Charity work

Yesterday morning there was a meeting at the Sheraton to hear about all of the charities the OWC works with and how to help. There were about 30 different charities represented and probably somewhere between 100 and 150 OWC members. Again, I know it's just the way it is but to see some of these ladies and their Gucci bags and manicured nails talking to nuns about helping at an orphanage in need of running water makes for a very strange experience. Like being driven around a third world country worrying about where to get a good mattress as you pass a man covered in dirt sleeping next to a stray dog and cow.

There were a handful of charities that deal with HIV/AIDS issues and providing medical treatments to the poor. Not that I don't care about the sick, but I can't listen to a heart beat without feeling lightheaded, so I crossed anything to do with medicine off my list. Some of the other charities dealt with people with disabilities. There was an organization called the "Spastic Society of Karnataka" which is devoted to helping those afflicted with neuromuscular and skeletal disorders, mental retardation and learning disorders. Their idea of "politically correct" terms and ours is apparently different. There were a few orphanages but one was clever enough to bring two young boys (one about 5 and one about 10) to explain how lucky they are to be at the orphanage. They were very cute and articulate. The young boy "wowed" the crowd with his lively and animated recitation of country capitals. I could just picture him dancing in front of Miss Hannigan with his big brown eyes. I couldn't help but have "It's a Hard Knock Life" in my head for the rest of the day.

By the end of the morning, I had about 20 different pamphlets in my hand and maybe 3 that I'll think I'll actually pursue. The three I liked all deal with underprivileged kids - one specifically for hearing impaired, one was after-school-type program and one was an orphanage. (It worked - the boy was adorable.) The other advantage to the three I like is that I think they are the closest to our place (which is probably as close as New York and Boston) and seemed to be interested in my teaching experience. The after-school program was trying to get the kids more active by teaching them different sports. One sport they mentioned was basketball so I nominated George. They were looking for weekend volunteers as well as during the week so I think we will try to get involved when we're not jetting off. I'm hoping helping out will help change my perspective on both the good and bad of Bangalore (and maybe their perspective about rich foreigners living here?).

The "electrician" came this morning about the dryer. He waltzed in looking for a hug and couldn't possibly imagine the dryer was broken after he came and saved the day the other night. So I showed him and when the power went off he said, "Ooooohh. Maklaka circuita bachalu out (or the Hindi equivalent of, 'it's blowing a fuse')." Then he shakes his head and looks around like the solution is going to fall from the ceiling and says, "Is there an electrician for the building?" Hey buddy, call me crazy but isn't that you? But I gather he means he works for our landlord, who takes care of our individual apartment, but there might be an additional electrician for our building. What with the easy to follow org-chart we were never given to figure out who owns this place, who the landlord is, who the manager is, who the countless other staff we have seen are...it must be I who is remiss in not knowing an electrician he could talk to. I tell him I don't know who the electrician is and he says, "ok, I'll be back in 5 minutes. Don't lock the door." Wouldn't dream of it. I proceed to tell George what is going on and was trying to get my things together because I was leaving to try a new yoga place. George says, "Just tell him your leaving so he'll have to come back. And let me know if he tries to hug you." The non-electrician-fuse- fixer comes back and says, "Um, ma'am. I forgot my screwdriver." Ok, so you are the electrician???
I say, "Don't worry about it. I'm on my way out anyway so you're going to have to come back later."
He asks, "you have a screwdriver," like I have just said, "don't worry about it. I have a screwdriver."
"No, I don't. And I'm leaving now so you need to go too."
"When will you be back?"
"After 3 sometime."
He looks disappointed, like after 3 is not good for him so I say, "why don't you come back tomorrow?"
"No, I'll come after 4. Maybe."
He goes in for the hug and I say, "no hugging" which he ignores with a "you don't really mean that look" and leaves.

On the way to yoga, I fill George in and he says just got off the phone with landlord and I won't have to worry about creepy hugs anymore. Sir has had enough. What a Prince.

I keep saying that they are speaking Hindi but I've come to find out that they really speak Kannada which isn't much like Hindi at all apparently (not even the same alphabet). In fact, one woman (who is German but has lived here for 15 years) said that all the different dialects are as similar as Spanish, French and Italian. Even though Hindi is an official language of India, Southerners can have a very difficult time in the North if they don't speak English. I knew there were all different dialects but I would've said it was more like the Queen's English vs. Amer'can. So now you know.

Ever since I mentioned seeing my first accident, I feel like I see them all the time now. Nothing ever serious but isn't that always the way? Someone hit our side window today but we were stopped and the guy was just inching up. And on the way to yoga another guy on a scooter got his leg clipped by a rickshaw - again not going that fast. So now I'm wondering if maybe I just wasn't paying attention to them, and these small "accidents" have been happening all along or if I have have somehow changed the cosmos of the universe with my deep yogic meditations.

Think about it. Tomorrow's topic: meditation.