Priviledged

As many people have written, India is a country of colours, contrasts.

I am not going to write about this, I am instead going to write about experiences in India that have both gently and violently pulled on the strings of my heart.

Weather worn skin , cracked bare feet, greying, shiny hair, toothless, sari, approaches, wrinkled hands outstreched.

With a grateful nod she takes the money, walks a few paces then sits down to survey the street.

Our driver in Mumbai is a dear man called Rakesh. He is like a friendly big hug (with a mustache)and in his broken english manage to tell us that we are his family, he does not want any money from us. He wants us to come to his place for an evening, he wants us to taste his wifes cooking. He talks about his 14 year old daughter

Shruti and about needing to get loans from the back to pay for her education. He talks about coming to Mumbai from a northern state called Bihar at 15 years old, working at an electrical bulb company first and finally being able to run his own car company. This 45 year old man , 9 years our senior calls me Mam and Tui Sir. I tell him to call us by our names to which he replied with his hand placed low." ME here", then lifitng his hand up to the top, "you here".

We met another driver called John, a real charming character who is street smart and clever. He has 4 daughters, all of whom he has supported through university. He is so proud of them for what they have achieved. His favourite daughter is going to get married in Dec. Prior to this there was an offer from a family who wanted their son to marry his daughter. The dowry asked was 5 times his yearly income so he told them to get lost. He is so pleased that a good man wants to marry his daughter and is not asking for a significant dowry. His wife and Children live in Tamil Naidu, a state far away. For more than a decade, he has been living in his car in Mumbai operating a taxi and tour service. He is able to go home once a year for a month.

A baby wearing bangles, grubby tshirt and no pants sits beside her mother as she lays face down in a deep sleep, her green sari looking like a patch of lush grass against the gray pavement.

Two girls approach us at Mumbai beach on a school day.One is walking barefoot on hot sand. They sell us pinwheels and bubbles. The cost is 60 rupees for two. (80cents NZ)

Four emaciated men looking tired and old beyond their years push a trailer with with a tank up a bumpy steep road , they groan in synchronised pain as they use every ounce of their being to push a couple of metres at a time. Between two vendors begs a man, resigned eyes, outstretched hands, bent up legs, torso touching the ground. A woman holding a baby approaches Tui and in broken english asks him to buy some milk for her baby.

She leads us to a well presented, white tiled, airconditioned shop where 5 bored looking attendants sit. The man points to the top shelf and an attendant gets a ladder and pulls down a tiny bottle of powdered milk. Everyone apart from the baby and the lady watch with silent apathy. He then points to a bag of rice and the same sequence ensues. The attendant pushes a few numbers on her magic calculator and turns it around to reveal an angry red 2000. My inner calculator brain converts 2000 Rupees to approximately $40NZD.I instantly know that something is fishy and in a scowling face leave the scamming shop saying "Nahi acha". The women with the baby continues to follow us through lanes of the bazaar. "Please, milk for baby," she says. A feeling of pity over the sad situation enters my heart and i give her 500 Rupees and tell her to keep it for herslef, but she continues to hound us for $1000. Josuas grip tightens around my hand and Arianas eyes grow wide and fearful, at which point our only way to escape is into a restaurant surrounded by foreigners and business men (including us), who can afford to blow 4000 rupees a pop on one meal alone.

Lassi's and Tom Thumbs in tow (both Indian beverages), we have a discussion about what just happened. Ariana thinks that i am a big meany , Jo asks why we didnt call the police on the lady with the baby and Tui believes that what goes around comes around. I was a bit more philosophical saying that some situations people face in life are neither a result of karma or being in it to hurt or steal, its just what they think they need to do to survive. The way we can respond is with both our hearts and mind.

As we stop at an intersection, 3 children, barefoot, grubby, no older than 7 years old climb on tiptoes to tap on the car windows. Hands outstretched, hoping for money. One boy climbs up like a monkey onto a truck, plucks a coin from the drivers outstretched hand then slides down as the truck begins to accelerate.

The gardens at AP are maintained by the women of the villages surrounding Asia Plateau. These women also start early and work late. At the moment they are weeding weeding weeding as the monsoon has left the place looking lush and scruffy. In the heat of the day as we rest, they are still out there sweeping, weeding, carrying heavy clay pots on their heads The Indians here treat us so kindly. They want to take pictures of us and delight in our measley attempts at speaking their language. The children are adored and we are too. We receive their interest and attention with openness and grace but also want them to feel that we are nothing special, just the same as them,

I love this country, its cultural, scenic and spiritual riches and its people and I do not wish to place a cloud of judgement on this experience but I feel sad about the inequality that surrounds us, that there is a system of class, money and race that challenges the idea that we are all equal. This not only happens in India but in New Zealand as well.

I was bought to tears visiting Mohatma Ghandis house in Mumbai, by his dedication,courage and commitment to helping the people of India, especially those without a voice, using peaceful means. Gandhi said "Poverty is the worst kind of Violence" and as i look at both what I have seen in India and what i see happening in some parts of New Zealand, I would have to agree.

" With great priveledge comes great responsibility"

whicwhilee