Dogster: Crumbling in Varanasi.

‘Want to come? Meet my family?’

India is like this - random moments of decision. You have a choice. Yes or no.

I was tired of saying ‘no’ - that’s all I ever say in India. Today was a ‘why not?’ day, an ‘O.K.’ day, a ‘let’s go!’ day.

I tried it. Yup, that felt good.

It wasn’t far. We ducked down a side street, turned up a tiny alley and there was a low, wooden door. Vijay banged on it and shouted up to his wife.

‘Come down, it’s me! Open up! We’ve got a visitor!’

I looked up. Peeking over the wall was the face of a young lad. His eyes opened wide and he disappeared.

The door creaked open. A wary wife’s face broke into a smile. She was young but that face told another story. Hollow eyes - even when she smiled her face was sad; she ached with some distant pain. There was strength and resistance, spirit in there, but life had played hard in the deep, dark shadows of those eyes. She had beautiful teeth, a tiny silver stud in one nostril, a streak of pink tika in the part of her long, black hair - and every gentle move she made said ‘mother.’

She loved her husband, he loved his wife. I could tell that in an instant. But more than life itself they loved their son – here he was, scrambling round her skirt, an inquisitive face, bright clear eyes. An eight year old boy looked up with a broad smile. He’d just run and specially combed his hair.

‘Good morning, Uncle!’ he shouted and pulled his mother back to clear my way. Mum and I looked at each other with an indulgent smile. She welcomed me inside with a gesture, stood back without a word. The door was open to the house of the poor man. The rich man ducked his head and walked in.

Vijay was always in the same place, looking for business. This was his corner, this was his spot, this was his chai stall, these were his friends. As the days went by I took to stopping by. We always had the same conversation.

‘No business?’ I’d ask.

‘No business,’ he’d agree then lift his shoulders slightly, then drop them. He‘d sigh. This was resignation, not cheerful stoicism; this was a man who carried a load.

‘No tourists’ he’d say and look around. ‘Nothing.’

We were deep in the season of the beast, when the hot air from Hell drowns Varanasi in a bucket of molten heat. It’s a killer. Only fools and Dogster come here at this time of year. To be a rickshaw driver, to have to pedal around in this sauna, to have to sit all day and wait for a job that never comes, looking for the chance, looking for the foreigner, looking for the lucky break – that’s a tough life.

He had nothing to do. Neither did I. I’d buy us chai and we’d chat about nothing much, sitting on a bench in a tiny room, facing another bench just two feet away where a changing parade of Varanasi’s finest sat and did exactly what we were doing, escaping the heat, passing the time, chewing the fat with a neighbour. It was the Indian equivalent of the corner pub. I loved sitting in there, being one of the locals. I became part of the furniture pretty quick. Nobody fussed and nobody cared, we sat and smoked and sipped. Life was good. Another fifteen minutes wasted, excellent. ‘See ya.’ Handshake. Exit. So went my Dogster days.

He must have been in his late thirties, maybe more, I just couldn’t tell; a perfectly ordinary Indian man, not handsome, not ugly, not remarkable at all - yet this man was a hero, in own tiny way. Vijay worked hard to keep his family. He had a special energy.

‘Two boys and one wife’ he told me proudly.

Ah, but he had sad eyes.

‘Up.’

We were in a tiny courtyard, maybe three metres square. One room in front of me - closed door, another to my right, closed door. In front of that a set of stairs.

I followed him, the lad pushing behind. He was very happy to see me, very excited. It was sweet. On the roof a tiny room; kitchen, living room, dining room, bedroom all combined. Set into an alcove in one blue wall three shelves with everything they possessed proudly displayed; plates, cups, bowls, spoons – all in shiny aluminium; jars, mirrors, bottles, a fan, a clock, a calendar, a framed family photo. Up high on the wall a ledge with a shrine to Shiva, on the opposite wall a few clothes hanging next to a black and white T.V. This remained on all the time, volume turned down. Home.

‘Mummy like T.V.,’ said the boy. ‘She watch her play.’

He meant Indian soap opera. Mummy smiled and nodded. She was delighted to have a visitor too, it seemed. I was delighted to be a visitor.

‘One, two, three, five...’ The boy chimed. He was doing counting for me. ‘Seven, nine, ten!’

He was very proud. Dogster had to do a lot of head wiggling and making him laugh before we could try that debacle again. You know the rest.

‘One.’

‘One.’

‘Two-o-o.’

‘Two-o-o-o-o.’

This little boy was like a puppy. When you meet a puppy and the puppy likes you, you’d better attend to that puppy straight away. Ignore your hosts. Give the dog total focus for a minute or so, just so he knows he’s noticed, then that yappy, over-excited pooch will settle down and let his newest, best-est friend in the world get back to normal living. This is the way of the doggy world. Ignore my words at your peril. So, Dog Boy and Dog Man had quite a lengthy conversation while Mummy and Daddy looked on.

‘Ni-i-i-i-ne...’

‘Ni-i-i-i-ne...’

Then both together. Lots of excitement...

‘Ten!’

He clapped his hands and giggled with glee then jumped in my lap and started playing with my camera.

‘Stop, stop...’ came his father.

‘No-o-o-o, no-o-o,’ said his mother but I cooled them out with a wink and a whisper.

‘It’s fine, he can learn, let him be, let me show you...’

So Dogster launched into his second trick of the moment. Camera lessons for the Under Tens. He’s very good at it. That’s why the Dog carries around a simple, though vastly expensive, tiny, weeny little masterpiece that can be mauled by savages, poked and prodded, clicked and shown with impunity. I handed the Sony over with my traditional blessing.

‘Go out, take a thousand pictures! Have fun. Ho-o-o-old it steady, that’s the picture, oh, wow, you’re really good at this, that’s it, hold it steady... n-o-o-o-w, click! Hear that noise. Click! That was perfect. Go take another one. Yeah that’s great, take some more. Really good, go off, take and show me... O.K., yep, see ya!’

And phew, he was gone. Mum and Dad and I all smiled benignly. I had passed their test of children, now we could relax and be grown-ups.

‘My wife, she has problems,’ Vijay said with a frown. She answered his frown with one of her own. He looked tired, she looked exhausted, but it was not from lack of sleep. Mum was not well. She had ‘bad tummy.’

‘How long?’

‘Many years.’

‘Years?’

‘We can’t buy medicine.’

He wasn’t angling. He was just telling me the truth. She’s nodding and her forehead wrinkles slightly. She hurts. She’s used to it. It’s her life. Her eyes, god, those sad eyes. What has this woman seen?

I looked over at her husband. He was grim. He lived with a sick woman. She stayed at home all day. He went out, earned what he could, squeezed his way through the off-season, worked hard when the tourists were in town. He was the breadwinner. She was his sick wife. There was not a lot of fun in Vijay’s life.

‘Your boy is very smart,’ I said, trying to find something good in this wretched scenario.

Vijay’s face lifted. He translated briefly to his wife. Hers lifted too. They both wiggled their heads proudly.

‘Where did he learn his English?’

‘At school.’

‘What year is in now?’

‘He doesn’t go.’

‘Why not?’

‘We can’t buy book. Clothes-zes. No money.’

This bright kid, this smart little kid, full of life, desperate for learning – pulled out of school at this age, all for want of a dollar. I’m angry. I’m silent. I’m sad. I’m a guest in their house. So I smile.

Their son burst back in the door, full of life, bubbling with all the thrill of his newest toy. He snapped away; Mummy, Daddy, the old white man smiling there on the floor in the corner, he took, as per instructions, one thousand pictures. We spent the next ten minutes doing Dogster’s third party trick – the showing of the pictures that their son took, each of which must be viewed multiple times, each of which must be ‘o-o-o-hed’ over and ‘ah-h-hed’ over and praised and laughed at.

We clicked back through the pictures. Here was Mum, here was me, here was Dad. Here was Dad and Dogster, here was Mum and Dad, Dogster and Mum, Dogster and the wall, the wall and no Dogster, a blur, a large blurry finger, then the courtyard downstairs, then the outside door and the window and a blur and then whoa! What was that one? Whoa! Stop! What is that?

I’m looking at a wasted face emerging out of darkness, a stretch of teeth, lips drawn right back - is this a smile or a snarl? Is this in pain or in laughter, is this a man, is this a boy, what is this?

Without a trace of this on my face I held the picture up.

‘Who’s this guy?’ I said with a smile.

‘That’s my wife’s son,’ said Vijay.

‘My brother!’ cried the little boy.

‘My son’ he added, not very convincingly. ‘Downstairs.’

‘My wife. Before. She marry.’ I never found out what happened to the husband. Dead, I assumed.

‘One baby. One son - come.’

He turned round to look at me, held out his hand to help me down the last stairs. He had a strong grip.

‘Leg.’ He shook his head. ‘Broken.’

There wasn’t time for more explanation. He opened the door. The smell hit me first. Unwashed youth, juicy scrotum - you know that smell. My eyes adjusted to the dark. His eyes adjusted to the sudden light.

The youth lay slightly turned on his side, a long, thin streak of a lad, fourteen, fifteen maybe, it was impossible to tell. He wore a pair of loose blue underpants and that was all. His legs were half drawn into him, thin, feeble sticks, his muscles wasted, crippled, worse – it difficult to see in the darkness, let alone process. His arms were similarly stripped of flesh, tendons pulled up tight, his wrists stretched taut, his chest caved in. He lay there; two bright eyes, a child looking out of a body that had ceased to cooperate. His mouth opened in a dreadful spastic yawn, he jiggled what little he could jiggle in excitement at the visitor.

A stranger, a visitor, a man from the world outside his room, a visitor, his visitor - he was glistening with excitement. I knelt down beside him, got down to his level as much as I could and held his hand. I looked right into his eyes and smiled.

‘Pleased to meet you, fella.’

Squeeze his hand. You and me, pal, you and me.

He started to breathe fast.

‘Slow down, sausage, how are you? Eh? This is no fun, how are you?’

He didn’t understand a word but he heard the so-o-o-othe of my voice, felt the squeeze of my fingers and in his heart I know he was talking back.

‘How are you, fella,’ I cooed and rubbed his hand, ‘had a rough time of it, I see. Damn, this is tough.’

He stared and stared and smiled with his eyes. I felt he was totally with it –perfectly intelligent but lost, lying there all day, every day, for months, for years, lying there with nothing. Was he in pain? He was beyond pain. He lay there in the dark. He just lay there. He slept on his back on a thin blanket on the concrete floor, just a grubby pillow for his head.

‘How are you, eh? Difficult to talk, mate? That’s O.K., you don’t need to talk. I’ll just sit here beside you and hold your hand. You like that, eh? Go-o-o-od man.’

I kept up a monologue of what I hoped were soothing sounds, kept hanging on to his hand. He squeezed back, just a touch, just for a moment but in that moment I knew he was there.

His mother’s burden was to feed him and wash him and change him and wipe his filthy bum and every other little hourly indignity that a cruel god could inflict. That’s what had hollowed her eyes out.

His step-father’s burden was to love his wife, to take a woman with another man’s child, to move to Varanasi and make a home there then watch as the boy became an invalid in front of his eyes. His greatest joy, his youngest son was the greatest weight of all. He could barely keep his family in food, let alone buy medicines, school books, doctors and schools. He’d failed. That’s what was in his eyes. He’d failed. He could not do what a man must do. He must provide. His burden was to sit in the street for day after terrible day and wait for the fluke, for the chance, for the job that will tide them all over till tomorrow, knowing that he can’t change a thing.

But they kept their shame in the bottom room, without a sound, or a window. Not a friend, not a toy, not a single piece of stimulation.

‘Leg. Broken. No doctor. No money. Leg. Look. No doctor.’

How long ago?

Five years.

‘Mm-m-m-m,’ I crooned, still holding his hand ‘mmm-m-m-m-m, that’s been tough, sausage, that must have hurt a lot. You’re a brave man...’

His eyes were burnt into mine. Those desperate eyes.

‘Let me out,’ they were screaming, ‘let me out, let me out, let me go!’

‘How long have you been here, fella? Five years? That’s a long time, that’s too long in the dark. Are you there, mate? Can you hear me? That’s it, squeeze my fingers, good man, sque-e-eze my fingers. Go-o-o-od boy, you’re a champ...’

He had my full attention. He had my hands, he had my heart – he had whatever I could give him - but I couldn’t give him back his life.

This kid had been normal. Imagine; this kid had been active. He’d broken his leg – that’s all. They had no money for treatment. They put the boy in a room, tried to make him comfortable and hoped for the best. Their boy never got up. He wasted and wasted, lay there alone, abandoned, in pain. He lay there, he lay there, lay there till his muscles wasted away. He became incontinent; his muscles ate themselves, his body twisted slowly into the shape I saw today. Nothing would rescue the boy from this prison - only death – but the boy just wouldn’t die. His life dripped away in the darkness, no meaning, no purpose – just more hollows for his mother in those dreadful, sad eyes.

He was just happy to have a visitor.

You see? You see? You can’t take it on. You have to harden your heart to survive it. You have to gently take your hand from his, gently smile that one last smile; you have to gently, firmly, sadly walk away.

Don’t look back, Dogster - you’ll turn to stone. Don’t watch that light go out in his eyes. Don’t watch the door close, don’t give him care, don’t wonder how you could have changed things. Walk away, turn your back, close your heart, you’ve done your best, turn the key - lock him back in his prison.

Don’t think about the boy in the darkened room, Dog, there are too many boys and too many rooms and too much darkness to deal with. Don’t think about the boy in the darkened room. He’s dead.

Think about his brother, think about his Mum, think about those hollow, tragic eyes. Think about his father sitting in the market; empty pockets, full of hope, full of an enterprising love that can’t be beaten.

Waiting patiently, waiting for the break, waiting for Godot in Varanasi.

Ahhh, that feels better. A problem shared...

Dear dear Dogster - thank you.

Thanks, just what I needed to put my little problems in perspective tonight.

Damm.
I hate you.
But really it's more of a love/hate thing.
That sucks on so many levels. Absolutely heartbreaking. What did you do? What could you do?

Absolutely heartbreaking.
Some things that should be simple in life, like known cures for illnesses!. When you see things like that, That's when you have seen real poverty.

All I can say, dogster, thanks for sharing!!!

Oh my goodness, so awful.

Oh dear, I seem to have depressed you all - but, I guess, this dilemma in its myriad forms is a key part of travel - so I think it's legit to put in here.

What to do? There's the rub. What did Dogster do? I'll keep that to myself just for the moment. What YOU would do is more to the point.

All I had to do was say 'no' at the beginning... whenever you say 'Let's go!' there's a price.

I'm not necessarily talking $$.

Dog

Please tell, don't keep it to yourself. Your story will go well with my morning tea.
(your story is told so beautifully its hard to be depressed - just reflective and grateful "there but for the grace of God go I")

Phew Smeagol. lol. Thank you for those kind words. I think that's what I was aiming for. There's beauty in this, too.

Dear Dog,

That was not happy reading, but it told the sort of story that is not often told about India, and being a tourist there. And you told it with great clarity and such a fine touch. Yes, I could see it.

Because once you do stop saying "no" you're in no man's land. Adrift. I'm glad you said 'yes', and note that nobody has yet offered up a way out of the the moral maze.

Of course I don't have one. I've never encountered such an extreme situation at such close range. There are all the beggars and homeless in India; there are the street kids in Africa. If you travel in either continent for long enough you will also meet many young people who aren't in extremis but do desparately want to "get on". And they all need help and we all want to help.

So the question is, how best to do that. And I confess that I have always taken the view that the best way is to donate to an NGO rather than to give money (I assume we are taking money here) to an individual.

But those NGOs have staff and overheads, so how much of your money reaches the people you want to help? Please don't get me wrong - the world needs the NGOs cos governments in the first world tend to promise and not deliver.

I don't have the figures to hand, but I know that there is a protocol, a target, a commitment to spend x on "international development" that was agreed to, and hasn't been kept.

And, now, let us suppose that you are inclined to support the family personally. Would you just give Vijay your contribution without conditions?

Enough.

Thank you for posting.

And thank YOU for posting afterall: that was a very considered and articulate response. The word 'Enough' says it all - as you realized while writing, one can go at this moral conundrum from every which way - and still end up, 30,000 words later no closer to a solution.

I'm delighted you see it as a moral maze - that was my intention. I'm still wrestling with it - as you see - that's why I wrote the piece.

There's the big issue - then there's the small specific issue.
Let's take your first NGO option as a given: it's a fair way through it - mmmm - but, yep, I have some issues there. But I can give all I want to an NGO and that kid still isn't in school. Mum still doesn't have medicine. And the boy in the darkened room is still lying there.

So, let's conjure more with the second option: giving direct to the family... now, there's another minefield...

And while we're giving direct to families - why not go next door, and next door, and next door? And see a similar heartbreak in all of them.

I dunno. I don't know anything.

So much of this World that exists far beyond our field of vision.

I'm not heroic. Do I want to find out what goes on in the sausage factory, or what's behind the closed courtyard door? I'm not 100% certain of the answer.

These scenarios are rampant in places like India.

If the spirit moves you, give the family some money, wish them well with getting medical care for their son and then say goodbye.

You have to let the family take it from there. At least with some cash they may take some action that they couldn't before.

I remember many years ago while in India, I was so bothered by the dusty, dirty street kids until someone enlightened me. The dust and dirt has a secondary benefit of deterring mosquitoes from biting them versus if they're washed clean everyday. Who would have guessed?

Point is, you have to keep it all in context.

Good writing Dogster, poignant story.

Hmmmm.... my two cents:

There is no answer. There is no solution.
This world is imperfect. Always will be.

Do I just turn away then, feeling overwhelmed and powerless, just give some money or do I touch someone's life in a positive way ?

Who knows Dogster what unseen effects your amazing act of caring and love with the older son had on him and his family ? Perhaps those moments will stay with him for the rest of his life. Yes, sharing our good fortune is good but its not a substitute nor superior to sharing our hearts, giving of ourselves, whether in another country or in our own towns.

A solution to suffering ? Well no, but perhaps you left the world and yourself, just a little better off. Maybe that's enough.

But you didn't go next door and next door and next door. For whatever reason, God, Karma, whatever, you were brought to THAT door. We can't help everybody, but we can help some of those who are brought into our lives.

I've been in this situation before -- and it truly IS a moral maze. But we cannot take on the big picture -- it is just too large for us to conceive of, or make sense of. Sometimes I've given to people directly -- and sometimes that direct giving has had bad results and I've felt burned and tremendous guilt over it -- other times it has changed lives. We never know which it will bring.

When you look at how little it would take to change conditions for these people, our conscience demands that we not ignore it and walk away. But sometimes we do, because even our generousity can not fix things.

Here's what I would do in this situation -- if one exists, find a local medical NGO that could help the boy. I would make a donation to that group with an understanding that it will take on that boy's case - i would ask for updates on what they are doing for the family with the offer to provide more in the future. Often these families have no understanding of how to get help -- either they don't know how, or they think they will need money. I now try to find organizations to give money to as a part of my travel plan. I feel its my responsibility. But, each of us should do what his or her heart tells us to do. We can't possibly fix everything, but we should do what we can in our limited scope. If its money, give money. If its prayer, offer prayer. If its encouragement, provide encouragment. If its wisdom, share wisdom. We don't just help others -- we raise oursleves up by our giving -- on whatever level we can in any given situtation -- then we can move forward in our conscience and in our lives knowing we are doing SOMETHING. Life is NOT fair, but we should help where we can - and we can't let the burden of the immensity of it all immobilize us -- individually we can't do it all, but every bit we can helps all humanity.

It's completely out of my comfort zone but I do appreciate you sharing this, Dogster. We all have our boundaries though some are willing to stretch them a lot further than others.

I suffer from this too. What to do, what to do...Every day. The world is a bottomless pit of want and need.

To keep my perspective, to keep my smile, to keep my hope, I remember a couple of things Mother Theresa told us. The one that always reverberates is "there is a poverty in the world beyond hunger, that of being forgotten and left to suffer alone".

Important to not shy away, to have the guts to just hold someone's hand, to give them back their dignity, give some soothing words. And not crater in the process.

It's a big thing that goes deep, that "seeing" someone. Acknowledging the suffering. Taking a moment to just BE with them. Good for you for having the stomach for it. Not everyone does.

hmmmmm. your post brings a tear to my eye..the same tear i get each time i see a similar situation...whether in a developing country or on the streets in my own country..Thanks for sharing...

Wow, what a fantastic selection of replies, guys - I'm really impressed.

And so moving - I'm a bit overwhelmed.

There's a lot to say here and some of you are saying it very eloquently indeed. I'll have to take a breather and consider your replies. Although, you're saying things so beautifully, I don't think you need any response from me.

Wow, again. And thank you for your kind words about my humble prose. I'll be back later to try and respond properly - if, indeed, I possibly can.

Excellent way to look at these things, travelaw.

Obviously one person can't fix everything. But if a situation where I could help and make a big impact happens to me, then I hope that I would look upon that as an opportunity for me to help someone. Truly, not many people get an opportunity in this world to make an immediate impact. Perhaps it is a gift that life has presented to us....to be in a position to make a difference without breaking the "bank". One can only do what feels right within, and that has got to be the final guiding factor, I would think.

Enough said !! We should, however, never forget to enjoy our travels and have fun.

Dogster,

You are a good man, not just lucky. Only good men get invited into Chai sellers houses. You went to his house, not the neighbors or the other one down the street. He is the man you befriended. By saying yes, there was/is a resposibilty which you recognize all too well.
I know this because I am such a naysayer myself.

What would I do, take care of the mother's medical needs. She is the glue, and without her the family will truly perish. After that I don't know what I would do. Doing nothing would be hard, but how far do you go?

A not very well thought out answer form rainy Yangshuo. I saw you as I turned my head.

Are you still in Varnasi, Dogster?

First, yes, not everyone would have been invited. Second, not everyone would have accepted; third, not everyone would have responded as you did. And I salute you for putting yourself into a situation that you now have to address.

I think we need to take the neighbours out of it. Just focus on the one family. That is a sufficiently complicated moral dilemma to be going on with.

So far, out of the respondents that say give money directly, we have one saying fund the young lad with the broken leg and one saying fund the mother because she is the "glue".

If you fund the mother, she will return to live out a life that was just like before, although she will feel more able to cope. There'll still be the older son who needs constant care; and the younger son who won't get the chance to go to school and fulfil his potential.

I confess my gut reaction was fund the young son - past, present and future. He is the future.

But in writing this I find that I go for the option that was least likely when I first read your post..

Fund the son with the broken leg. That way the mother is released from the burden of care, and there may be a little money to spare to see the younger child back to school.

Whatever you decide to do, count me in. Like I said, I have sidestepped many opportunities to help an INDIVIDUAL for what I thought were sound reasons. Maybe I got it wrong.

Thank you, dogster. I am too moved to speak coherently, but this is something I've found helpful: I can't do everything, but I can do something. How often the wanting to do everything gets in my way of doing something, though...

Beautiful writing, Dogster. If you are not already a professional writer, you should be - seriously.

My husband lived in southern India for 5 years and the stories he's told me break my heart just as yours does.

If I experienced this situation, I know I could not just walk away and forget it. It wouldn't be humanly possible for me and it doesn't seem as if it would be for you either. But at the same time, you cannot save the whole world and to even begin with one family may even be daunting, especially with limited resources or time.

But I believe everyone can do something, even if it's simple, and I've also found that asking others to help alleviates becoming overburdened and overwhelmed. And at the same time, it gives others the opportunity to feel the satisfaction of knowing they've helped someone too. Nothing in the world beats that!

You seem to have a very big heart and I know you did the right thing. Blessings to you, for you are a good person!

Dogster, are you married? I think I've just been seduced on a message board. My husband is not going to be happy about this.

I don't have an easy answer to your predicament, but a lot depends on whether you're still there.

I would be most likely to enter a business relationship with the father, or assist him in establishing one, so that he could provide the necessary care for his family.

Heart-rending, sobering, and beautifully told, Dogster. We become paralyzed when we think of the big picture, the millions who suffer world-wide, but if we start with just one person, or one family. Every deop of water begins to fill the bucket -- directly, through NGOs, or just by helping people to find some resources that can help. We just spent last evening with Indian friends, a young professional couple of modest means (by US standards)who have been living here for only a a few years, who were talking about the pain they feel when they go back home to their villages near Calcutta. They can't bring prosperity or health to everyone, but they try to do what they can for those who are suffering most. To quote the title of the Rohinton Mistry book, life is a delicate balance - laughter, joy, sadness, pain. It's all mixed together, and in India it is right there up front, in your face, which is I think what people either love or hate about visitng India. Even though it has been nearly a year since our first trip, I can't get it out of my mind, and your story brought it all back again. The love, the sorrow. Thank you in a bittersweet way.

Thank you for sharing this, dogster.

It is a perfect reminder to go where we are invited and to keep our hearts open when we get there.

i think just the fact of your caring made an impact on this poor family.

Sorry you missed the GTG...maybe next year?

I will be leaving for India in a month. This time, I've chosen to donate to Rising Star Outreach -- an organization that helps leprosy colonies in India become self-sufficient through education, micro-financing of small business and mobile medical units. If anyone has a suggestion for a reputable charity in Nepal, please pass along the information, as we will be visiting there as well. Its not my intention to advertise for any group, or to be morally presumptuous, but to encourage us to think about how we can help people in need in the places that we visit. As I said earlier, we each need to search our own hearts on how we can help -- and there are lots of ways to help. If not money, then even an encouraging word or prayer will do. Thanks.

Travelaw - please take a look at http://answernepal.org/

This is an organization started by a man I know here in Michigan (U.S.) to help women and children in Nepal. I've not been to Nepal but did some volunteering here locally for this organization and they do some very good work in Nepal.

Wow again. More wonderful replies. This internet art form we call Fodors compels us to talk in little sound-bites, snatches of tunes, a suggestion here, a whimsy there - it's so great on this post to see some of your expressing your own personal symphony on a topic you've clearly thought about. It's very rewarding for me - so thank you.

It's all been said so eloquently. You don't need any glib reply from me.

It's funny - without meaning to sound overly cute, it hadn't occurred to me that I was a participant in the drama. Sometimes in the writing the most obvious things get overlooked. I saw my actions as a conduit to the story - not PART of that story. But of course I was. So your comments about my actions were particularly meaningful. Again, I thank you.

I was also grateful for those couple of brave souls who 'fessed up that this was WAY outta their comfort zone. I think they speak for the vast majority of people - not necessarily in these boards - but those guys who travel for a break, a breather, some good times, some learning and some fun. That they don't want to solve the problems of the world's poverty quite at that moment is perfectly understandable. So bravo Craig and rizzuto.

Thanks for your thoughts, too, offwego. It's only recently I've leant what you do. So words from someone who has put her actions where her compassion lies are doubly cherished.

More wise words from afterall - no, I'm not in Varanasi. I've been sitting on this for five months. Then last week, in one blat, it all came out. I had to get it right.

But I think about it. Of all the things I saw in India this one stays with me.

There's love in this story, too. It's not as bleak as it sounds.

Funnily enough, this whole story came about because of someone else's post in here a few days ago 'Where to eat in Varanasi'.

In it I added my experience of going to a rickshaw driver's place for lunch. That was this guy.

The story didn't end there.

I was invited back the next day to eat. Think about it. These people who had nothing but their love and pride offered me the food from their mouths. I took it. How could I not? How could I refuse that gesture? It was a big occasion.

I spent ten long, explosive days camped out by a Kathmandu lavatory as penance for that little adventure. I think that was a fair price to pay.

Oh, follow_your_bliss: come and get it. I'm yours. Thank you God and Hallelulya! There'll be fireworks in town tonight!

Dogster, I'm just catching up with your most recent tale. It is heart-breaking, but also heart-warming that you gave of yourself to the family. Being with them, caring, holding the hand of one son, giving you trust (and camera) to the other... those are priceless gifts.

The the moral dilemma you describe is so difficult... I struggle with it, too. There is no "right" answer, only answers that each individual can give. We have different things to give, and you gave of yourself to the family and to us. Thank you, Dogster.

Thanks travel addict, I will check out that organization.

And sincere thanks to you dogster, for sharing your story and giving us the opportunity to talk about this uncomfortable subject. The love you shared with that family will remain with them always. And your shared love is now in our consciousness as well. I think you know this already, but we also love you for sharing your life and experiences with us.
Love conquers all!

Thank you, dogster. I'm not as eloquent as some who have responded (and I'm in Craig and rizzuto's camp on this being out of my comfort zone), but your story really touched me. As others have said, it was heartbreaking and, yes, a moral dilemma. I'm glad you accepted the invitation that day - for them, for you, and for us - it made a difference. The very act of sharing your story will surely yield good things, as at least some of us will look for/be more open to opportunities for kindness. Thanks.
Karen

There's no dilemma here. A dilemma is a problem for which there is more than one solution, none of which is appropriate. There is no solution to this. None.

Having just returned from India, I can imagine this story exactly as you have told it, and you told it well, in lovely detail.

There isn't an answer. And what you learn from visiting places like India is that there is often just no answer. There is no right and no wrong and no what you should do or could do or might have done, and what you do end up doing is also suspect, in your own mind and in the minds of those you encounter.

You just look and see and act in the best way you can in that moment and carry on and hope that that moment stays with you, changes you for the better, enables you to make someone else's life a bit richer by the explaining of it in words, hope that you yourself are made more resilient or more smart or more understanding or more of something that will prove useful somewhere down the line. You can't dwell on it. Or, you did dwell on it by telling us about it, and that's the best you can do. And it's good you did it.

There are a million boys with broken bones in India. There are 4 million people in the slum in Mumbai alone. There are children everywhere in India who are starving and missing limbs and suffering immensely. There are countless adults who live on the streets in rags and barely survive. It's a ragged, bittersweet place. You're just one traveler. You can't change it.

You did OK, though, just by reporting it. What else do we have besides words and photos and our own thoughts about our travels? We can't save the world, but we can tell other folks about it.

More great replies:

Karen: you're every bit as eloquent. Your words are very touching. Thank you. And to you too travelaw, beautiful words. Love does, indeed, conquer darkness. Kathie, you know I'm your greatest fan.

And thanks StCyrc: our trip reports are very different, aren't they? I'm glad you've got this problem all sorted out. Here was I thinking there was a dilemma - and there isn't at all. Oh, well, we can all relax now.

I've spent seven months in the sub-continent over the last twelve. All I've realised is that I don't know anything at ALL about the place. So it's a relief to see your certainly.

I've been following your report. It's great fun. You sound like a show-biz kinda gal. I think it very accurately captures that first time flash of the place. It's a shame you didn't get more time - we're only half way through but so far, if we remove the travel time and hotel time, you've only had a total of 20 hours actually out on the streets - and those spent with a tour guide hurtling round the tourist attractions. Wow, it's a wild ride. Lotsa fun. But I'm wondering where you're getting your conclusions from.

I know that slum in Mumbai - it's called Dharavi. I spent three days in there about five months ago. There's a few companies who will take you. It's a fascinating place. Now that was really a wild ride.

Your words:
'The slum is endless and horrific. I open my window to take pictures of it... but the stench is more than I can bear. I fear I will vomit out the car window...'

I think one of the points I was trying to make is that if you stop the car, get out, spend some time in the slum instead of driving by it gagging, some of those moral certainties you express so passionately might just, possibly, disappear.

Amen, Dogster.

I have two quotes by Mother Theresa on my wall:

“If you can't feed a hundred people, then just feed one.”

“We cannot do great things on this Earth, only small things with great love.”

It's a good way to remind me to start somewhere. Anywhere. I believe you have helped that family more than you know just by acknowledging their plight. Sometimes just being heard is all that we as human beings need.

<There's love in this story, too. It's not as bleak as it sounds>

Now you've gotten to it.

The space where that kind of love begins is the exact point where one person's compassion meets another's hope. A miracle happens at that moment and a river of love is born. Ripples we will never see, outcomes we can never imagine.

I encourage myself daily to stretch beyond my comfort zone to live at the source of this joy.

Even if it makes me want to vomit at first.

Dogster- Were you ever a participant in the acid test bus?

http://www.geocities.com/beat1ebum/further.html

Oops. Only read the first entry. Didnt realize the nature of the thread..sorry!

We'll have to forgive Mango - he gets easily confused. The poor old thing just wanders in and out of these rooms - he doesn't know where he is most of the time.

But no Mango, I wasn't on that bus. I wish. But your assumptions are correct - yup, the counter culture was alive and well in my life but I was a couple of years too young for the Pranksters - and in the wrong country. My time was in London 1969 - 72. Same, same but different.

Oh, dear - I was a naughty lad. heh. I'm happy to say.

But I did spend a week with Ken Kesey once in 1980. I'm not sure that counts.

Dogster, still following this thead.

Now "Mother Theresa" has made an appearance. Do you care to comment on that?

Now it's 5 Nov, and it's just possible that you are a Republican. If you are, please explain why. If not, then .. what can I say, except it's over.

It's over, the election is over, and Bush and his cronies are gone. At last!!

Hard times up ahead so
I hope all the ObMy ama supporters are going to stick with him through thick and thin.

My best to you (even if you are a Republican).

Ahhh, afterall, I can tell you're a happy camper right now. I can smell your happiness. It's a wonderful day for the world. Let's not worry about Mother Theresa today. Go - celebrate.

[As IF Dogster would be a Rupublican... lol. I represent far too many minorities. They'd have had me put down years ago.]

Dogster is neither Republican or Democrat, nor Red, nor Green, nor Labour, nor Conservative, etc...

Dogster is not a category or a cause, he is in all his complexity, simply our forever beloved, though elusive, Asian correspondent extraordinaire, Dogster.

Someone pick me up off the floor and carry me straight to Heaven.

That's the best compliment I've ever had. Bless you jaya.

<<And thanks StCyrc: our trip reports are very different, aren't they? I'm glad you've got this problem all sorted out. Here was I thinking there was a dilemma - and there isn't at all. Oh, well, we can all relax now.>>

I don't think we have it all "sorted out." I just insist on proper terminology. And my screen name is StCirq, not StCyrc, so I hope you actually read carefully. From some of your comments, I might think you didn't.

<<I've spent seven months in the sub-continent over the last twelve. All I've realised is that I don't know anything at ALL about the place. So it's a relief to see your certainly.>>

I applaud your ability to avoid those pesky responsibilities that plague us more mortal folks, like paying for college tuition and mortgages and write up reports and having to go to meetings and produce tangible, billable, results. I really do. I spent more than three of the past 12 months traveling, and I am constantly paying, in terms of dollars and time lost, for the privilege to do so, yet it is my priority and will always be and always has been. And the entire POINT of my post to you was exactly that one cannot figure anything at all out about something like what happened to you. What did you miss in my comments? They were centered around the fact that India is a total mystery and one cannot assume anything or make any conclusions at all. What did I miss here?

<<I've been following your report. It's great fun. You sound like a show-biz kinda gal. I think it very accurately captures that first time flash of the place. It's a shame you didn't get more time - we're only half way through but so far, if we remove the travel time and hotel time, you've only had a total of 20 hours actually out on the streets - and those spent with a tour guide hurtling round the tourist attractions. Wow, it's a wild ride. Lotsa fun. But I'm wondering where you're getting your conclusions from.>>

Show-biz kinda gal - wow. Boy, is that a not-so-subtle put-down or what? Except I was in show-biz, many, many years ago, so I give you points for seeing that. I guess thanks for the observation that this was my first time in India. I made it abundantly clear in my post my purpose for this trip, how it was organized, and why it was necessarily so superficial. There was no need for you to go on about how superficial you deemed it to be. Must be author envy or something going on here, really.


<<
I know that slum in Mumbai - it's called Dharavi. I spent three days in there about five months ago. There's a few companies who will take you. It's a fascinating place. Now that was really a wild ride.I guess.>>
Your words:
'The slum is endless and horrific. I open my window to take pictures of it... but the stench is more than I can bear. I fear I will vomit out the car window...'>>

I think one of the points I was trying to make is that if you stop the car, get out, spend some time in the slum instead of driving by it gagging, some of those moral certainties you express so passionately might just, possibly, disappear.>>

Well, yes, and I would have happily stopped the car and gotten out and spent three days there had my schedule and my plans allowed for that. I would have gotten past the stench and the vomiting. I did it in Africa many times. Your assumption that your freewheeling style of travel is superior to that of anything else is just, well, silly. Can you not understand what KIND of trip this was - I made that very clear at the beginning of my report. I was meeting my daughter, who was disembarking at Chennai. We had four days together to see the highlights of India. I had in total 10 days, so a bit more. But we did not have the luxury of getting out of guided cars or wallowing in Mumbai slums. It was a first trip to Asia for both of us. It was a whirlwind overview. It was completely as billed, our First Passage to India. End of story.

I don't even know what "moral certainties" you refer to. When I write trip reports, and I tend to do so mostly in the moment, at the place that I am reporting from, it's just chronicling what I've experienced that day...

How can you derive "moral certainties" from what I wrote? I'd really like to know, from one writer to another...

What a long and passionate post. Thank you StCyr, for your thoughts.

Life's a bit too short to take them apart piece by piece. Somebody else can do that if they can be bothered.

Just two things: 'show-biz gal' isn't a term of abuse in my eyes. Quite the reverse. It accurately describes the persona you project. Expansive, breathless, loud [in a good way], fearless, lots of fun, lots of energy, full of the joy of life, not shy of an opinion and, I note from your last post - easily roused and full of passion.

Nor is my mention of it a feat of E.S.P. - you've talked about your 'dinner theatre days' in a previous post. Which, as you note - I've read.

Had you bothered to do me the same courtesy, you'd note from my previous posts that I'm the first one to suggest the Dogster way of travel is only for idiots and fools. Lordy, it's an Easter Parade of idiocy. Go look.

Your way is far superior. Maybe not everybody in here has read your post - so it's great you've clarified where you're coming from. Thanks for underlining my point.

I do understand that having time and money to travel makes me rather an unusual case. But really, there's nothing very special about it. I'm retired. I've had the good fortune to earn enough money to travel in my dotage, that's all.

I'm not a writer, I didn't know you were. I just pop my stuff in here to fill my tragic empty days.

Really, I wouldn't get too fussed.

StCirq, you're taking this all way too seriously.

And I'm really surprised at your unabashed resentment of Dogster's financial situation to travel as he does. So what? He's retired, he's paid his dues in life, what's it to you?

And finally, are you always this irritable?

StCirq
Oh dear,That was quite a tirade. I will be most happy to polish your halo, I assume the St stands for saint.

However not everybody in this world has college tuition to pay, some have already done it, some never had to. There are actually quite a few people who have the means and wherewithal to travel a lot, without reports to write or dollars to earn. Very frequently it is called retirement.

We all travel differently, each of us react in our own ways to the same experiences. The one thing that has become very clear in Dogsters' writings that there are no judgments, except perhaps of himself, and his sometimes really dumb actions.

Let the tale of Varanasi continue without peevishness, please.

Stcyrq who rattled your cage?? as Ny put so well do continue dogster.

I do hate to get in the middle of the fray, but Dogster, I think you may have misunderstood StCirq's original response and tone.
I know I certainly took it differently than you did.
I think she just answered your question which was "What would you do?" and she answered that for her, there was no solution. I don't think she was criticizing you either so I'm not sure what raised your hackles.
I may or may not agree with her, but that was her answer. I think you jumped on her for her reply and then picked on her for her style of travel. Not really fair there (and not nice to mis-spell her name for a second time either). Everyone one has different styles of travel-to each their own. I really don't think she was claiming to know everything about India after her short time there, just relaying her experience.

NYwoman-she's not claiming to be a saint with a halo, StCirq is the name of a town in France. She's written in depth about life there on the Europe board.

Dogster, you know how much we all love your tales here and this one was the most hearbreaking of all. And you know I adore you. Now be nice little doggie and tell us what you did with your dilemma.

Yes Dog lets get back to the matter in hand what DID you do?

this all smacks of the europe board...let it pass

Oooooh Kristina - I'm between a rock and a hard place. If I even began to explain where my attitude came from I'd only inflame our poor saint - and then there'd be more columns of abuse. lol.

I thought I was extremely gentle - given the heights of invective you just know I'm capable of. But I do take your comments on board and I love it that you step in to defend someone you believe in. I think that's great. I think our friendship will survive.

NY, Jaya and Smeagol, you've all had a smack too. But not from me. Thanks for hurtling in to my defence. I'll have to give you another story soon. But I think it'll be a funny one.

This has been quite a passionate post, I'm thrilled to say. Eloquent, thought-through, honest and sincere responses the like of which we don't often see in here. And the Saint had added a frisson of controversy. What more could I ask for? It's been really interesting to me on a variety of levels. I must say my opinion of the contributors in here has risen. [It wasn't particularly low in the first place..] I think you've all had a chance to shine.

As for what I did in Varanasi?

I've never much been a fan of conspicuous generosity. Some like a bit of a ceremony, a bit of singing, a school lined up to receive - me? I like the exact opposite. I get embarrassed. Like I am now.

So I'll leave my actions for you to conjure with. The dilemma serves no purpose if it is solved.

I defend Dog because IMO, he doesn't just "see" India, he "gets" it!

Dogster, I'm glad we're still going to be friends.

But I have to tell you, I'm going to feel like I've been left twisting in the wind if you don't let us know what you chose to do. We did what you wanted and gave our thoughts on the subject, now you must live up to your end of the offer.
"What did Dogster do? I'll keep that to myself just for the moment. What YOU would do is more to the point."

If you want to remain humble, you can choose not to give us all the gory details, but a general idea would be appreciated.

As for "The dilemma serves no purpose if it is solved", I must respectfully disagree. I think the dilemma will remain, regardless of what you chose to do, or not do. The dilemma is way bigger than our individual actions with individual people. I, for one, would like to know what you chose to do with your small piece of the dilemma.

Oh "another story soon" - yes please Dogster.

Lets leave this for our own thoughts - perhaps the next person going through that town had better check for the number of newish mobile phones now around - just joking of course.

Dogster, how I wish I could tell a tale as well as you have. Your writing is lyrical and I feel so many different emotions as I read your posts. Thank you for sharing your experiences.

That's so lovely halvie, thanks for coming in and saying that.

Mary W - yup, I'm in the mood for a new story. Something easier this time. Good recall re: mobile phone. I'm just on the edge of writing that little adventure. You and me - we'll have to keep quiet on that, otherwise we'll give my punchline away... heh.

But I'll keep my Kathmandu chronicles till later - I think Kathie is about to wow us with hers. Although, I suspect, we may have had slightly different adventures. heh.

Kristina: once again, a rock and a hard place. But that's fine - I don't see why you shouldn't push for an answer. Let me answer you this way:

I have heard from sources close to me that young sausage looks great in his school uniform.

Mummy's tummy is better.

Daddy still does what Daddy always did. He looks out for his family. He works.

And the boy in the darkened room? He's free.

Sometime during the night of September 18th, with his family snuggled beside him, he passed away in his sleep.

I tried - but it was too late.

Dogster-
I am at a loss for words.
Thank you.

I knew all would be well.

Although you didn't tell us WHAT you did (no need to), I knew you wouldn't meet this family and then just leave them as you found them. Well done.

Dogster, thank you for the update and thank you very much for the kind actions. I hope the family is able to pay it forward someday.

Gosh, I thought I was done crying after 'my guy' was elected earlier this week, but you managed to make me cry again. Bless you!

I am looking forward to your next story! I am also grateful to Amy for posting a link to this story in the Lounge - I would have never discovered it otherwise.

peace,
Heidi

'I tried - but it was too late.'

Perhaps you'll give some thought to a different and happier perspective. The beauty inside you Dogster that you shared with that young guy allowed him to finally let go and set himself free of his heavy karma in this lifetime.

Rather than see your efforts as 'too late', you can choose to see your love and compassion as the divinely inspired solution for him and the type of happy ending only pure love can produce.

May you see the beauty within yourself that this youngster, his family, that little girl whom you also befriended and many others all see in you. Perhaps this is their gift to you. It is up to you to accept it. Its never too late.

It doesn't sound to me like you were too late at all. I believe your compassion opened the way for the boy and his family to move forward.

Dogster, I have no doubt our adventures in Kathmandu and yours are different!

In India symbolism has a lot of significance. The fact that Dogster and this family were brought together will have meaning to the family for a long time to come.

It was an auspicious occasion that this "foreigner" came into their lives and now things are better. Luck and destiny play a big role in how Hindus view life and their lot in life.

Make sense? It's a lot to say in a small space and it's probably not right to try to paraphrase, but I hope to convey the gist of Dogster's impact on this family and how they view their destiny as changed for the better in a way that they were not able to effect prior to this "fateful" encounter.

More wonderful words.

Once again, BeCalm, wise words, much to think about. I won't attempt an answer - that'll take time. But I hear you.

Jaya, you are wonderfully supportive and so very kind. It's more than fascinating to see how you view this situation. I hadn't intended giving you the conclusion, for fear that it would seem self-serving, but I'm glad you see it the way you do.

Kathy too. Great words. I'm amazed you have the time to read my paltry offering.

travel: I'm sorry I made you cry, but actually I'm secretly pleased. lol. It's a great compliment.

I've learnt such a lot from this post. But I always knew that if you speak from the heart and share your truth, good things will surely happen.

Lordy, that attitude has got me in a lot of trouble...

Now, I'm going to move on to a new story that's not nearly as intense. The world has changed since I first posted this: time to relax for a bit. I need a break from my Karmic magnificence. I'm sure by the end of this next piece any kind thoughts you might have about my actions will have completely evaporated. heh.

Stay tuned for Sweet 'n Sour in Sikkim.

Just come across this post and WOW. Great writing, I was rivitted. Heading for India and Varanasi in Jan 2010, thanks for this look at life off the tourist track.

There's are several Dogster adventures if you do a search. Even if you don't plan on visiting the same places, the reading is worthwhile - assuming you share a certain sense of humor !

Dogster -IMO- has been enormously gracious to write all that he has for us here on the Asia board.

I'm glad you found it and do look for his other postings!

heya live42: thanks for the kind words - and thanks for bringing this post back from oblivion. What a nice surprise.

It all seems like a long time ago now - I've had so many more adventures in India since then... right now, I'm in Mumbai, just a day away from the end of another three month stint in India. Stay tuned for the latest chapters...

But first I have to somehow get home. The flights are booked. Everything is in gear - except for Dogster. I don't wanna go.

It is the first time for me to read something like that...