlike Indian music videos, but in the context of live theatre and telling a story, the movements were charming and relevant.

At the end of the show gifts were handed out to each of the guests (cloth sheets/blankets) and dinner was served in traditional Indian style, sans silverware. I’ve watched how the locals do it a la main, so it was time to dive in with both feet, so to speak. The meal was delish and I managed just fine.

The night, on virtually all levels was an unqualified success. Other than the overriding injection of JC into a people and culture that has managed to survive for several millenia without the helping hand of the Lamb of God, thank you very much, need not be sidetracked, polluted, and fundamentally altered by imported mores and values. The only lamb around here should be vindaloo.