life: in progress

After noisily and awkwardly hoisting my embarrassingly large bag onto a shelf about 5 feet above my head, I sat down to look around.  Each “compartment” had two benches, facing each other, long enough to hold 3 people each.  R pulled me aside and took me to the space between the train cars.  Grinning, he said, “I want to show you something…just so you  know.”   He brought me into the bathroom and graciously explained how to properly lock the door, which I’m sure saved me from much embarrassment later on.  I took a quick look around.  It consisted of a hole in the floor of the train, and a bar to hold on to for dear life.  The floor was wet. I forced myself to think it was because they had just hosed it down in preparation for the next trip.  I was a little nervous about the lack of toilet paper, but later I realized that it wasn’t necessary.  The draft created by a moving train evaporates any ...

It’s easy for me to talk about poverty from the comfort of my bedroom, propped up with a few pillows, typing on my laptop, and trying to decide whether I should play music with my phone, computer, or ipod.    It’s much harder to talk about poverty when it’s staring you directly in the face. If you’ve never experienced this, take a ride on any passenger train in India. The train station in Bangalore was about 1 hour by bus from Visthar, through the most crowded streets I have ever encountered, and I’ve been in some pretty serious traffic.   The difference is that in America, we categorize.   “Trucks only” “Cars only” “Bus lane” “HOV lane.”   But in India there are no such laws.   “Truck? Rickshaw? Camel? Bike? Feet? Whatever your mode of transportation, you are welcome here!”   One thing that you will never be in a car in India is bored, even without a built in DVD player.   On the ride M, R, and I were having a casual conversat...