birthday blues and the supermarket

I just finished reading the book “Five Past Midnight in Bhopal” and have decided that it should be on the reading list of every high school and university class. The book recounts the story of the Bhopal tragedy from many perspectives: the survivors, like Ganga Ram who were (and still are) living in the bastees around the Union Carbide plant, the plant’s engineers and designers, the politicians in Bhopal, and the UC executives who decided that cost cutting was more important that human life. I went up to the crow’s nest at Sambhavna to read the final pages of the epilogue, and I couldn’t help but wonder that I was so close to such an immense catastrophe: from the crow’s nest you can see the flare tower that, should there be a leak, was supposed to burn off the MIC. The flare tower had been turned off for maintenance, while all of the other safety measures of the plant had been turned off to save, quite literally, a couple of bucks. You can also see the top of the decaying structure of the plant, left to fester and rot, leaking more poison into the ground water of people too poor to do anything about it.

It is amazing to think that the people written about in the book are real, living, breathing people, some of whom I have met. I couldn’t help but cry when I reached the part of the novel that depicted the horror that people faces when the MIC started to escape the plant. I could feel my own lungs and eyes burning, and I pictured myself running down Berasia road in an attempt to flee the poisonous gases. It makes me wonder how, knowing the injustices of the world, we can sleep at night. Although, as a side note, I slept terribly last night. I woke up a few times to itch my hands, which felt like they had been bitten by a dozen mosquitoes. This morning I had not bites though… maybe it was my own subconscious bubbling through my dreams. Either that or I have malaria.

Work is going very slowly here still, and perhaps that is contributing to my general feeling of malaise. I had sent an email to Diana, the much-loved CIDA intern who was here last year, and she recommended that I set up a volunteer meeting with Rachna to try to get things moving, which has proven to be very effective. To tell the truth though, when the meeting was over I couldn’t help but feel like it had simply been an opportunity for Sathyu to reprimand me for not being productive enough, and then cease to dispense with any advice that might actually enable me to do more work. However, Rachna has had me write up a detailed proposal of what I would like to do with the photography project, which I am optimistic might get things moving a bit on that front.

For the meantime I have been working on a pamphlet about breast self-exam to distribute to women in the bastees. Many of the women are illiterate, so it is important that the pamphlet describe everything using pictures. Unfortunately my drawing skills leave something to be desired, so I hope they can tell what the hell I am drawing. Ritesh, one of the health workers, told me that the pamphlet could be about eight pages long, so I had almost completed that particular task. However, Sathyu took one look at it and said “its only supposed to be on one page”. Sigh. So I started all over again. The health workers seem satisfied with what I have come up with, but they want actual photographs of some of the thing to look for when doing BSE, so that it is clear to the women what the warning signs are. I spent a good chunk of yesterday looking up pictures of breasts on the internet…

Part of my frustration with the work has lead to me being a bit despondent of late I think. Some days I love it here, and feel like I might actually be doing good work, other days, like today, I’m ready to jump on the next flight home, where I can bury my head in the sand and have a hot bath and eat some chicken wings with my beer and/or Diet Coke. Maybe my lack of youthful optimism is part of getting older. For those of you who don’t know, I turned twenty-four on Wednesday. I didn’t really tell too many people around the clinic, because I didn’t want a big fuss made of it by anyone, particularly Ankeeta’s family. When it was Anisha’s birthday they wanted to buy her a cake and have a celebration, but couldn’t afford it, so I though I would try to avoid any repeat scenarios. Instead, Mausam Derek, Prabjit and myself went out to dinner at the illustrious Wind’n’Waves restaurant by the lake.

You may remember Wind’n’Waves from my first few nights here, as it was where we went for Mel’s goodbye dinner. Mausam stopped on his way there and bought me a birthday cake and some flowers, which was extremely sweet. He also sent me a text message the night before my birthday that was extremely sentimental about friendship, which I have learned bears the same sentimentality as in, say, Japan or China: a little over-the-top by Western standards, but very wholesome and sincere. Prabjit got me material to make a proper salwar suit (which I have been avoiding by buying various different fabrics separately instead of buying stuff that matches… people will have to stop asking me where my duppta is!). Derek got me an enormous bottle of Limca (which I have finished), and some cookies that are like Oreos, only better. We had a good time at the restaurant, especially because I got to have a beer! They come in 650ml bottles here, so I split one with Prabjit, but I still felt a little light-headed on the ride home! I must be loosing my tolerance…

Last night we were invited to a pooja by Shushma, who has been working in the canteen with Ankeeta since Paupoo’s recent relapse into drug abuse and idiocy. I’m still not entirely sure which gods were being prayed to and for what reason, but I did glean the following: the girls had been fasting all day in an effort to ensure getting a good husband. The pooja itself was very interesting to watch. There were only women in the room, with the exception of five-year-old Sumit, and another young boy I didn’t recognize (oh yes, and Derek of course!). First the older women painted their feet and the feet of the younger girls with yellow stuff, bordering them with a bright purple paint. Eventually it was decided that Prabjit and I should also partake in this particular practice, so my toenails are still tinted a purply-pink colour. Then about a million little plastic bags were produced, full of incense, flowers, various foods and powders. The woman whose home it was being held in (I didn’t catch her name) decorated and set up a little alter to put a little statue of the gods. Before the Pundit (priest) arrived to perform the actual ceremony, the women got out a drum, and did some rituals with it, which included some chanting and singing. This part peaked my interest, because I thought “how cool would it be if they just did their own pooja and didn’t have a priest?”. Eventually he arrived though, and read some stuff from a book while the women took turns placing various things on the alter (presumably as offerings). There was everything from marigold petals to bangles to milk up there by the time he was done! The incense in the room was overwhelming, and part of the ritual involved several other things burning as well. I caught myself wondering if all this burning of things had any effect on keeping mosquitoes away… Mosquitoes aside, however, the pooja was very interesting to watch. It seemed like it was a real bonding experience for mothers and their marriageable-aged daughters. It was the daughters who were dressed up in their best saris and salwar suits, and who participated in the pooja. Apparently they stay up all night together, and perform the same pooja again four more times throughout the night. And they have to take a shower between each pooja. Anyway, I thought “hey maybe Hinduism is the way to go… n opportunity to pray to whoever you want for whatever you want”. Not that I’m converting, it just seemed like a good way of mother-daughter bonding during those “difficult teenaged years”. I bet Annie would have hated it ☺.

My back pain from lack of exercise in combination with my desperate need to get out of the clinic for a few hours every day has prompted me to go for little walks with Derek and Prabjit every day around dusk. The weather is still pretty hot here, especially in the heat of the day, but since going out after dark can be a bit on the sketchy side, our walks have been late in the afternoon, as the sun starts to set. So far we haven’t made it very far down Berasia Road, but yesterday we came across a SUPERMARKET!! Now, keep in mind that the only North American style stores I have been into here (ie. meaning that they aren’t stalls that you can’t even walk into) are the Sony store, and a clothing store in New Market that is four stories high. So when I say “supermarket” you must grasp the full extent to which this place is a fully North American style market: air conditioning (!), aisles, plastic baskets to load your food into, a produce aisle, prices clearly marked, the whole nine yards. They didn’t really have anything that you can’t get at the markets and protein shops, but it was just such an amazing and incongruous find in the middle of crumbling old Bhopal. I bought a few chocolate bars and a couple of bags of Lay’s chips, one of which is “American Style Cream and Onion,” and tastes shockingly like the real thing!