Old Man Over Seas

My father has decided to stay in India. If last weeks troubles didn't point him towards home nothing will. I miss him a lot. He is a character to say the least. He has always been up for an adventure. He moved to India at the age of 86. How is that for moxie? Who does that sort of thing? I might(I am just saying).

I am glad I was able to bring him there. I am able to picture his cute little room that Jo so tastefully decorated. I can see him reading in the Great Room. (Do you like that Jo?) I know that he is well taken care of and much adored. It is a rule in India you know. You must adore your elders, just like they are gods. He is adorable alright. Still, we miss him.

He and my mother lived next door to us in Providence.,RI for 4 years. Of course I miss them. My husband and I bought a cute little house about 7 years ago right next to Providence College. It is in the greatest neighborhood. When it became apparent that my mother needed more help than my father could offer I felt I was the best suited child for the job. I am a care giver,it is what I do best.

We looked around for a bigger house to move us all into. Nothing thrilled us. My parents crammed into our house for 4 months. One day, my neighborbor popped her head out of her door when I was getting my boys off to school. She said, "Hey Lucy I am going to sell my house. Do you want it?"

"Yesirree Bob". So it came to be that my parents lived next door. It was perfect. Separate yet equal. Long live the Queen and so on. I miss those days. My wonderfully batty mother and my highly strung father. A pair indeed. My parents. I miss them.

Right now I am clearing their house of all their personal belongings. We decided to rent the place. I found my mother's medic alert braclet and I thought my heart was going to break. I burst into tears. Tears that I did not know were there. I was so clinical yesterday. I thought I was cold. The discovery of mom's medic alert braclet made me remember that woman who raised me. For the last years of my mom's life I have been her caretaker. I forgot that she took care of me. She took really good care of me for years.

I remember that bracelet. I remember her always having it on, like some sort of life line. I remember flipping it over on her wrist and reading it. I'd read that she was Catholic, allergic to penicillin,her eyes would be donated, her blood was type OPOS and that she was RH POS. (so am I , however the big joke in my house is that my husband's blood type is "0 Postitive" and I am "B Negative". I tell him it would be funnier if he were "B Positive" ).

About a year before I took a fancy to her medic alert bracelet my mother had written an article for The New Bedford Standard Times. It was about donating your body to Science. The article was "City Woman Donates Her Body to Science". There was a blurry photo of her. The fact that we lived in Fall River didn't fool me. I was so upset. I must have been 8. I said, "Mom.You can't" She said, "If you feel this strongly about it when I die, I won't" I said, "Do you promise?" She said, "I do."

She meant it. Mother knows best.

Things got so muddled at the end. I don't know what happened. Her body was NOT donated. It should have been. My mother graduated summa cum laude from college and died in a sea of confusion. Her mind should have been studied.

Barack Hussein Obama

Barack Hussein Obama is MY President. I am changed.

American Indians on Halloween

Back at home.

We are back home in America. The boys have caught up on their sleep. These are pictures of them at dinner the night we got home. The loves.

I am looking for a job.

I haven't (really) worked in years. I am a little nervous about the idea. Details to follow. As for now, I am going to place a wet rag on my forehead, take a little nap, then wake up and get a free coffee at Starbucks because I voted, you betcha.

"You betcha" has become my absolute favorite catch phrase of this election. However, I did NOT vote for the "you betcha" party, no siree bob.

Testing

I wrote a new blog called "Today was the craziest day of my life" Actually, that wasn't the name at all, I haven't come up with a pithy name, but that was the first sentence. I have no idea why it didn't take. Maybe my toothy before shot freaked the powers that be.

Naina. Naina. Naina!

How I love Naina. What a sweetlove. Naina babysits for my niece Moy. She also just landed a job at Karuna Vihar, the school my boys go to. I see her everyday. She doesn't speak much English, and of course, I don't speak much Hindi. She knows a lot of basic English however and is forever teaching me the Hindi for it. I won't even try to spell its Hindi counterpart but she has taught me "How are you?" "I am fine" "Hot" "Cold" "Sad" "Happy" "Small" "Big" "Bad" "Good" "Thank You" There really are no words for "Please" and "Your Welcome" It is all in your delivery.

Naina loves the boys and the boys love her. About a month ago she invited us to her home. She lives near the gorgeous Tea Gardens. This place is beyond belief. Gorgeous. Gorgeous. Gorgeous. We walked to her house. We walked past the Tea Gardens , past beautiful homes, and she kept saying to me, "My home. Small, My home. Small" We turned down a lane and got to her little "village" It was another world. All eyes were on us. Naina looked so proud. It was funny. Proud of me and my little imps?! Well, she was.

Her mother greeted us at the door and had chai and special sweets that she had been preparing all day. It was a 2 room hut. It was immaculately clean. The bathroom (with its squat toilet-that the boys LOVED)was outside. Naina's mother is battling Cancer and it worries Naina to no end. These are 2 of the most welcoming women that I have ever met. It was late when we left, both the boys wanted to sleep over.

About 2 weeks ago the boys and I took Naina into town to shop, have lunch, get my nose pierced, you know , the usual. It was Sunday morning. We met her at her house at around 10:45. Owen, Enzo and I walked through the Tea Gardens and came into the village from the back entrance. Like the pied piper, we were followed to her gate by 20 or so children, all freshly scrubbed and in their Sunday best. There they are, at her gate. I wish I had gotten the picture of her shutting the gate! My camera was in need of new batteries. I had some in my bag, but I was too late. Drat. It could have been an award winning series.

So we got a rickshaw into town, something that she never does. We rarely do it either. It is so lazy. A rickshaw is between 80 and 100 rupees and a vickram (shared ride) is 4 rupees! Oh wait! you have to walk an extra 4 blocks. The horror. Today was an important day. I wanted to make it as special as possible for Naina. So we got to town and walked around the marketplace. I wanted to buy Naina a suit. A Salwar Kameez. We went to several stores. Naina couldn't actually believe that this was happening. Most of the suits that Naina buys are about 200 to 300 rupees a piece. I wanted to get her a really ornate one for about 1200 or 1500 rupees. Honest to God, that isn't much at 44 rupees to the dollar. Do the math. I come out looking like the hero for a song!

She was really really surprised when I ABSOLUTELY INSISTED! I felt like some crazy rich Aunt, which I am not. It was gorgeous, and she was so thrilled! Can you imagine MY joy? Unbelievable. So so easy. So little can mean so much.

Next up, lunch. We took her to this really nice restaurant called "Kumar's Vegetarian" Delicious. Naina took one look at the menu and said, "Didi, Cold Coffee only" I was like "WHAT? I am taking you out to LUNCH!, ORDER!" (N.B. The entire bill was $11.00 US for 4 of us. It is easy to look like a big shot at this exchange.)

Reluctantly (I am not kidding) she ordered. We feasted like kings. The food was so incredible. After the waiter took our order, she looked around and got a little teary. She said, "Didi. Me. Restaurant. Never" and she held up one finger. "First time" She is 23 years old. The boys looked at her in utter disbelief. She said, "I am simple girl" She is awesome girl.

Pressing Business

Azad is the greatest. I'd give him the shirt off my back. His business is one of the many,many little luxuries that India has to offer. Door to door laundry service!

My maidservant Dwatika had been doing it, even when I pleaded with her not too. We cannot understand each other to save our lives.I literally threw my body on top of a pile of dirty laundry in order to illustrate my directive. I wasn't clear enough.


I am never there when she arrives in the morning. I walk the boys to school and go over to my sister's house for coffee. By the time I get there, it is too late. All the clothes are soaking in this pasty blue chalky water. Every morning it was the same thing, I would try to take over, she would yell, "No Didi No". Then she would get to work. She is kind of a toughie. When she said, "No Didi No" she really meant it.

Her hand is still not right from that sugar caning press accident. I didn't want her doing my clothes, not only that, she did a horrible job. Owen was getting rashes, and I could see unwashed blue streaks running down pant legs. She was so afraid that I wasn't going to pay her the agreed upon monthly salary if she didn't do everything. Hilarious. She could do nothing at all (which is kind of what it looks like she does) and I would still pay her. She spends an hour every morning out in my yard burning things. That alone is worth the price of admission.

One night I was at my sister's house and Azad came by to pick up their laundry, and to drop off the washed and ironed ones. All those visions of amazingly pressed clothes came back to me! I loved sending my clothes out last time I was here! Azad would solve all my problems. Jo spoke to Dwatika, and assured her that her salary would not change.

For 5 rupees a garment (Jo gets hers done for 3 rupees because they are "Azad's family" somehow, I squeak in at 5, but most people are charged 10). I promise you, you would pay any price when you saw the condition that they are returned in.

He has a 25 pound iron! I send him off with a huge sheet full of rumpled clothes and he returns with a stack of neatly ironed garments the size of one thin dime. Everything. The first time I sent my stuff out, my underwear and socks came back pressed. That was embarrassing,and only happened once. I keep that stuff home now(hidden from Dwatika). I felt like an idiot getting the unmentionables ironed.

Azad took over the business from his father. I remember his father from 1992. I was saddened but not surprised to learn that Azad's father had been killed in a motorcycle accident. The load you see Azad with is a small one. I see him motorbiking all over Vasant Vihar Enclave pushing it to the limit with his massive hauls.

If I just need something pressed quickly, I can run down the street to the open air press wallah. Behind him is the chai stall so I can sit around and have a cup of tea while I wait. The whole thing usually sets me back 30 cents US.

Today was the craziest day that I think I have ever had period. It went from bad to worse. It was nuts.

First of all let me explain. I will post before,during(if I dare, they are ghastly)and after of my teeth. I have always hated the gap between my 2 front teeth. It developed about 2 years ago and I really despise it. I quit smiling, I am not kidding.


I did a little research online and found "The Perfect Smile" Dental Clinic. Google "Vaneers Dehradun, India" and it will be the first place that pops up. (So much for shopping around.)... I actually did shop around once I got here. They seemed like the best. Their website must really suck you in, I kept harkening back to it. Uh, you should see the clinic. I attach a visual.
What have I done?! has become my mantra.

My Day. The Craziest Day that I have ever had, period.: Such a long story. About 2 weeks ago I was in Pultan's Bazaar. I saw this beautiful 9 or 10 year old rag picking girl. I remember her because she has one blue eye and one brown eye and she is gorgeous. I tried to take her picture but she kept holding her bag in front of her face. I put the camera down and made eye contact again. She felt way less threatened and asked me for "subji". I was looking for a place that sold food, I was really excited to buy her a meal. These rag pickers are NOT beggars. They never ask for money. She said "subji" but then she pointed to ice cream. Two of her friends miraculously appeared. I bought all three of them cones, the cone wallah was disgusted with me. I wanted to punch him. Jerk. I thought it would be a great picture, all of them with their cones but they ran away. Pultan Bazaar is about 15 minutes by rickshaw and 25 by vickram from Vasant Vihar Enclave.

Back to my crazy day. I had dropped the boys off at school, gone over to my sister's house to meet my father and her for a trip into town. I still can't believe my sister Jo DRIVES these unforgiving streets. I have begun praying again. Just for her.

So we start off, it is the tenth day of the fast for Dusherra. People are gathering at Temples, they are hungry and snappy. As we drove down a side road that connects up with the main one, we got stopped by something impeding our progress (this happens a lot). I saw a picture. I saw a cow. I saw a fight about to break out. I saw it all. I pulled my camera out and forgot my brand new lens cap was in place. I popped the zoom lens out the window, and my cap fell into the street. This was the beginning of my day.

Jo had to stop for petrol(gas,to you Americans) around the corner. I decided to go back for my lens cap. As I went back I saw my blue eyed brown eyed gal. She and I startled each other. I recognized her and she recognized me. We were so far removed from where we usually see each other. I snapped her photo, she was candid.She was gorgeous. She was the one starting the fight. She is something.

After shopping, we picked the boys up from school and ate lunch at Jo's. Off to Latika Vihar with the boys. I stopped at the corner store (there is a much better Indian name for it) to buy the boys and myself some Bisleri water. I was wearing a small purse like knapsack,I pulled out my wallet to pay the man, and then I was distracted by the children,there were people behind me, it may have been stolen then,it would have been easy.
However, as I was walking away with the boys a woman stepped out of the temple and waved to me, and said something. I looked at her and said, "Me?"as I pointed to myself. She said something else and then she motioned for me to go away.

My wallet is missing and I had just gone to the bank to withdraw 15,000 rupees to pay my last installment at the dentist. I had my grand finale appointment tonight. I had a total of 17,000 rupees in that missing wallet. Along with the money there is my Rhode Island driver's license and my credit/debit card. At least I still have my passport, ahem.

I didn't discover my wallet missing until I had gone home to retrieve 2 sari pieces that need to be made into blouses. I was off to the tailor and then to my dental appointment. I was so excited. I looked all over the house, nowhere. My sweet housemate, Bridget and I turned over the furniture. I ran to Jo's thinking I left it there when I stopped by after dropping the boys off. Nowhere. Jo was home and I was in full panic mode.

She was so calm. She told me story after story of her leaving things behind and finding them all! We raced down the street and retraced all my steps. She was stopping everyone and speaking in Hindi. Everyone was all a titter. It caused quite a stir. The little corner where I last saw it is a funny little place. There is the corner store of course, and this little tea stall where they press clothes and sell those weird pan or betal nut chew that makes all that enjoy it teeth rot out of their head. There is also a very curious gift shop that sells total junk. Next to the gift shop is the tailor who hasn't been open since I wanted to go. I have seen it open at all hours of the day for weeks and now that I have a few things to alter, they are never open! I was on my way to another tailor.
The temple is at the end, it is some big 10 day festival. So there were lots of people at the temple chanting. Now,I knew one of them had beckoned to me at around the time I first lost my wallet, so I wanted to know what that was all about.

You can't just walk in on a prayer service. They were chanting, beating drums, and one by one they got up and performed a solo dance act in the middle of all the chanting ladies. I would have really enjoyed watching, if I wasn't just a wee uptight.

Jo was pretty sure that it could go on for hours and we should canvass the neighborhood and recheck both our houses. So we went back home. Naina was bringing the boys home from Latika Vihar. When we got home, Ravi, his 94 year old mother,Mummy her 84 year old sister,Masiji, my father, Shelley,the volunteer from America, and Vickram the all around man at the house were all looking grim. I can't believe this really happened.

In walk Naina and the boys. The boys could not have been more dirty if I stuck them in the mud with the market hogs. Today was "pottery" day at Latika Vihar and it truly looked like they had been molded out of clay. Their faces, their clothes, each of them proudly displaying their hilariously shapened pots in their hands.

The plan was that Jo was going to watch the boys while I got a rickshaw into town for my final dentist appointment. I have this plastic cast on my teeth as a temporary. It makes me look like Minnie Mouse. I also have NO MONEY to go to my dentist appointment. It was funny if you thought about it. Jo of course lent me the money, but before she went to the ATM we made one more last ditch effort at the temple. This time the boys came. The ladies were still chanting away. One of them said something to me, she was far away and I couldn't recognize her.

We waited and waited because we kept being told it was almost over but then the spirit would move one of them and the chanting started up again. At one point a young boy walked in and handed the loudest one a microphone which she didn't need.

Jo spotted a priest from the temple. He came over, seeing our distress. Jo translated back and forth between us. Then he pulled out a little flip notepad and pen and said, "number". Well, I obviously thought that he wanted our phone number in case anything turned up. Jo turned to me and said 'You give it". I was baffled. Jo's number is long and I seldom call it because I am always over there. Then Jo said "just say anyone" Still I didn't get it, I thought that she was treating him like some unwanted pick up in a bar or something, and that she was going to make up a number!

Then she said "7" He drew a square,made an x through it and then drew a line horizontally through the middle of the x then he wrote the numbers 1 through 9 I think,and circled 7. He turned to me and said that I had a 75% chance of finding my wallet. Namaste.

He gave Jo permission to address the ladies. When there was a lull in the chanting she took off her shoes and went inside. There were about 50 or 60 women sitting there in their beautiful saris. She addressed them in Hindi and everyone pretty much said "nei" in unison. I HAD to get to my dentist appointment.

I tried one last thing. I went into the queer little gift shop and asked in my limited way if anyone had seen a wallet, a purse, money, rupees". The clerk looked at me brightly, my heart quickened, she walked over to me and pulled some purses down from the wall behind me.

Plan B: Jo dropped the boys and me at my house so that I could hose them down while she went to the ATM machine. My housemate ,ironically named "Bridget Clay", was there looking glum (everyone looked glum.Glum is the word) having searched some more in my absence. I got the boys washed and changed in 10 minutes flat and ran outside to see if Jo was there. She was, she gave me a wad of 500 rupee notes that I shoved into my bag without the aid of a wallet. I jumped in the car with the boys and she raced me to the rickshaw stand. "Tilak Road please?" I shouted.It was dark. I jumped into the back and he sped away. I had forgotten my camera, my ipod, and my book. Turns out I could have used all three.

I love riding around in the back of rickshaws listening to music. We hit this massive traffic jam, so my driver did the most illegal, dangerous, death defying U-turn that I have ever seen much less been party to (I am talking by INDIAN standards too). We went down this side alley that hooked up with the main road MILES down the street. It was dirt, or under construction or something,he was going excrusiatingly slow. This might have been charming any other time but I was already 20 minutes
late for my dentist's appointment and nowhere near the place. When we got to Tilak Road there was a big festival blocking traffic so I had to get out and sprint the last 2 blocks. If I had my camera, I would have been even later. I missed so many amazing photos.

Then I remembered my tailor, this guy was making my curtains, different from the other tailor who sews womens suits and sari blouses. He was closing up, he saw me and beckoned me over. I couldn't say no. He did a wonderful job. Four floor length curtains with tie backs (I supplied the material) for 100 rupees! That is $2.50 U.S.!

I was officially late for my appointment. Like, 45 minutes late. He was seeing another patient and the waiting room was full. I really wished for my book. I waited for about another 45 minutes and a really really fat middle aged couple walked out, and he called a young girl in. I thought,I am in hell. What have I done?
His assistant finally walked out. He saw me and went back in, while this girl was in the chair I was called in. Not a good sign. "There was a delay in Delhi. You come back tomorrow."

I went outside, I couldn't find a rickshaw for blocks. I walked that congested street,leaping out of the way of mopeds,maruti mini vans, cows, subji wallahs all the way down to the main road clutching a bag of money.

My boys and their teachers.

All school children in India call their teachers "Didi" which means "older sister" Shopkeepers are called "Uncle".
Enzo's teacher's name is Manju and Owen's teacher name is Neelam. They are so beautiful!
The boys are learning their "maths" ! Owen is multiplying 3 digit numbers!!! His latest task is long division. I need a primer to be sure.

Owen and Enzo are pioneers at Karuna Vihar. Karuna Vihar is a school for children with special needs. My sister is the director. The boys are under a program called "reverse inclusion". They are the first kids without special needs to attend Karuna Vihar. It was overwhelming for them at first but they are really getting into the swing of it. It helps that their classes are small and there are 3 teachers for every 11 kids! The boys are getting a first class education. A lot of one on one. I am amazed by Owen's grasp of multiplication. Watching him "carry" his numbers fills me with such pride.

I am also pleased with the compassion my boys are showing for their classmates. I have thrown them into such a foriegn world and they are rising to the occasion and finding out that everyone and everything has a place in this mad mad world. Their eyes are so big now. It is good.

My Moy and My Jo

I am so pleased that these two women are mine. My sister and my niece. The loves. Jo? I see her all the time. Always so excited when I do. She has been to America over 1,000 times this year. No exaggeration.

I always miss Moy. Moy is the best. She is like the well placed breeze. You are always so happy in her presence. She is good. She has cerebral palsey and doesn't speak anymore. This girl has changed the lives of countless Indian children. My sister Jo recognized a need for children with special needs. They all seemed to be hidden away.

A School For Moy Moy. A School for Moy Moy has turned into so much more. It has turned into an early intervention program, a grammar/high school and what is referred to as a "college" Moy is in college. She is 19! My little Moy!

Another program has sprung out of this. This program is called Latika Vihar. It is an after school play place. All kids are welcome. Special needs, servants children, rich kids, anyone in the neighborhood. For 60 rupees a month (gosh, that is about $1.00 US) these kids can have supervised play from 4:30-6:30 M-F! If they can't afford it, they can skate. Latika Vihar is that kind of place.

Supervised doesn't even come close to what is actually provided. There is a potter one day instructing the kids how to throw pots, a woodworker another day allowing the kids access to his homemade tools, dances and cooking are taught. My boys LOVE IT!
A school for Moy Moy has come up trumps. She is the sweetest of loves. My Moy. My Jo. I am so proud of both of them.Changing Lives, really changing them. I will write another entry about this one girl. Her life is changed.

Monsoons and The Forest Research Institute

I was walking to the vickram stand with the boys yesterday. A vickram is a shared ride, it is also a popular boys name. Another popular name that I found surprising? "Swastick".

Owen and Enzo love their Friday after school treat. We were going into town for a mango milkshake. It was raining. Or "monsooning" as Enzo likes to call it. We were chatting about their day at school as we puddle jumped and avoided cow dumpings. A car swerved around another car (as they tend to do here with alarming regularity). The boys said what happened next was straight out of a cartoon. I am so glad they were amused.

I have never been splashed so grandly in my life. It really was larger than life. This great huge wave of dirty water hit all of us, but mostly me. Thank God my camera was safely tucked away in its case. Owen begged for it, so that he could document me immediately. Somehow, it doesn't look as bad as it was in the photo. It was pretty funny. I am so glad I was wearing my old western clothes, and not some new Indian garment that would have bled all over the place.

The cow dumping statement paints a horrible portrait of this picturesque little Enclave that we are living in. The roaming street cows add to the quaintness of it all. Vasant Vihar Enclave. How green is my valley. It is lovely here. We can see the Himalayas from our front yard. It rains a lot, but the rain makes everything so lush. We live a few blocks away from The Forest Research Institute. It is a beautiful gated forest. For one rupee, you are free to roam around.There are lots of monkeys there but they keep to themselves, unless you are a dog. On our first walkabout we saw an amazing monkey/dog fight (from a good safe distance,darling). If the rain slows down, we may venture over there this morning.

Aloo Parathas

There is nothing better than learning from a master! Vickram, one of my sister's cooks is a master. Despite what my grandfather wrote, Vickram is good enough to be my master in this instance. What a great guy. Always smiling. He speaks English well, and is always wanting to improve it. I asked him if he could give me some cooking lessons. We began with Aloo Parathas, which is flat bread stuffed with a mixture of mashed potatoes(aloo), minced onions, ginger, cumin, salt and pepper. You start off with a chapati dough, which is just flour and water mixed together until it "feels right". Then you roll a little ball out, spread it with the potato mixture, roll another little ball place it on top, seal the edges then roll some more. Next, you place it on a hot pan, give it a few flips and enjoy!

The boys had a lot of fun too, it actually turned into a party. The boys and I have a new housemate, a fabulous Scottish gal named Bridget. She and Jo's housemate, another fabulous gal named Shelly joined in. We took over Jo's kitchen. It was so much fun. Vickram had endless patience with us. Our first attempts were full of holes but great for a laugh.

Dwatika

This is Dwatika. She is my maidservant. What? My grandfather once wrote, "No man is good enough to be another man's master". Of course I am not Dwatika's master.Of course not. I did not ask for Dwatika. She came with my house. If I let her go, which was my first thought, she would lose a job. That would be the end of the world for her. Her husband is very sick. My sister thinks that he may have AIDS. Dwatika told her he is just skin and bones and cannot get out of bed. They have 2 children, younger than mine.

It is so weird having another person come in and do my dishes, laundry, and floors. I try not to have any dishes. I make my bed as soon as I get up. Having a maidservant has made me more diligent about keeping my space clean. I hate to see her do anything. I am not just saying that. I really do.

She is such a hard worker. Last year she ran a sugarcane juice stand and got her hand stuck in the press. She is just now regaining use of her hand. For awhile Jo was just giving her money because she really couldn't do anything. She is a proud woman and I am sure it pained her to receive a stipend for doing nothing.

At night I see her at her vegetable stand down the street. She never seems to stop. We communicate with sign language. She is probably younger than me, I am not sure.

Dwatika is a daily reminder to me that I should never,ever take my lot in life for granted. I am a lucky,lucky person and all of you who are reading this from your very own computers should feel the same. It is so easy for us to take our creature comforts for granted. I have never been one to preach (I swear to God), but this cries out to me everyday. It is amazing how easy it is for us to plod through life,and how hard it is for others. We are all in the same world, but you would never know it.

Gadgets and Grace

I was so frustrated this morning when I realized that the jack I plug my ipod into my computer is the very same jack I use to plug in this device that gets me on line.

What that means is I cannot change any of my NPR podcasts. I am stuck listening to Terry Gross interview Seth Rogen again and again?

You can only imagine my pain and suffering.

I went into town a few hours later and got an eyeful of true pain and suffering. I felt gross and greedy. My ipod isn't up to date for the next 10 weeks? The horror!

I got so lucky in this life, yet I still manage to complain. I have to knock that off. I have too much.

The Monkeys in Musoorie.

The boys and I just returned from a place that I believe is the closest you can get to Heaven here on this Earth. It is absolutely enchanting. Musoorie. Breathtakingly beautiful. Mountain upon mountain. It is the Himalayas for goodness sake! Jo and Ravi rent a cottage at the end of this pretty little lane. There is a family living there as caretakers. They speak very little English. What I should say is that WE speak very little Hindi. The father is the cook. He is a cook who should win some kind of award, just for making eggplant sing. He can say "Dinner" and "Breakfast" and "chai" in English. I JUMP up the minute he says any of those words knowing full well that I am in for a big treat.

They have 3 kids. 2 girls and a boy. Even with the language barrier my two boys had tons of fun playing with them, acting out their words. The boy, Rohit, could say "Ready, Set, Go" in English. Apparently that is the only phrase you need to have fun. They went and went!

Just about a quarter mile up the lane (back towards where we came from) is a general store. I needed to get some bottled water for our dinner. The boys did not want to accompany me because big big monkeys can appear out of nowhere.I left them with their new friends and their mother. I wasn't scared. Ha! The walk to the store was uneventful, apart from the view.

I got the water (alright, and some earrings and 3 kurtas and a purse) I started back. About half way down the scenic lane, I spotted a HUGE monkey lumbering toward me. I freaked out. Seriously freaked out. I wasn't quite sure how to react, seeing as this has never happened to me before. Freaking out seemed to be my only option.

I ran back towards the store. The woman who I had just purchased all my items from saw my distress and piled me into her car. Even she was scared. She said that the monkeys had gotten very, very aggresive of late.

It was worth it just to be in Musoorie.

P.S. That first picture is of a teeny tiny monkey. You have no idea what I encountered! I wasn't stopping to photograph.Ha!

Connections

Only Connect!
There are all sorts of connections. My brother,Chris was able to get the boys, my dad and me on first class for both legs of our trip. Boston to Chicago and Chicago to New Delhi.Which is just crazy if you think about it. Never in my life have I experienced such oppulence. The boys had to push their eyemasks up to receive their hot fudge sundaes. They could not believe it. We slept in beds for 8 of the 14 hours. I am just a poor girl, though my story is seldom told.

When we arrived at The Indira Gandhi International Airport, still on the plane, we heard our names being called and we were asked to meet the grounds crew immediately upon deplaning. My sister knows this guy... They had a wheelchair for my dad and they whisked us past this whole line of people plopped our passports down and ushered us into the country. Next they asked for our baggage claims and located our 7 bags and hauled them for us to where my sister was waiting. Connections.

My computer needs a pep talk in connections.

I have to bring my boys to tour their new school, more later. Much more about India.

I am packing!

I haven't abandon this little blog project. Stay tuned. I will have a lot to say soon. I am busy with last minute details. Picking up our malaria meds, dry cleaning, packing, haircuts for the boys, making tons of freezable food for the poor fellow we are leaving behind. (I made SIXTEEN calzones today!)
We leave THIS Sunday Morning at 3 AM (from Providence).
More later.

Priceless

New Passport overnight express mail-$174.00
Parking in Government Center Boston-$21.00
Lunch in Boston- $63.00
My father's best line of the day-priceless.

The passport lady asked my 87 year old father why he was going to India.
He said, "We are going to visit our daughter."
I saw that lady behind us look at me. Whatever. We got the goods.

Ouch

There. It is all done.
We all survived.
It hurt my wallet more than all our arms combined.

Why I am not Mad at Dad.

Of course I am frustrated that I had everything so neatly organized only to find myself in a marvelous mess.

My father is confused. He is 87 after all.

On the way home from the airport,I asked him how he had enjoyed Nantucket.
He said, "I had a great time, except I missed mom. Gee, I will be glad to see her. How is she doing?"

I could think of no other response then to say, "She is the same."

Then he said to me sadly, "I know she is gone. I had forgotten for a second."

The love.

Why I Live at the P.O. po'ed.

Scene of the Crime











Post Office
















Criminal
Mug Shot.














My to do list is endless.

One of my biggest travel fears has come to pass. I knew it was going to happen. I predicted it. My father has now lost every form of his identity.

He sort of knows where he is.
Whenever we drive any where, even down the street to the market, he always asks me where we are going 4 or 5 times,like he has never asked before. Long trips are really hard. It must be so scary, to be driving along, then start looking around and wonder to yourself over and over again, "Where am I going?"

He is so confused. I am sad watching him slip further and further away. He is sitting across from me now with his post op foot up on pillows reading the Sunday paper. We had each other as we watched Mom fall deeper and deeper into madness. It is weird watching alone.

I do have my family of course, but they are not here daily. Lately, I have been farming him out. Everyone wants to see him before we go to India. He is so excited about India. He loves India.Whenever there is a lull in conversation, I bring up India. He wishes he was there now.

We have been taking him here and there.Last month Jo took him to Fisher Island, Florida where he visited my sister Moy, my Aunt Chris (my mother's twin) and my brother Christopher.They took my brother in law Brian's company jet so he didn't need any id. You can read all about this(and see photos) in my sister Jo's blog www.latikaroy.org/jo'sBlog His passport was safely tucked in MY important documents.

Two weeks ago, my husband, boys and I took my father up for an over night stay at my brother Owen's place in Waterville Valley, NH. My brother took him up on the Summer ski lift to enjoy the view(Exhibit A). That is when he thinks he lost his wallet with his state id. That was no immediate cause for alarm. We can replace that soon enough.

This next plot twist is keeping me up at night. My stomach is in knots. Last Sunday my father went to visit my sister Moy in Nantucket. I could not accompany him because the boys were in camp that week. She booked him a flight out of Providence. All he had to do was show some form of identification. I shook as I handed his passport(already containing his India Visa) to him. PLEASE DO NOT LOSE THIS. IT WILL BE THE END OF THE WORLD. "I won't" he said.

Robert(also known as Fabio and this is a long story : he is going back to Robert in the blog because he is only really "Fabio" in Hawaii and it is getting confusing)was given a special boarding pass so he could accompany my father to the gate. He made sure his passport was in his pocket when he boarded the plane.

I sent my sister an email entitled "IMPORTANT" I wrote , As soon as dad gets off the plane ask him for his passport. Keep it for him until he leaves. Hold on to it until you absolutely positively have to give it up to him. I repeated my "End of the world" line, because I thought it was so clever.

Moy took me very seriously. We are all baffled. She was able to follow him to the last security check point and watch him as he sat. She had JUST tucked his passport in his pants pocket. Somewhere between the Nantucket Airport and T.F. Green in Providence (an hour out of our sights) he lost his passport. We are supposed to leave in 3 weeks.

Yesterday, I went to the post office with my father. I planned to fast track it. I was told at the latest by August 25. That would give me FIVE days to get the Visa taken care of. Mercy. I am starting to panic a little. Kim, the postal lady (she is taking the picture of my father) was very nice. She told me my best bet would be to call the State Department in Boston. She said "you are going to get sent all over the place. Keep following the instructings and keep at it until you get a person" Then I have to state my case, beg for an appointment, and schlep my entire family to Boston.

To make matters more complicated, my father had outpatient surgery on his toe on Friday and is being transported in a wheel chair.

But I laugh. My father's response to all of this is, "Boy, The Federal Government sure is cracking down"