Back to the train saga. After a huge rush to get to the train station, after a rushed sendoff by the whole family, we were told the train was 8 hours late, then that it was only 2 hours late, then that it had already arrived and left again. Who knew what the heck was going on. We decided to wait for a few hours to see what we could find out. In the past there were no information boards here, just one person to ask, and a huge long line waiting to ask them. Now modernization has arrived and there is no one to ask, just a crazy info board that kept changing. Ah, progress. The Delhi station is huge, and JP estimated there were about 1000 people there. I just stood there, observing. This was a microcosm of India itself: rich, poor, totally destitute, deformed, crazed. I watched as one woman in rags and bare feet (temp. 50) wandered back and forth, talking to herself. Was she a widow with no children ? Families everywhere were sitting on the floor eating. Others were sound asleep on the cold floor, oblivious of the cacophony around them. Indians are world class sleepers and can sleep anywhere, anytime. After several hours of this, Shashi, the can-do guy, arrived and things quickly changed. He disappeared in a flurry and about half an hour later rushed up to us telling us we were going to jump on a train leaving in 5 minutes. He had cleverly booked us on a train going to a station outside of Varanasi. It's been a long time since I had to run to catch a train, but run we did. We just barely made it. Shashi and Sunil literally threw our bags, and us, onto the train as it began moving. We got settled and were very grateful that we were finally on our way to Varanasi. The train perked along for all of about 10 minutes, then came to an abrupt stop. And there we sat for 3 hours. The dense fog was the problem, and it continued for the entire trip. The normally 12 hour journey took 20 hours. The big problem was food. The women had not had time to pack us the customary suitcase full of food, and for some reason this train did not have a pantry car. We also had not had a chance to eat lunch before we had left, due to the erroneous report of the train leaving on time. Boy, were we hungry, as were our fellow passengers, complaining to their wives by cell phone that they were hungry and dirty. God bless Arun, one of the Varanasi nephews. He had received a call from Shashi regarding our plight, and had arranged, through his work contacts, to have food delivered to us when the train stopped briefly at the Allahabad station. The poor delivery guy waited for almost two hours at the cold station, waiting for our train to arrive. Those darn boards again. The food was delicious, although by this time it was cold. I've never seen JP eat so much so quickly. We could not thank Arun enough when we finally arrived. We are blessed here to be so well taken care of by such clever people. I had mentioned to you beforehand that the continued fog had caused a terrible train accident several days before we boarded the train. It had been on the same track we were traveling and we passed one of the cars which was standing on end, bent in two, forming a gruesome V. By the by, the train system and the unifying language of English are two of the great gifts given to India by the British.
We were met at the station by Arun and Aradhana. Here is the Varanasi family lineup:
Jagdish, JP's brother died in 1999 because he could not get medical help on a Sunday.
Bhabi, his wife and grandmother of the family, now spends her time praying at various nearby temples and going to religious talks with her friends. In the home she is often found in front of the little house alter in the hall. She is a tiny woman, but still very pretty as old age comes upon her. She is several years older that I.
Anil is the oldest son in the house and is a dear, sweet man. Last month he collapsed while at home and was totally paralized on his left side. Luckily his brother, Arun, was also at home and managed somehow to get him on their motorscooter and to the hospital where he was able to get help. This happened on a Sunday, the same day of the week that their father had died from lack of help. The doctors helped him and, after 3 hours, feeling on his left side returned. He seems OK now, but all are still worried about him. He and his wife, Anita, have three daughters: Archana, Aradhana, and Anupria. Archana was married about 5 years ago. She was a little darker than her sisters so the family was worried about finding her a suitable husband. (I never even noticed the difference in color, but it is unfortunately a big deal with Indians). She has a master's degree in psychology and is energetic and hospitable. They did find her a very nice man (with the help of $ from JP for the dowery). The big problem was that she just could not get pregnant, or would miscarry. This was a very serious situation for her. Women here immediately have a child after marriage. Finally, with the help of a wonderful Varanasi doctor, she gave birth to a son about 6 months ago. A lot of prayers were said for the arrival of this child, not just in India, but in Taos, NM. The girls in Delhi and Varanasi tell us that Indian women are having more and more trouble getting pregnant. By the way, it is 11 AM here and still freezing cold. The electricity is off again, natch, so no little electric heater in our room. The light is being powered by a bank of batteries in the hallway. Aradhana is daughter # 2. She is 25, looks 14, and not yet married. The problem is that she is trying to obtain certification as a Chartered Accountant. JP says this is like our CPA certification, but much harder to achieve. If she can get this, she herself will be worth more, thus lowering the dowry, an able to get a higher class husband. She has been been trying to pass the final test for 2 years. She has passed most of the sections of the test but still has several to go. She has told her parents that if she does not get the degree in 6 months, they should get her married anyway. Although I am not an Indian mother, I share the worry about finding suitable husbands for these girls. I know the dowry system sounds arcane, but it actually makes sense. When a girl marries, the husband's family accepts responsibility for her and her children for life. Her dowry, which includes her gold bangles and earrings, is her only inheritance from her birth family, and given to the husband's family to help with the expense of caring for her and her children for life. I just love Aradhana. She is shorter than I and just about half the width. Like all the children in JP's family, she speaks good English. She also has a great sense of wry humor and usually is our companion when exploring Varanasi. For the last few months she has been working for Sensex, India's industrial index, like our Dow Jones, so does not have too much time for us during the day. Anupria is the youngest daughter and is a little spit fire. Jai loves her spirit. She is in Delhi right now, studying for the same degree as her sister. Anil's wife, Anita, is the workhorse of the family. She is always looking after our needs and making sure we are comfortable ( a relative term in this terribly cold weather). When we first got to the house, Anil and Anita were not there. Her 36 year old sister had died the day before after suffering for 6 months with liver cancer. Her body was immediately brought to Varanasi for cremation, probably on top of the car the family was riding in. The body, which would have been wrapped in clean white cloth and tied around the body, then would be taken to the main burning ghat. The men in the family would take the body to the Ganges' edge and ritualistically wash it. The body would then be placed over the wood pyre, ghee (clarified butter) poured over it, and lit by the eldest son. The women and children would already have been standing higher up the bluff on an ancient viewing platform, where the men would join them. Of course this is all done within the framework of specified puja (prayers). The family would stay there (in freezing cold in this case) until the body was completely consumed, the ashes gathered and placed into the sacred river. The whole family then bathes in the river, even though the time was about 11 PM and the temp. about 45.
Arun and Smita have two sons: Apoorva and Arpit. They are great, fun loving boys. Apoorva has finished college and is working for an American company in Pune, in computer safety. Arpit recently finished college and just got a job in Gurgaon in computer hardware technology. We just got news of the new job yesterday and are celebrating with the fancy sweet treats JP bought for the occasion. Indians are very fond of their sweets. I am so happy for this family. Arun, their father, earns about $300 monthly at his job in a clock manufacturing company. Now how does one send two boys to college while earning so little ? This is a good example of the Indian "can-do" attitude. Somehow they always manage to do what needs to be done. While I am happy for this family, I can see the eroding of the Indian way of life here. These boys will not come back to Varanasi with their wives and children. Rather, they will go where there careers take them. Smita, their mother, is another favorite. She is very personable and plump, like her husband and son Arpit. She loves to go shopping with us and makes sure we go to the best shops and get the best prices. Indians love to constantly dicker about price. It drives me, like most Americans, absolutely nuts.
Shyam Kasore's two daughters, Prabha and Chuma, and their families also live in Varanasi. Prabha is a Ph.D professor in Indian History and the mother of 3 very well educated children. Chuma had 3 children but tragedy struck about one year ago. Her son, Vivek, age 21, had been working in the distant city of Bangalore. He was a shy boy who did not have many friends there. A maid noticed that his apartment door was open and found him dead. He had been dead for several days and the police could never determine how he died. This is a cautionary tale for parents of children living away from home. Vivek's parents had no other phone numbers of people who could check on him. The police called the last number dialed on his phone, which was his parents. Otherwise, they would have not known whom to contact. JP has always made it a practice of having the phone numbers of employers and friends of kids living away from us.
There is a vigorous debate going on in my body regarding the efficacy of squat toilets. My digestive system in arguing for; my knees, against. As the days go on the knees appear to be winning. Enough for now. I am tired of typing and I am sure you are tired to reading.
Peace,
Nadine
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