Evening Meal

I headed out of my hotel for dinner. The congested narrow streets were dusty and noisy- filled with pilgrims, merchants, smartly dressed men and women, holy men, rickshaws, cars, auto-rickshaws, cows, dogs... The thought of a cool, clean restaurant with a big selection had me in a good mood. The one I read about in my guidebook even had an internet cafe upstairs and served pizza! When I crossed the street so I could be in the shade I noticed a boy, about 10 or 12 years old, dirty, dressed in rags, and crying. Public emotional displays in India are far uncommon. Except in cases of deep grief and the odd wailing toddler, there is too much going on for such frivolity. I looked at the boy's face a few times, a little unsure.

Gesturing in the Indian way with simultaneous crooks of the neck and wrist, I asked him "What is it?"

"I'm hungry."

"Come."

We went to a small open-fronted restaurant with signs and menus in Hindi. I made it clear that he could eat what he liked, and he had one plate of daal, cooked lentils/pulses and two chapati, tortilla-like flat rounds of bread. He turned his face away when more tears came. Hiding my own was futile. Afterwards we spent some time walking together. I bought him shoes, a couple of small things. We stood together watching a procession of bands, people dressed like gods, a horse cart full of children, as the sun set. The worst part was watching people walk into him as if he were invisible, others shoving him away from me in embarrassment, as if he were hounding me. Maybe it would have been better to ignore him altogether, as I have dozens, hundreds, thousands of times. Maybe I helped to teach him that there is some livelihood in begging, though I was the one who approached him...

I skipped dinner and walked back to my hotel.

Here, There, Somewhere Else

Amaan had his skin graft surgery on August 28. That same day I left for a week to explore some other parts of West Bengal. It was hard to go, but easier than it could have been because I knew I was coming back!

Before I say a little about the excursion, HERE is a photo of his leg about 10 days after the surgery. And HERE is a photo taken just two days after that during a dressing change. It looked great... That was a couple days ago though, and as I finally prepare to move on for good, I walked into a terrible site when I visited him today, September 12. He was crying as a surgical assistant was forcing his leg into a piece of plaster that had been used continuously over dressings. I *think* that Amaan's skin was very tight behind his knee and he was unable to fully extend. The plaster was bandaged to the bent leg and dug deep into the back of his thigh. I did what I could and I will visit him one more time this evening before going.

~~

So, last week I finally visited Darjeeling in the very North of West Bengal. It left me wanting though... The weather was terribly overcast and rainy, the people seemed bored, and I had a nightmarish experience in my hotel. I used my pepper spray, had to call the police, and a boy was sent to jail... Nevertheless, in true Indian fashion, one of my favorite mornings ever came the next morning, as I enjoyed a 3 hour, 32 kilometer (20 mile) Himilayan Railway ride.

After Darjeeling, I stopped in sleepy Murshidabad—my favorite place in India. It is historical, beautiful, rural, nearly void of tourists (when I was there this time, I saw no others), and sort of forever Sunday.

This is my rickshaw waiting to cross the river:


These school kids and I had a good time playing. Our favorite game: 1. I chase them making funny noises. 2. I pretend to be doing something else. 3. Repeat.


My rickshaw wallah took me to this cow market:


A local merchant:


These reeds will be used to make clothing:


Ruins:


Boat boys:


I "drove" this school bus for about 100 meters...


So, I am headed now to Haridwar!

When I was saying goodbye to Amaan we were both crying. Please keep him in your thoughts.