Perspective

     

      A musty, old-shed like smell welcomed me as I entered the apartment. I quickly scanned the room to assess the damage that took place during my week long absence in Madhya Pradesh. I had been doing language training, yet the entire week I had the apartment in the back of my head. The monsoon season can easily cause a slew of problems on an empty apartment. Thankfully, the living room didn't seem too affected. My room, however, was. The outer wall was covered with mold, as were my clothes, bedding, and luggage. Due to the mold, the paint was also peeling off the walls and the ceiling. A rush of blood flowed to my head as I grew frustrated with the state of my home. Rest is generally what I want after a trip, not a mess of mold to clean. All the same, it had to be done.

     After a good three hours of cleaning and washing, the apartment was in a relatively normal state. The mold on my bedroom walls, however, was still there. There was little sleep to be had due to my allergies reacting to the mold. The next day I was tired and becoming annoyed with the Indian summer weather. My house in the states grew increasingly appealing. However, after retrieving some medicine from the neighborhood chemist (and some tasty vada pav), I felt more at ease about residing in South Asia.

     That evening, I met with a local friend to do some work in the city. I went and met Amith* with a slight self pitying attitude, but was looking forward to what he had planned all the same. We walked from a coffee shop to a neighborhood fifteen minutes away. The longer we walked, the more impoverished the surroundings became. Street dogs littered the narrow pathway which took us winding through what felt like hundreds of shops. It then hit me that within fifteen minutes we had left a prominent neighborhood and entered into a slum. I remembered I'm in India, the land of contrast.

     We continued walking - dodging trash, animals, and fecal matter as we made our way to an unknown destination. The homes we passed were one room, concrete structures stacked two to three stories high. Laundry draped over the power lines and street lamps, making a colorful jungle of linen. Wives were preparing their roti, dal, and chai for their incoming husbands. The maze of alleyways suddenly led to a large opening of an enormous heap of trash, with three or four shacks scattered among the pile of rubbish. The stench was overwhelming, and the only thing to do was place my hand over my nose so as to ease the influx of "aroma". Just as I did, though, I saw several young children come running to greet Amith. They were all barefoot, covered in dirt and lice, some without shirts or pants; but they all wore smiles.

     We were welcomed into one of these shacks with a cheerful "Praise the Lord!" from the lady of the house. I was crushed by the state of this place. It was constructed by concrete, palm leaves, tarps, and bamboo poles. There was one bed for the entire family of five. I quickly shook off my shocked state and focused on what we were there to do. We sat crammed on the floor, with our shoes off and our hearts eagerly ready to serve. We taught the children stories of love and hope, sang with them, and colored some pictures. As our time with them came to a close, we were asked if we would like some chai (a common courtesy of the host here, no matter how financially unable). Accepting the offer, we sipped chai, had a cheery conversation, and walked away. I looked back to see the kids resume their playing. Not on a playground, but on trash piles full of rats and other creatures. Returning to my big "mess" of an apartment became a newly realized blessing.

*Name changed