Today would be our last day working at the site, and we agreed to arrive at the farm bright and early, to be able to get over to the site and accomplish as much as possible before bringing our phase of the project to a close. In addition, we were all of us excited for another reason – we were finally going to be able to distribute the many gifts and trinkets we had brought along with us to the children of the village.
Sanjiv had discussed the best plan with the school teachers, and it was decided that ONLY if a child attended school – at least that day, if not regularly, would he or she be given a “prize”. Furthermore, we would set up a distribution table and in an “orderly?” fashion, the children would file forward to the table and have one or two gifts handed to them by the members of the Team.
First, however, we had to get busy and try to accomplish as much as we could before winding down. We disembarked from our coach and immediately went to the back where the conductor opened the storage area, where our filthy, muddy boots had been kept, after each time we had worked. Now, complete with our work gloves (again, thanks to the generosity of Springvale Hardware) we moved toward the large piles of sand and broken rock which had been dumped there during the previous night. It was felt that if we could again move sand into the enclosure, and also pass bricks to Ramesh, we could really make a dent on this second platform. It seemed as though we were working at a feverous pace, although at times we honestly felt we were working at a snail’s pace.
Sanjiv had told us that Ravi Dayal and his wife, Jyotsna, as well as the Delhi-West Club president and his wife, were going to be working alongside us for a good part of the morning. It had been a year since I had seen Jyotsna (Ravi’s wife) and it was a wonderful, albeit brief reunion. She arrived wearing a beautiful sari, with a sweater to take away the chill, and we chatted briefly at the coach, where I gave her a CHIA PET! Of all things… but I felt it would be a possible marketing idea for Jyotsna to use in her interior landscaping business.
As Jyotsna and I walked toward the first platform, she noticed that about seventy-five men had gathered and were not squatting on top of the wall – their favorite observation perch. She asked if they had been working with us and I told her they had been with us, but only to observe what we were doing, rather than actually assisting in what we were doing. Without a word (but I guessed she was thinking to herself, “Not if I have anything to do with this!”) she climbed up onto the platform and faced the group of onlookers. In Hindi, Jyotsna told them just what she thought of them, and how it was shameful of them to be sitting there. On no uncertain terms, she scolded them harshly and asked them how they could possibly sit there, while our group from America had crossed seven seas to get to Chahalka, and furthermore that we had left our families and our homes, and traveled at our own expense, and left our jobs to be here to build these platforms in order to save the entire village from drinking polluted water – to provide the ladies a place for them to wash their dishes and their clothing, and even to use as a bathing facility – and yet they sit on their bums and watch. Well, this tiny woman, who has a personality larger than life elicited a response, but possibly not the one she had aimed to achieve. Although a half dozen younger men, and two older men, climbed down from the wall to help us, evidently there was an emergency Mosque call, because the remaining team of observers disappeared over the back of the wall, and walked across the street to go to the Mosque for prayers (possibly to have this woman removed from their world).
We all got a good laugh from Jyotsna’s forthright dressing down of the wall warriors, but we were also inspired to work just as hard, if not harder, to accomplish our goal and at the same time to give out a few “atta boys” to those who decided to help us. Although without the strength of a colony of ants, we nevertheless worked with the same determination. Ramesh was still slopping concrete mixture onto the top of a layer of bricks, while Jayne Britton and I handed bricks to him, or even set some down ourselves.
Work began to wind down and although we were reluctant to leave the labor, we also wanted to be able to bring some smiles to the faces of the children with the distribution of our trinkets. We changed out of our boots at the bus and walked over to the schoolyard, where the teacher had set up a table for us. Many of the children followed us over to the school, but they were told unless they were IN school, they could not receive any of the gifts we had brought. Nevertheless, they crowded us from behind us, as we attempted to empty out several bags of goodies onto the table and to gain some idea as to what we had and how many.
The process of distribution began with the smallest children, and as expected by us, pandemonium ensued and the teacher was forced to use his switch on the tops of heads of a few of the most unruly of the class. Dave and Darlene decided to act as paparazzi for the group and mingled among the teeming multitude of children, while Magda, Darlene, Jayne, Jo and I remained behind the table. Jay seated himself at the end of the table, for placing stickers on the shirt of each child. I had brought about one hundred tiny bottles of bubbles to not only give to the children, but to teach them how to create magic by blowing through the tiny wand inside each bottle. Joan took a few bottles out into the midst of the kids and began blowing streams of bubbles much to the delight of the kids. The six or seven members of the Delhi – West Rotary Club also joined in the excitement. To say there was a modicum of order to this process would be a gross overstatement, but by and large each of the children received at least three or four items. These included Beanie Babies, Tootsie Pops, bracelets, balls, crayons, pens, stickers, and much more. Although some children seemed to get passed over, if for no other reason than they were shorter or tinier than the rest of the students, we felt pretty good about having brought smiles to so many faces. With mixed emotions, we finished the gifting process and returned to our bus to drive to the farm for lunch – another amazing creation of Jyotsna Saran, Ollie (her sister) and the boys in the kitchen. This would be a garden lunch and the president of the Delhi – West Rotary Club, his wife and a few other folks, joined us.
When we returned to the farm, we were met by Dr. Nischal Pandy, a young man who was an active member of Rotaract, whom I had met on my first visit to India in 2001. Dr. Pandy and others from Rotary Clubs around the Delhi area are working with Rotarians from India and Pakistan, to bring children with heart defects from Pakistan for free surgeries and treatment. Their program is known as GIFT OF LIFE. This is not so dissimilar from the GIFT OF LIFE program that several Rotary Clubs in the northeastern United States are promoting, and have been for many years. He brought with him some summaries of case histories and as each of us read through them, we once again realized how very fortunate each of us is, to have our health, and to be a part of the wonderful organization ROTARY INTERNATIONAL is, and what it is able to accomplish to make a positive difference in the lives of literally millions of people around the world. Imagine this, for a moment, that for $150 a child is brought from Pakistan, along with a guardian, has the open heart surgery performed, remains in hospital until he or she is ready to safely travel back home – literally, the GIFT OF LIFE. And the program does not stop here – for ten more years, each patient is guaranteed free medical care in the event they experience complications from the heart surgery. Wow… what a gift!
Once we finished lunch, we returned to do some of what we could to finish up at the construction site. We were waiting for the arrival of the Imam for a very special honor. Since there was not really sufficient time for us to begin another phase of the project, several of us decided to take a walking tour of the village. Once more, we were the object of great excitement and curiosity, as dozens of children and some who were not children, gathered around us and walked along with us, up the narrow streets and into various tiny shops. A few of us began with meeting the local tailor. On walls, he proudly displayed his many creations – kameez (a long shirt) and matching Punjabi pajama bottoms, various shawls, and some children’s clothing, as well. One or two of us spotted what appeared to be a type of prayer shawl – white with red embroidered pattern, as well as woven red stripes. We negotiated to purchase all three he had, and then moved on up the street. Dave and I wandered up the street and I noticed two gentlemen walking in the other direction. I commented to Dave that one of the men appeared to me to be a holy man, and perhaps might be the Imam we were waiting to meet.
About a half hour passed, and we all returned to the site. Evidently, the Imam had come and gone, and since we had not been there when he arrived, he returned to the Mosque. Eventually, he returned and a great amount of excitement permeated the crowd of villagers. The Imam and his assistant instructed some of the others to sweep the surface of the first platform, and then to sweep it again. He then spread out a prayer rug, and then sat down cross-legged. His assistant and two other men sat down to his side. He then set a bag containing what appeared to be quarter ears of corn in front to him, opened two containers of incense, took one full bunch of sticks of incense, lighted the entire bunch, and set them into the bag, standing them up on an angle, with only one standing straight upright. Everyone became quiet and the Imam began chanting some prayers. The two men who sat at his left, also added some phrases, and then the chanting concluded. Meanwhile, the incense sticks had burned down quite a bit, and there was a most pleasant aroma surrounding this platform, where each of us had been asked to remove our shoes and to enter this space, which was about to be dedicated, with prayers to Allah. The ceremony ended with the Imam passing out bundi – small balls, about the size of a doughnut hole, but yellow in color and made of many tiny balls, stuck together – almost like what I remember my mother used to make as a dessert from rice krispies. Each of us was given one bundi, and then encouraged to break it apart and pass pieces of it to others from the village who were standing outside the enclosure, very reverently. This gesture seemed to have great meaning to the villagers, and it seemed to us that perhaps the full meaning of our being there, working as laborers to construct these two platforms was finally realized by everyone. Even several of the “wall perchers” came to us, held out their hands for a piece of bundi, and smiled as they popped it into their mouths.
One last time… back into our coach to return to the farm for a final dinner. In reflection, we had really accomplished a good deal, while lending impetus to the entire project, initially with the two washing platforms, to be followed by sanitary toilets and other amenities in the coming years for our adopted village of Chahalka.
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