Philosophy of Life

I visited an orphanage in the city today that is a haven for street children. Mostly older boys, there was no way I could have prepared myself for their eyes. Yes they smile, these shiny black gems that can only be matched by the toothy grin that overtakes their faces when they see you. The idea is simple; let them be your guide. To guide tourists at the local sights you have to have a license. These orphans already have several strikes against them in a culture that still functions under the caste system. With no family backing and limited connections it is difficult for them to catch a break. In a society that craves most things western, language and mannerisms can be their greatest asset. First we practice greeting; the fine line between a cultural "namaste" that I as a tourist would find enchanting and a bad Hollywood commercial where the bowing goes on for ages. As we leave the program house my guide tells me to have a good time and he'll see me later that afternoon. Definitely did not expect to be diving deep into the city with total strangers but here goes. So with that fake smile plastered across my face we head out. Saheeb and Goomesh are to be my guides. Saheeb has is 15 years old and has been at the orphanage for about 4 years. His father and mother have died and his only other living relatives are aunts. Being of a poorer class, their husband’s families were not willing to accept the boy and he was found living on the streets by one of the workers. Surprisingly, the kids do not necessarily flock to the home even with the promise of food and a roof over their head. Goomesh they tell me, just showed up one day. No story, no explanation, and he has been there ever since. Both are nearing the age where they will be expected to begin building a life of their own. There is no particular age when they are asked to leave it is simple a natural part of their culture to move on.

We head to the Birla temple. First off, this is not a grand edifice to take your breath away. Trimmed in orange and yellow it looks more like a cheap circus attraction than a house of worship. There is a line outside but as a foreigner I'm waved over to the side door, shown into a room where my shoes and camera are left as checked items. There is a sign at the entrance requesting guests to remember that this is a house of worship and not to take pictures of the idols. It said idols. No place other than the Bible have I seen that word in print and it took me quite off guard. The interior is filled with hundreds of idols; some in statue form, others as tile plaques on the wall or in small alcoves. There is a god for everything: wealth, rain, sun, fortune (different than wealth), health, peace, happiness and on and on. The major gods have larger shrines with priests on hand to give a blessing in lieu of your offering of flowers or incense. It’s such a different idea to worship than we are accustomed to. Deposit your sacrifice, take a spot of red on your forehead and walk away. No more than 2 seconds required in reverence and you’ve worshiped your god. People worship a god depending on their mood or what is happening in their life. It is oddly comical and only becomes more so when you see the fair skinned foreigner in their black socks and sandals with a red dot between their eyes. I’m glad we went so I could see it first hand. As this is a place tourists are drawn to it was good for the boys to tell the stories of the gods which have a lot of foreign words they may not use regularly.

Back at the home I was allowed to cook. This took some convincing, as it is improper in their culture for a guest to work in anyway. My fingers are still stained yellow from whatever spice we used in the gravy. I don’t know that I’ll ever complain about cooking at home again. They showed me around, we sat down to eat and then went to play cricket in the back yard. I use that nomenclature loosely. There is no yard, simple compacted dirt. Not knowing anything about cricket, (and you thought baseball was boring!), I swung that bat (paddle?), let them laugh at me and tried to throw the ball which I’m certain was not a pretty site.

They’re so happy, or so it seems. They smile so freely. They look away shyly if you show them any attention but beam in the process. I brought a small needle and thread kit in my bag for my own use, the planner in me can’t leave home without being prepared for every eventuality, and loosely sewed a few buttons and a hole in the big toe of a sock. You would have though I was the wizard of OZ. If you ever need an ego boost I know just where to send you.

Tomorrow we’re coming back and I get to spend the day with two other boys. I don’t know how they pick who, I would never be able to choose. It’s going to be ok. This isn’t hard it’s just different. Right now different is very good.