A Rundown of Field Reflections

5 August 2013

Our second day of fieldwork with the Slum Rehabilitation Society consisted of discussion time in the office, travel, and consecutive visits to Dharavi and Chembur.  In doing so we were able to observe healthcare practice, educational programming, and spatial realities of both rehabilitated (vertical structure) homes and horizontal slum communities.  It has been interesting to go from the headquarters in posh Bandra West to the various communities in which the Slum Rehabilitation Society is involved, as it provides sharp experience of what Shaban (2008) describes as the “spatiality of neoliberalism” (p. 69).  The contrast of spatiality between the rich and the poor is glaringly apparent.  To carry the idea of the spatiality of neoliberalism a bit further, it also seems as though vertical building projects for slum rehabilitation are the product and function of the continuing neoliberal reality.  For, under the current Slum Rehabilitation Scheme with the SRA, rehabilitation is largely for the purpose of freeing up land for private development sui causis as well as for making Mumbai more attractive to global economic players.  The privileging of vertical, “secure” housing also seems to fit into a discursive framework built upon dominant tendencies toward the building up of walls, compartmentalization of space, and prioritization of area.

On the former point, Bannerjee-Guha (2009) notes that since the 1990s the elites of Mumbai have been striving to turn it into “the country’s future international financial and service center” as part of an overall Indian mission to turn Indian cities into world class cities(p. 101).  The slum rehabilitation project, especially since 1995, is a clear example of the urban development favored by such a mission.  Gentrification of poor areas is happening for public and private purposes, and the SRA program only benefits the “established poor”--those who can prove residency prior to 1995.  The result is increasing spatial marginalization and land-area minimization for the poor, and maximization for the wealthy.  As Shaban made clear in his lecture on 7 August 2013, this marginalization concurrently and con-causally happens at various dimensions of space--psychological, social, chronological, and physical.  I cannot help but think of parallels to projects of “urban renewal” and gentrification in Chicago.  The Woodlawn neighborhood is a good example, as it sits on the edge of the gentrification project.  As the University of Chicago and associated industries seek to expand, property values and taxes increase.  Poorer residents are then unable to maintain their residences and have to sell.  The result is economically coerced displacement.  There are obvious differences between the examples, including architectural and policy-wise, but the similarities in mission, ideology, and coercion are remarkable.

On the second point, vertical structure rehabilitation seems to represent well the neoliberal discursive framework.  The attraction is secure housing and often an increase in floor space per home.  Thus, individual families perhaps gain privacy and clearly delineated space, both of which seem to be more fluid in horizontal communities based on limited observation.  Walls are built up, and area is seen as the highest ideal.  Further, the building of vertical structures changes the lifescape and landscape of a community.  “Home” and “work” spaces become clearly delineated, as do spaces for learning, play, waste disposal, and sanitation processes.  While such compartmentalization is not problematic in and of itself, it is built upon dominant ideals of space rather than upon the community capital that already exists.  Further, these realities improve the prospects of the neoliberal city project in that they simultaneously maximize land area for development by putting poor residences on top of each other, put people’s lives behind walls, and hide much of the sensorily available evidence of failed state responses to poverty.

6 August 2013

Our third day of fieldwork involved visiting Marol and Khar (West).  Marol is a community in which builders illegally constructed homes on top of other homes and sold them on the private market, creating a situation in which the poorer residents want rehabilitation while the wealthier residents on top do not.  The necessary concensus, therefore, cannot be reached.  The 60-family community in Khar (West) unanimously wants rehabilitation, but the area is too small and unattractive for a private builder to take up under the SRA.  Both are cases in which the goal of betterment for the poor is unattainable because of failed and faulty public-private response (intentional and unintentional).

Rudolph and Rudolph (1987) write, "The 'state for itself'--as interested actor, reproducing itself--appropriates public powers and resources to partisan and private interest," in discussing the relationship between the state and society in India (p. 14). This seems to be what has happened largely at the municipal level here in Mumbai.  As such it is the local government rather than the nation state, though it might be indicative of the nation state as well.  While talking with employees at the Slum Rehabilitation Project we hear over and over again about how the Slum Rehabilitation Authority is nothing more than a corrupt body that is only looking out for individual profit and the profit of developers.  This is surely a far cry from the original intent of the SRA and Slum Rehabilitation Scheme (even though the Society would claim it was fundamentally flawed from the start).  Yet, based on observing huge disparities in the quality of buildings for rehabilitated slum residents and those for resale, the Society's view makes sense.  There are also multiple "rehabilitation" projects that have been frozen because of developer greed in breaking regulations.  The result is a seemingly haphazard system that takes forever and, though perhaps increasing the floor space of one's dwelling, is entirely unjust upon completion.

So, what was nominally a scheme to help the poor gain secure housing has become a boon for private profit for developers and perhaps for politicians who help them out.   Is this the reality for many housing and other welfare policies and programs in India?  Does the public-private nexus commonly result in wealth accumulation for a few and the same or diminished prospects for the poor?  I hear similar arguments in the United States in discussions about the rising charter school system.  Private companies get special dispensation and privileges from the government.  Individual success stories can be found, but overall the indicators tend to match or do slightly worse than public schools whose resources are dwindling.  The comparison is not perfect, but it hints at a possible flaw in public-private nexus oriented planning.  My larger question for contemplation, then, is if corruption really is the main problem.  Is it rather a larger philosophical and methodological problem of state acting?

 

12 August 2013

Our fieldwork today consisted of traveling to Murgan Chawl, a 60-year old chawl settlement in Santa Cruz West.  Prior to leaving, the staff described Murgan Chawls as a “very backward place” with lots of drug use and prostitution.  In the words of the annual report, “This is one of the most backward areas in the Western Suburb, and conditions of the people are pathetic” (SRS Annual Report 2011-2012).  While the Slum Rehabilitation Society’s tone is quite moralizing, the descriptors themselves are not inapt based upon observation.  The 100-family settlement is in disrepair, there is very little airflow and sunlight, passageways are the smallest I have yet seen, children over the age of 12 have stopped attending school, and men are sitting around high outside.  Standing tall in the middle of the front of the settlement is an SRA building that was started 16 years ago and never finished.  Seeing this reality compels me to reiterate Harvey’s (2007) question: “In whose particular interests is it that the state take a neoliberal stance, and in what ways have those interests used neoliberalism to benefit themselves rather than, as is claimed, everyone, everywhere?” (p. 24).

Anand and Rademacher (2011) problematize the use of Harvey’s conception of neoliberalism in reference to the Slum Rehabilitation Scheme and resulting Slum Rehabilitation Authority in Mumbai by arguing that it has come from a combination of political, private, NGO, and grassroots interests rather than simply that of the corporate sector.  Further, they argue that the program has been “unexpectedly popular” among settlement residents (pp. 1760-1761).  So, the SRA came about in part because of activism by settlement residents, and settlement residents continue to actively favor and participate in the SRA process.  Their argument, then, is that rather than a hegemonic neoliberal project, the SRA is multiply conceived and multiply participated in, including by those whose lives are most affected.

Anand and Rademacher do a good job of marking the failures that have occurred since the institution of the SRA, and they should be lauded for ensuring that the voice of the settlement residents not be left out of any discourse on their own realities, nor their active involvement in processes that have occurred.  Yet, their argument seems to be lacking in its overall critique neoliberalism as a discursive framework through which to view slum rehabilitation.  Murgan Chawl provides a good example.  As the authors suggest, the community actively sought out a builder and anticipated the fruit of participating in the program.  After construction began, though, the builder decided that it would not in the end be as profitable as had been hoped.  According to the SRA guidelines, it was entirely the builder’s prerogative to stop mid-project.  The state favored private enterprise and thus had no regulations on project completion, and the private actor had all the decision-making authority.  When market forces made the endeavor unprofitable, the private actor abruptly ended development.  So, even though the marginalized community had a voice in getting the project started--and conceivably in getting the Scheme authorized--they had no ultimate power in ensuring project completion.  In my mind, this process matches Harvey’s description of neoliberalism aptly and begs his question of favored interests.

The reality seems to be that the only cases in which the wishes of the marginalized are met are those for which corporate profit aligns with a community’s demand for rehabilitation.  In other words, if the geographical and regulatory landscapes will maximize capital accumulation, then the private actor will enter the scene.  In this case the interest of the marginalized is collateral to the interest of the private actor desiring the same outcome.  The result, then, seems to be haphazard rehabilitation in those parts of the city that benefit private actors.  A systematic program of rehabilitation that targets areas of need would align with the idea of “interest of the marginalized,” but the rehabilitation pattern that has emerged indicates something entirely different.  Seeing this pattern in Mumbai makes me wonder about Chicago’s recent redevelopment schemes, in which mixed housing has replaced project housing.  The most famous of these is the Cabrini-Green area.  The former housing project is conveniently nestled between Gold Coast and Lincoln Park.  I am currently suspicious as to whose interests were being served in this redevelopment and in others across the city.

In conclusion, the visit to Murgan Chawl was an eye-opening one.  The visible results of the level of poverty are seen as behavioral issues by the Slum Rehabilitation Society, but they remarkably resemble those of urban poverty in the United States.  What are the larger systemic processes and realities at work here?

I Lift My Eyes Up To The Mountain

Going for walks is one of my favorite ways to get to know the life of an area.  It is also my most vibrant spiritual practice.  I breathe in sounds, scents, sun, rain, heat, smog, views--natural, mechanical, synthetic, awe-inspiring, heartbreaking, divine, life.  So, when I am craving communion with the cosmos and community, I slide into my sandals or tennis shoes and begin to meander.  Sometimes I have a destination in mind and reach it.  Sometimes I end up elsewhere entirely.  Sometimes I simply wander.  Always I get where I need to be.

Yesterday after classes I sat down to write some field logs from my time observing the work of the Slum Rehabilitation Society in Mumbai.  I was reflecting on how neoliberal ideologies and globalisation projects result in displacement of the poor, especially residents of slum communities.  Perhaps I will post the logs soon.  Seeing a ray of sunlight streaking outside while I was typing, I got the urge to walk.      

This time I had a destination in mind.  There is an astonishingly beautiful hill that can be seen from the campus.  Its tree cover is monsoon-nourished brilliant, and there are slum settlements winding all the way to the top.  I had recently learned the road to get there, so my path was decided.  I started walking up the chaotic road, which has settlements on one side, pavement rubble in the middle, and a freeway ramp construction project for wealthier car owners dominating the other side.  The priorities of the state are painfully obvious.

As I walked I of course drew stares, a reality I am used to here.  I also drew some friendly conversationalists with whom I was able to share names and smiles but little else.  School had recently let out, so there were kids with backpacks everywhere.  Really, the road was abuzz with the activity of daily life.  The further I moved up the hill, though, the slower and quieter things became.  The upper part of the hill is also the most isolated, with fewer amenities and more disrepair.  I saw a few friendly smiles up there, but the atmosphere was definitely tending toward “What are you doing here?”  I was close to the top, though, and I wanted to reach my destination.  

Soon a group of twenty-somethings called me over with a wave.  I went over to talk to them, and one man started asking me questions excitedly in Marathi, the only bit which was able to make it through to me being a request for money.  It was clear that he was strung out on something.  Another man knew some English and asked me why I was there.  After I explained that I was just going for a walk, he told me that this was not the place to walk.  He said I should turn around and leave.  I was taken aback, but I respected his request and walked down the hill.

My first friend from the group proceeded to follow me, continuing the conversation about wanting money.  I kept firmly refusing, he kept firmly following, and people along the road kept firmly shouting at us.  We went in this manner for 2 kilometers, all the way to the bottom.  At the end I had to violently shake my arm out of his grip and hurry into a crowd of people.  I eventually turned around and saw him being escorted forcibly up the hill by some men.

This experience was devastating at multiple levels--my beloved walk was ruined, I was upset at myself for handling this human interaction in what I consider a rather inhuman manner, and I didn’t know what was to become of the man.  The most devastating aspect, though, was a forced confrontation with my privilege.

Here was this white American male with big umbrella and Sabarimala murse in tow walking into people’s homespace unaccompanied and uninvited.  What I had viewed as exploration and an opportunity for spiritual renewal was in reality an intrusion.  Coming from where I do and looking the way I do, though, it never even crossed my mind to think of such a prospect.  I mean, why shouldn’t I be able to go where I want to go and do what I want to do?  I wonder if it was really anything short of despicable slum tourism.  I was microcosmically manifesting the neoliberal project about which I was writing earlier in the day.

This is nowhere close to being a blog that fairly and adequately deals with my privilege.  Rather, it is a small glimpse that smacked me full-palm in the face.  With my privilege I presume that I can go anywhere.  I am blind to the deep significance of invitation.

I do not wish to problematize experiencing communities and places that are unfamiliar, for we all need to do so frequently as part of fulfilling our humanity.  I do, however, need to continually problematize privilege and the manner in which I and others approach doing so.  For reflection: How can we interact with people without reifying power relationships?  How can we witness oppression without oppressing further in the process?  How can we enter into each other’s lives and fight systems of dominance at the same time?  We are all called to be in community with each other, but how do we take steps toward mutual invitation?

So, my walk turned out to be much more difficult than I anticipated.  Yet, I did end up where I needed to be--in a difficult confrontation with myself.  Such is the atmosphere I need to breathe at this juncture.

Weathering It

Have I mentioned that it is the monsoon season here?  It rains everyday, and it rains a lot everyday.  Sometimes it is for the whole day.  Sometimes it is for a little bit every hour.  Sometimes it only comes at night.  This rain is a glorious phenomenon.  For the past several years it has been too weak, causing drought conditions in various parts of the country.  This year, however, it has come in full force!  As can be imagined, the rain significantly affects how we get around, what we are able to see, and what we are able to do.  Some might say rain would put a damper on our trip.  While it does dampen our bodies, clothes, and paper, I simply cannot say that it puts a damper on our experience.  Who would we be if we were to complain about this life-giving water?  I am not belittling the pure natural force of a monsoon in full swing--it batters trees, people, and buildings.  As with most phenomena--natural and synthetic--it hurts the poor the most.  In Mumbai it makes living in slums especially difficult, as structures are shaken and sewage flows.  Yet, the water provides sustenance throughout the country for a year.  Again, how could we complain?  It is truly a privilege to experience a force of nature that we do not get in the continental U.S.

Yesterday we made the decision to go to a nearby hill station to experience some natural beauty beyond the city.  I know some of my readers have experienced Munnar, a hill station in Kerala, during the rains.  It is cold, wet, foggy, and beautiful.  Multiply that by three, and you have our (short) time in Lonavala, Maharashtra.  Due to the cold, rain, and fog, I think we missed every breathtaking view that is advertised online.  Yet again, though, I cannot complain.  For, it was beautiful!  I leave you with this photo-journey into monsoon-soaked beauty.

 

  

In closing, a video for your viewing pleasure:

 

Under the Macroscope

It is no secret that India is vast. There were 1.21 billion people at the time of the 2011 census, and the population continues to grow. It is the second largest country in the world in terms of population and the seventh largest in terms of geographical area. There are 28 states, 22 national languages, and 844 dialects. It is also the world’s largest democracy. Mumbai serves as a microcosm (if such a term is indeed possible for a city of such size) of India’s vastness, with around 21 million people. To put these numbers into perspective, the U.S. has around 315 million people and Chicago 2.7 million.

The vastness and diversity of India is most easily understood in the crush of people everywhere at all times in the city. This has been driven home especially keenly over the past few days as we have explored Mumbai more and more. On Friday we had the privilege of going to a popular, predominately Muslim district for the nightly breaking of the Ramadan fast. My senses were pleasantly overwhelmed by the hanging lights, sumptuous smells of roasting meats, and sounds of celebration. More potent than anything else, though, was the press of bodies on all sides as we walked through the streets. When walking with the flow we could have lifted our feet and been safely carried along. 

This feeling was replicated today as a friend and I tried out a city bus. We thought that we were squeezed on as tightly as humanly possible. Then the bus broke down. Then the majority of our riders, including us, climbed onto another bus and merged our bodies with those already packing the rescue bus to bursting.

I had experienced this sensation in Sri Lanka with the YAV crew, but it’s one of those that cannot be justly recalled without renewed experience! Bodies and clothes begin to soak. Odors from upraised arms mingle and create something new and miraculously better. Centers of gravity tip and shift as one. Muscles spasm together. And there is somehow always more room for people to get on the bus.

I treasure these experiences and their consistent confrontation with the idea of “space” that we have in the United States--an idea that we should critically engage to gauge its effects on our human interactions and our understandings of community. For the purposes of this blog, though, these experiences serve as perhaps a flippant introduction to a question that has been filling the crevices of my mind just as our bodies filled the crevices of that bus. How can we even comprehend the sheer mass of humanity in our world, let alone contribute to urgently needed transformation in the midst of it?

This question is especially relevant to the country of India, as individuals, organizations, and governments seek to cope with what it means to nourish and create a just system for so many people. It is also relevant for us, however, as we have obviously failed to do so in our much smaller country. Further, we are part of an ever growing world on a finite planet. It is a question that begs an answer in the realms of social work and theology and at that hugely important intersection of the two. It is a question that will continue to grow in significance. It is a question whose responses must be polychromatic and not monolithic. It is a question that can easily spiral into despair. It is a question for which I have great hope. It is a question for which I have no answer.

Will you join me in pondering it?

3 Years Later

A big smile twitched the corners of my lips when an elevator version of “Memory” from Cats started playing as I waited those long moments to see if they would approve of my documents and let me into the country. At first I thought of the smile as one of amusement at hearing such a song so far away. As some of you may know, though, musical theater sings to my heart…and the real reason for the smile was that this song captured the moment perfectly--my senses, my cognitions, my emotions, my spirit. I was standing immersed in memories. This is my first time to Mumbai, and to be sure it is a unique city with enough people to dwarf many countries. It is a place wholly different from my second home in Kerala. Yet, the rain, the humidity, the food smells, the press of people, the car horns, and even the gigantic billboards for once-familiar products call out to me.

The journey from the airport to the TATA Institute of Social Sciences at 2:00am was at once serene and shocking. The gracious driver who picked me up flew through traffic, missing other cars, people, and dogs by mere centimeters. A part of me urged to scream in fear and exhilaration. Another part, though, knew from memory that all would be well. My prayer is that I can maintain this tension healthily throughout my time in Mumbai--exhilaration at new (and close!) encounters and peace in the feeling of being in a place that sings to my heart.

I am here in Mumbai as part of my social work studies with the University of Chicago’s School of Social Service Administration. I will be in the city for four weeks studying community practice and response to poverty and marginalization through class work and field work. Afterwards I will spend some time visiting my Kerala family. Stay tuned for more as I process the experiences to come!

The Legacy

No matter how ridiculous it seems in light of how much we have learned and grown over this past year, all of us at one point or another have at least briefly pondered the question, “What will be our legacy, or how will we be remembered at our sites?” This question was especially potent when we first came, as we were continually plagued with nostalgic reminiscences of the previous volunteers. Oh, he was a master Malayalam speaker. Or, she learned Indian dance. Do you want to see a picture? He was just head and shoulders above other volunteers, he was made for this place. She started a library for the local children…what will you do? Naturally, these stories were slightly intimidating those first few months. It is something all YAVs go through, and I am sure all of us, whether we admit it or not, feel a little competitiveness. We want to do it better.

Then we have the expectations of those back home. Most people probably think we are spending a year doing some great service for the poor people of the world. Some think we are bringing our education and training to improve physical and societal infrastructure. Others assume we are filling positions that require exactly our background and expertise. There may even be some with an archaic and horrifying understanding of us as missionaries out to save and civilize the ‘heathens’. Hopefully all realize that we gain some from the experience as well. By and large, though, the accepted formula is that we the privileged are filling some need that the people themselves could not handle. Let’s face it, westerners have a bit of a savior complex. We think other people need our help, indeed that they cannot survive without us. And the volunteers are not exempt from this mindset. When we started, I am sure each one of us deep down felt that we were off to do our part to save the world. We wanted to be effective ‘doers’. We wanted to leave our mark wherever it was that we were going.

But then we lived here for a year. In previous posts, I have reflected on all of the humbling lessons we have learned. Our communication skills are not nearly as good as we thought they were. We struggle to make community life work. We are not very skilled English teachers. We are not immune to loneliness and homesickness. Our patience wears thin all too easily. Heck, we can’t even always hold our own when it comes to eating. I never thought I would have a problem with that! This education in humility has indeed been transformative. The far more important lesson, though, is that the people we thought we were coming to help are resilient, creative, and dedicated. They are people with the skills, knowledge, and devotion needed for positive self determination. In other words, they are not some backwards, needy population as portrayed and idealized by western media.

We have come upon some major issues during our time here. We have seen and experienced giant problems against which we are truly helpless. Helpless in the sense that we have nothing to offer; we cannot help. We are not, however, hopeless. For we have also seen and experienced the power of the people. Here are just a few examples:

-One cannot go anywhere in Kerala without noticing the oppression of women. In general, women are expected to serve. They are to bear children, raise children, cook food, clean houses, and often find ways to provide the familial income drained by husbands’ alcoholism. They usually don’t have the freedom to choose the husband who turns out to be a louse; their fathers and uncles and brothers choose for them. Even their dress code is a product of male attempts at control. And the church is not innocent—women and men don’t sit together, and women have to cover their heads for prayer and communion. In short, it is patriarchy at its ugliest. But one also cannot go anywhere in Kerala without encountering strong women who will eventually buck the system. My hope lies in my dear friend Anitha, who must respect the intricacies of her culture in having an arranged marriage but will use her education, strength of will, and compassion to improve the lives and freedom of other women around her.

-India is notorious for hunger problems. I believe the country has more malnourished children than any other region in the world. But Kerala has shown that effectively run public distribution systems can feed the people. Leftist governments in the state have recognized that food distribution rather than shortage is the problem. So the people provide for each other.

-Even more than hunger, India is known for its street children and orphans. Oftentimes the global economic system forces families into such poverty that they can no longer be functioning families. So the children end up having to live on their own—homeless, begging, stealing, fighting to survive. This tragedy affects me deeply. But then I see our girls’ home Balika Mandiram and the boys’ home down the street Kerala Balagram. I see organizations who realize the need to help the young who are abandoned, orphaned, uncared for, or delinquent. More importantly, though, I see the children themselves who band together as sisters and brothers, giving each other back their childhood and the love and support they need to make it.

-Likewise, elderly are often abandoned or tossed out by their families. And likewise this Mandiram Society functions to provide food, housing, and healthcare. And likewise the elderly themselves make community and support each other.

-As I have said before, this Mandiram also serves the larger population through affordable, community-based healthcare. Basically, the many people who cannot pay for expensive treatment are cared for anyways. There aren’t many specialists or state of the art machines, but there is a committed staff that serves with dedication and does it well.

-On a smaller scale, there are definite problems within the church here. Patriarchy reigns supreme, and there are the usual problems associated with episcopacy—simony, nepotism, and general corruption. Also, the church often forgets its identity and purpose, ignoring the poor and dalit communities. Yet, I have gotten to know many young people like my friends Nibu and Alex who hope to be leaders in the church someday. I know that they have the ability address these problems.

-There are countless other examples, including communal (religious) violence, environmental crises, water shortage, disappearance of tribal cultures, caste and class discrimination, and sex trade. For every major issue, though, there is a strong and creative response from strong and creative people.


I do not mean to make light of these problems, because they are enormous and multifaceted. I mean only to say that there is nothing I or any other westerner can do that the people here can’t do better. It will be a slow process, and they will do it differently than we would, but they will do it. It is high time that we stopped treating people of less ‘developed’ regions with condescension and pity. Surely these places would be flourishing today if not for the colonial legacy of Europe and the neoliberal global capitalism of the U.S. We forget that we are directly responsible for the majority of their problems. Rather, we see ourselves as the only solution. We ignore the local movements that decry devastation caused by multinational corporations. We fight against community based ideologies because, heaven forbid, that might mean socialism, or even communism. We overlook the fact that the people who are here, who belong to this land, climate, culture, and tradition, know each other, know the ground realities, and know what can actually be effective. And with this fallacy of perspective we deny these vibrant people their right to positive self determination. Perhaps that is the biggest problem of all. So, what can we do? We can recognize the issues and our role in perpetuating them. We can fight against a global economic system dominated by the west that thrives on exploitation of these regions. We can join these people in solidarity, as friends, as equals, as fellow people trying to make it in this world.

So, I am not saying that I should have stayed home. This place has transformed my life and perspective in absolutely necessary ways. That’s just it, though. I needed to come. They did not need me to come. Returning to this idea of legacy, I hope they say, “Oh that was the sayip who did nothing. We are doing it ourselves. But he is our friend, our brother, our son in the process.”

Lessons From a Hospital Bed

After months of visiting the patients at Mandiram Hospital, the time came for me to fully experience their travails. A couple of weeks of sharp abdominal pain (probably not too uncommon for westerner in India) got me a few antacids. One day of yellow eyes, though, and I was admitted to the M Ward room 403…my new home for 7 days. Apparently jaundice is no laughing matter here. The usual suspects were rolled out for consideration. Surely I ate some bacteria at an outside restaurant. Or maybe I had some bad water on the trip to north India. Or, horror of horrors, maybe there is some parasite, read ‘worms’, living inside me all the way back from my imbibing lake water in Sri Lanka. Diagnosis number 1: Hepatitis. Problem number 1: Got those vaccinations. Diagnosis number 2: We don’t know, go to a gastroenterologist. Diagnosis number 3: after an extensive ultrasound…gall stones! The good news is that it is none of the other options considered. The bad news is that I have to be on a low fat diet the rest of my time here (meaning no more banana fry, ok maybe just one more), and I might have to get the gall bladder removed upon coming back to the U S of A. Really, though, still better than those other options. And on the upside, I learned some valuable life lessons:

-No matter what their actual professions, all visitors become doctors for their time spent with the patient. A conversation is not to be had that does not involve some medical advice, usually dietary, and often conflicting with that of the person before.

-Ayn Rand does not make for good hospital reading.

-Scratch that. Ayn Rand does not make for good reading, period.

-There are many home remedies for jaundice, the most common of which involves eating an herbal paste and then avoiding meat and fatty foods for a year afterwards. Thank goodness my yellow tinge was from a loose stone rather than the infection for which this remedy is meant.

-Of the films represented on my bootleg Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio romance DVD collection, The Beach is by far the worst.

-Watching The Chronicles of Narnia while sitting under sheets in an air conditioned room feels a little bit like Christmas.

-IVs are not enjoyable.

-Rice porridge (kanji) for every meal gets old after a few days.

-Chess and cribbage are great sick games if you have willing competitors.

-Nurses do a lot of thankless work and deserve a lot of thanks for it.

-It is a strange thing to have your bed made and temperature taken by your own students.

-Nothing quite beats fresh fruit for hospital eating.

-Ultra sounds are not only for pregnant women, and the jelly is actually quite a nice sensation on the belly.

-A birthday spent in the hospital can still feel like a birthday if the ladoo (a Kerala treat) ever make it to your room.

-People really care about other people a lot. Some even care enough to hold my IV tube while I pee. Or come up with a system of peeing in a bucket by my bed and then washing it out for me.

That is the main lesson. People really do care. I find myself halfway across the world for my first overnight hospital stay, and I really have no problem because I am so well loved here. Not only do close friends visit, but random passersby who see an open door and even the post office lady. They offer medical advice. They offer fruits. They offer conversation to get over the doldrums. They pray. They gawk at seeing a white man wearing shorts and laid up in a hospital. They smile. They spend the night. And all of this because they love. How lucky am I to be amongst the people whom I get to be around?

Thankfully I have been released with only a few pills and a low fat diet, because tomorrow morning Mom, Dad, and Brady arrive! Maybe I will tell you about it next time.