One of Those Days

We're taking a break from language class this week. We had been going and going and we finally hit the proverbial wall. It was the Law of Diminishing Returns in full effect. The more Hindi I heard, the less I understood. J was starting to look like something the cat dragged in every day after class. So we thought it was about time.

I have been in some form of sleepwear for two days now. The kids, too. J is the only one who cannot bear to walk around slightly indecent. I guess I don't blame him since I make him interact with our landlord and the workers outside. I suppose it only stands to reason that he'd want to wear pants.

Anyway, I've been slightly nauseous for days now (and no, there won't be another baby joining our family in roughly seven months, though that would be fun) and food seems unappealing. Our kamwalli says she'll make apple pie sometime soon. Maybe that'll help...

I guess I'll spend today reading to the kids, staring out the window, watching Hindi movies, and waiting for a package from my mom to arrive. It's kind-of late and I really want it.

I hope all of you have a good day.

They Make Life Here Easier...

D (on the right) and her friend.

Daddy Makes Mommy Beautiful

Oldest Son took these pictures for us

Daddy's Girl

I pulled this out of the archives. Love you, Dad.

Culture Clash

The kids were ecstatic the other day when we found a little bookshop, and our friend and neighbor told them to pick something out for themselves. She wanted to give them a little treat, and I was just glad it was a non-food item. Both of our sons picked Superman comic books. Of course, we scanned them first for potential inappropriate material, as we call it in this house. After all, our sons are nearly 8 and 6, and these comics were for who-knows-whom.

Seemed like they were fine, and the boys devoured them. Imagine our surprise, then, when our oldest came to me yesterday and said,

"You know, I had to rip a page out of my comic book the other day."

"Why, honey? Daddy and I checked it..." I was confused and suddenly worried.

"But you missed the part where Superman is kneeling in prayer position before the monkey god, Hanuman, before he tries to save the world."

"Oooooooh, of course. Well, um, thanks for catching that."

Just another day in the life...

My Life With Boys

Plans

These are exciting days around here. We'll be moving to a new city and a new apartment before too long and we're in the process of picking out paint swatches and designs for furniture. I'm looking forward to a place where we can settle for a while. We've been without a home we can really call our own for almost a year now. It's been tough. The kids want a room they can decorate 'like we used to have' and J and I want a little stability.

God is good. We've had some dark days in the last few weeks as we've battled depression and fear of the unknown. Through it all, we've known in Whom we live and move and have our being. That doesn't mean I haven't cried and pouted, and looked back enough times to turn into a hundred pillars of salt. It does mean that I know enough to remember, once again, that nights always give way to mornings.

Holiday in 'M'

Look Ma, no Internet!

It's happening again. Our internet connection is misbehaving, and I wish I could punish it...I have some interesting pictures to post from our little holiday away when things get back to normal. Which, come to think of it, could be tomorrow or weeks from now. I'm hoping for a day or two or three.

Put-Put

Overheard today:

"Some mountain peoples eat put-put (poisonous mushrooms). One time some of them ate so many that they was barely dead!"

So that's...good, right?

How Does He DO That? (read our minds, that is...)

So you think I’m something special, like I know a thing or two; like my eyes don’t ever wander, like my aim is always true. So you think I’m not a dirty rotten scoundrel through and through? Lady, I’ve got news for you.

So you think that you’re the only one to cry yourself to sleep? That you’re the only one who’s scared they'll all forget you when you leave? So you think that you’re the only one whose heart is black and blue? Listen, I’ve got news for you, for you. I might as well just tell you that it’s true, it’s true: listen, I’ve got news for you.

So you think you don’t need anyone to love you? So you think you don’t need anyone to love?
But you do.

So you say there is no hope. Maybe God is dead and gone. So you think that he can’t break a heart that’s harder than a stone. So you feel so wrecked and dirty he could never make you new. Man, have I got news for you, for you. I’m so compelled to tell you that it’s true, so true: listen, I’ve got news for you. I tell you I’ve got news for you.
I’ve got good news for you.

Andrew Peterson, I've Got News for You

When You Can't Find the Words...

A picture of the townhouse we used to share with my sister and her family, by our oldest son.
Maybe forever...

Normal Stuff

Because a Picture is Worth a Thousand Posts...

Happiness is Finding a Place to Lay Your Head

J is home early. His trip was great and he found us a new apartment in the city of our destination. It's smack-dab in the heart of the city, right next to the bazaar, and is perfect for our family. We'll be surrounded by people, which is what we wanted. From what we can see our landlords are good, honest men and we feel that we'll be very safe with them. Funnily enough, we'll actually be living on a floor of one of the hotels that they own. Our landlords are brothers, and they also live in the same hotel, on different floors.

Because it's in a hotel, our home probably won't experience the kinds of power outages that ordinary homes here do--or at least not for long periods of time--because it runs on a generator. Another plus is that it will have huge supplies of water. Of course, a potential downside is that during tourist season, our home will be on the noisy side (people get drunk in any language...). But we'll gladly accept that as a trade-off. We're city people, so it's all good.

The Lord has been sweet to us.

Thank You

I feel compelled to inform you that soon after I posted the complaint essay below, the power came back on. Tenuous at first, the voltage situation allowed for some some dull yellow lights and slow-moving fans. As time went on, it seemed that things got more stable and I was finally able to turn on the AC. The kids slept through the night, and I slept in comfort.

Thank you, Lord.

Sigh...

Oh man. I am a self-diagnosed wimp. I do not lie when I say this, though it is true that I elected to live in India--the land of sensory assault. I've learned to toughen up over the years. Being a stay-at-home mom will do that to one over time. Then again, living here for this short time has also given me, if not a leathery hide, exactly, then a cardboard one. And that's better than the gossamer one I had in college, no?

I only start with a paragraph of self-justification because I'm about to complain...You see, J is gone for a few days. I'm ok with that in principle because I ought to be. But after homeschooling in the morning, attending Hindi class for three hours in the afternoon, feeding the kids supper, doing the kid-shower assembly line, brushing teeth, reading a story, and threatening everyone to stay in their beds, I thought I just might be home free. I looked forward to some quiet time by myself.

But then, India could sense that and she couldn't let me be. The power went out for two or three hours, which made our incapable, feeble inverter fizzle out and start to scream. This made our kids leave their beds and roam in the pitch black night. This caused me to have to go visit the landlord upstairs by myself. Incidentally, the last time J did this, he caught the poor man naked as the day he was born, and a rather awkward interview ensued...

Needless to say, I wasn't super-excited to go up there and deal with the problem, but what was I to do? While I was upstairs, my kids prayed that the electricity would come back on. D told me that our middle son's prayer went something like this:

Dear God, mama says we have your cellphone number (what??) and we need you to fix the electricity. Amen.

Well, it came back on for a minute and our oldest son whisper-yelled, "It's a miracle!" I didn't have the heart to tell him that I knew for sure it would be back off in a jiffy.

It is.

I just feel crabby. Crabby, crabby, crabby. And muggy. Somebody please pray.

You Gotta Love Hinglish...

Quote of the Day:

"When I was in Delhi, I got very sick. I had seven plagues. Yes, I said 'plagues.' And...I was fainted."

Sounds bad.

The Reason

Whew!

So, this weekend was good. But it was so busy that J, the kids, and I are exhausted. Today's Sunday and since we usually worship together on another day, right now we're listening to some country music that SP sent us from the States. Who knew that a harmonica could bring tears to our eyes?

We ate pancakes this morning and we're in our pajamas now. Just needin' an American day, I guess. Man, I miss Jim Carey...

If At First You Don't Succeed...

This weekend J and I are attending a language learning seminar. I've sort-of dreaded it, to be honest, because it felt like more of the same. However, we finished up our first of two days today and it was actually fun and informative. We had a sitter for the kids, and we got to meet with people who have learned to speak Hindi well. We got to pick their brains for helpful hints. And the best part of it? They are all homeschooling moms, so they know what it's like to wear all these hats. We left today feeling ready to learn more tomorrow, and to keep on keeping on in this Hindi journey. So, no. No breaking up for us. (But I still like that song...)

If I Could Write a Break-Up Song with Hindi...

Who knew that REO Speedwagon spent time studying Hindi? But if you read the following lyrics, you'll realize that they must have...

I've been around for you
I've been up and down for you
But I just can't get any relief
I've swallowed my pride for you
I've lived and lied for you
But you still make me feel like a thief

You got me stealin' your love away
'Cause you never give it
Peeling the years away

And we can't relive it
I make you laugh
And you make me cry
I believe it's time for me to fly

You said we'd work it out
You said that you had no doubt
That deep down we were really in love
Oh, but I'm tired of holding on

To a feeling I know is gone

I've had enough of the falseness
Of a worn out relation
Enough of the jealousy
And the intoleration
I make you laugh
And you make me cry
I believe it's time for me to fly

{Refrain} Time for me to fly
Oh, I've got to set myself free
Time for me to fly
And that's just how it's got to be
I know it hurts to say goodbye
But it's time for me to fly

Oh, don't you know it's...
{Refrain}

It's time for me to fly

Time For Me to Fly

Update on the Invisible Woman

Because so many of you asked, I thought I'd offer what little information I have about the woman in my previous post:

After I left her that day, I checked back to see where she was and she had already gone. One of the workers had called a vikram for her (a sort of auto-rickshaw/car) and she and her baby had vacated the premises. My understanding is that after I helped her, the other workers got together and collected some money for her as well. One man held her baby for a moment...

I think they felt ashamed of not helping her sooner, and in the end, they did what they could do, albeit somewhat too late. I feel quite sure that I won't ever see this woman and her children again, so I doubt I'll ever know the ending to this story. But one man mentioned that her husband had taken their two-year-old son to stay with some of his relatives.

I asked my Hindi teacher for his take on the whole situation. He said that these kinds of incidences are far too common in India. Women have very little recourse in this society and they are extremely vulnerable if their husbands are not kind. And, unfortunately, many are not kind.

He said that the woman would probably go to her husband's family and find him. His prayer is that the two would be reconciled and live together again. Without that, this woman will be open to all kinds of physical, emotional and financial harm. Of course, our ultimate prayer is that this entire family will receive the only kind of help that has an eternal impact. Maybe you'd like to ask for that, too.

Thanks for caring.

Our Hope

The next moment is as much beyond our grasp, and as much in God's care, as that a hundred years away. Care for the next minute is as foolish as care for a day in the next thousand years. In neither can we do anything, in both God is doing everything.

C. S. Lewis

P.S. Apparently, the above quote was previously in Webdings code. That was, I hope you know, completely unintentional (since we don't feel like we're living in a James Bond movie or anything...) Sorry!

India

He'd left her, just like that. In the middle of the night, he'd taken their two-year-old and sneaked away. He had taken what little money they'd earned and left her no way to find him. By the time I saw her, she was wild-eyed and frantic, a nine-month-old on her hip.

I stuck my head out our door and heard her pleading for money so she could leave the construction site. The contractor had made it clear through his screams that she was no longer welcome to squat on his land. After all, she was married to the cheater, the ne'er-d0-well who'd run off without finishing his job. But she didn't have 10 cents to her name, and she couldn't leave.

"I don't have food for my child. I don't have money. I can't leave. Please."

And they all just stared. I felt myself start to shake, as I'm prone to do, and I went inside to collect my wits and pray. I found a bag of rice and dahl and a carton of vegetable oil. I went back outside and handed them to her, as the men looked on. The woman was wild by now and squealing with hopelessness.

"Khaana chahiye?" I whispered. But she wouldn't listen to me. "Do you need food?" I wished my belly would quit jumping. She stuck her hands through the bars of my gate and took the food, but her eyes were giving up.

One man reluctantly gave her 10 rupees--about 20 cents--and shuffled shamefacedly away. No one would make eye-contact with me as I stood there, but I could feel their eyes when I turned around. I went back inside thinking there was nothing more I could do. Acid threatened from behind my eyes.

Then the baby started wailing. I looked out my window, and again saw the workmen (and now two neighbor women) all staring in the direction of the path leading to our house. I went outside and saw the woman laying on the side of the road, partly on top of her baby.

"Go inside and get me some water, Dilsara." I kept my voice low. She returned quickly. I'm a scaredy-cat for the most part. I hate confrontation. I hate blood. I hate awkwardness. But I know marching orders when I hear them. So I straightened my spine and willed my limbs to stop quivering. I walked that road by myself, back straight, skin absurdly white under the Indian sun.

I could feel several pairs of eyes boring into my back, and I wished my water bottle would quit sloshing. I finally got to her and knelt down. She had fainted and a fly was making an entrance of her mouth. Her baby twisted and fussed underneath her, kahjel lining his brown eyes. I shook her a little. "Kya hua? Paani le lijiye." She didn't move or open her eyes.

I looked back down the road in disbelief. No one had moved a muscle. No one planned to help me or her. Not the workers she'd cooked for, not the neighbors who clucked their tongues with overdone pity. So I squatted down and picked the baby up. He was damp and covered in sand. He grabbed my kurta and layed his head on my privileged chest. With a backward glance at his mother, I carried the baby to the neighbor-women's house.

"Madat kijiye." Please help me, I asked them. Oh yes. Too bad. Yes, maybe she needs chai. But they didn't get her any, and they followed me only reluctantly.

We dragged her to a shady spot, and they poured water on her until she woke up crying. After a minute, they left her again. I came back to my house as she nursed her baby. I was mad now. So mad that I didn't care about propriety, and it's notoriously dangerous ground for me.

I told my kamwalli that I know all about the 'don't give money' rule, but that I didn't care. I grabbed a medium-sized bill and made my way one last time down the short road to where the invisible woman sat. I knew before I'd even reached her that I was going to lose it.

By the time I had crouched in front of her and placed a hand on her stick-arm, my eyeliner was making black roads down my cheeks. She flinched a little at my touch. I gave her the bill and looked into her eyes. She stared into my face, ugly from grief. This was my one chance.

"Prabhu Yeshu apse prem karte hain." Jesus loves you. She nodded briefly, staring into my eyes, surprised at my tears, I guess. She tried to kiss my feet.

I don't know the Hindi word for goodbye. I'm not sure one exists. So I said it in English, and turned my face back towards home.

You know, the longer we live here...

...the more DilLogical I become.

G in her salwar kameez...

She looks just like an Indian doesn't she? You wouldn't even guess she was of European descent, would you?