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
