Irritable People

Yesterday I had a chance to observe two situations where the best of human nature wasn’t on display.

We went on a guided tour of the Colosseum which turned out to be well worth the money.  While waiting in the agency for the tour in English to begin, I noticed a woman who seemed to be complaining to her husband about all sorts of things.  I couldn’t hear it all, but I could see her facial expressions and his reactions.  He kept trying to calm her down.

Eventually the tour in Spanish was announced.  I knew the English tour was to leave at the same time.  People started to get in line, including the irritable lady, her husband and a child who was with them.  At one point, someone stepped in front of her in line.  Her reaction was immediate and aggressive, “Excuse me!  Why would you push in ahead of me in a que?”  The person responded that they were just trying to stay with their group.

When the cranky lady, who I think was Australian, got up to the desk and was told that a security deposit was required for the radio and headset that would allow her to hear the tour guide, she refused.  The deposit was either 20 Euros or the driver’s license of someone in the group.   Although it was clear that anyone without one would have difficulty hearing the guide, she refused for herself and her husband and child.

Her nagging complaints continued throughout the tour, and they eventually left the tour early.  I’m not sure how her husband tolerates her.

The second situation involved an Asian couple who came into the restaurant in which we ate last evening.  It was not a fancy place, but it was clean, and the waitress was pleasant.  She spoke minimal English, and we speak no Italian, but we worked through the ordering process and enjoyed our meal.  The couple, who were seated where Bill and I could both see them, apparently had more difficulty.  They ordered soup, but wanted to split it between them, and had difficulty expressing that they wanted a second bowl, so they could share.  They did eventually get the second bowl.  They ordered wine and the waitress had a problem opening the bottle.  She set the bottle aside….I assumed for someone else to open….but didn’t get back to them immediately.

When we entered the restaurant it had been empty, but it had rapidly filled up and she was busy.  We had to wait a bit to order gelato and receive our check, but it wasn’t a terrible wait.  I guess the wait was longer than the couple could tolerate, as they got up with angry expressions and left.  On the table was the uneaten pizza and soup for which they didn’t pay.

Bill commented, “Why would you go into a foreign country, where you don’t speak the language, and expect not to have any difficulties?” 

We have run into a couple of people who have seemed annoyed that we don’t know Italian, but most have been gracious and done their best to be accommodating.

Now for the confession as to my own irritability!  When we went through the security check in New Delhi, we had already been through security in Watertown, Philadelphia, London, and Rome.  No one had said a word about anything in my purse that was banned.  But this time, my purse got pulled aside, and I was informed that I had a scissors in my purse.  Well, yes….I knew I had a scissors….a child’s rounded-end scissors that I brought along to cut the cotton yarn on my crochet project that was to help me pass the time on flights.  It was NOT sharp.  I couldn’t see how it could be used as a weapon and had been through security checks 4 times without a problem.  I protested.  The guard just shrugged and said, “No scissors, the rule.”  I surrendered them unhappily.  Bill said he was afraid I was going to “lose it” and he didn’t mean the scissors.  I was at that point totally exhausted from the travel, and it seemed so unreasonable.  Yes…I was the irritable one.  Whether I was sufficiently irritable for anyone to notice and mention on a blog, I don’t know.

I did do better when security at the Taj Mahal took my diary away.  I had one of those blank books in my purse and had been writing in it about our travels.  Security at the Taj Mahal informed me I couldn’t take it inside.  No explanation.  Even our tour guide was mystified.  Bill actually got annoyed about that and protested, because he was afraid I wouldn’t get it back. 

We all have our moments.

Adventures in Foreign Healthcare

One thing I was really hoping not to do while traveling was look for medical help.  Turns out, it is all part of the adventure.

While we were in India, we were keeping a frightful pace.  Some of the young couples in the group were marveling at our ability to keep up.  Apparently, this was a case of the spirit being willing, but the flesh being weak.  We were determined to go on all the excursions and fully participate, but we have both been hit at our weak link.

After several pre-wedding events which resulted in nights of minimal sleep on top of jet lag, Bill did one of his “crash and burn” routines.  We were at the gathering just before the actual wedding ceremony.  He had received his turban.  He started to feel dizzy and nauseated and his color was awful.  I had him sit down, but I became worried.  I mentioned my concern to one of our group, who mentioned it to a Jain employee, who mentioned it to one of the Jain family.  Next thing we knew, we were being whisked away by a driver to go to see a doctor who is a personal friend of one of the Jains.  His clinic is in one of those little hole-in-the-wall places which are so common in India.  His equipment is probably 50 years old, but he was kind and thorough.  His English was a bit shaky, but we managed to communicate.  He prescribed 3 medications and a 4^th to be taken in the event Bill actually vomited….which thankfully he never did.

The next step was getting the medication from a pharmacy.  The driver took us to a typical Indian street with small shops.   The first pharmacy did not have the medications we needed, so I walked with the driver about 3 blocks through the trash littered street to another pharmacy.  Bill sat in the car with his eyes closed.  I was dressed in go-to-the-wedding finery, and I was walking through filth.  Happily, the second pharmacy had the medication.  I didn't have enough rupees to pay for it, and the man shook his head 'no' to the first credit card I offered, so I pulled all of them out, spread them on the counter, and asked him to pick one.

We went back to the wedding and Bill felt OK for an hour or two….the ceremony itself was 4-5 hours long….lots of ritual.  Eventually, we had to leave, because he started to feel unwell again.  We missed the reception and ordered room service at the hotel.  That was interesting….try explaining to someone who doesn’t understand English very well, that your husband wants Rice Krispies for supper.  Bill knew they had them, because he had seen them at breakfast, but they were not, of course, on the room service menu.  I talked to 3 different people and had no confidence he would get his Rice Krispies, until someone called our room and asked in pretty decent English, what kind of milk he would like on them.

Today, it was my turn to test the medical system in Italy.  We are now in Rome.  I have been feeling discomfort in my lower abdomen and was afraid I might be getting a bladder infection.  This has happened to me previously at times I have pushed myself to the max.  This morning I got up and realized I had blood in my urine, and I was in quite a bit of discomfort.  So…what to do?

I asked the man at the hotel desk about a doctor.  He thought I was saying “adapter,” and pulled a couple of electrical adapters out of a drawer.  Eventually he got the picture and told me where to find what he believed was an Urgent Care.  It was in the train station which is a short block away and which is full of shops, restaurants, etc.  The sign at the clinic said what I assumed to be “urgent care” in Italian, but they refused to see me as a walk-in.   Only one person there spoke some fractured English.  She directed me to tourist information near the train platforms.  They directed me to a pharmacy on the lower level.

The pharmacist was very kind and spoke decent English, but when he saw my list of allergies, he was afraid to give me anything without me seeing a doctor.  Apparently things are looser here, as he would have given me an antibiotic without a prescription.  He told me to go to a hospital.

So….we had coffee and a donut because we were famished by this time, and headed back to the hotel.  The desk clerk called a cab which took us to a hospital and dropped us at the emergency room.  We were pushed aside before we got in the door, as an ambulance arrived with someone who was being bag-breathed and looked like he was more dead than alive.

While we stood to the side, we saw a sign and arrow which seemed to say in Italian that minor emergencies should go that way.  We followed the arrows and ended up in the right spot, but it turns out we were supposed to go through the ER to have the paper work generated.  A lady who spoke impeccable English took us under her wing and directed someone to do the paperwork without sending us back through the ER.  This evidently saved us an enormous amount of time.  The doctor was not fluent in English, but we managed to communicate.  I had written out the antibiotics to which I am allergic.  I got my prescription order and discovered there was no charge for the doctor’s services.  I guess all medical care is free here.

The guard at the ER kindly told an EMT standing nearby to use his cell phone and call a taxi for us.  When we got back to the hotel, we asked about pharmacies and went to the nearest one.  There we learned that no one carries the antibiotic the doctor prescribed which is the only one I know I can safely take.  The pharmacist or maybe it was a pharmacy tech pulled something else off the shelf saying it wasn’t an antibiotic.  It was an anti-bacterial.  I thought maybe it was a urinary tract antiseptic which I have taken before.  I accepted it and went back to the hotel to check it out on the internet.  Uh-oh….it is an antibiotic.  Some research on the internet seems to indicate it is in the same family as the one I know has been safe for me in the past, so I have downed the first dose with prayer and hope that I can tolerate it.  I made sure we had some Benadryl handy before I took it.

We had planned to go to the Colosseum today.  It is only a kilometer from our hotel and there appear to be some interesting sights between here and there.  It should be an easy walk for us…BUT…..at the moment, it looks like this needs to be a day to rest and recuperate from the long Delhi to Rome flight yesterday.  After today, we have two entire days before we get on the cruise ship, so we can go on some adventures tomorrow and Wednesday.

I guess we planned this trip for our mental age not realizing our bodies aren’t quite in sync with that.

From Jaipur to Agra

Today has been a long day and it isn’t over yet.  I am sitting on the bus at 8 pm while some of our group go shopping.  We have not yet checked into the hotel or had dinner.  Shopping just isn’t that important to me.  Besides which, my suitcase is already overweight, and I am only a week into a month long trip.

I keep looking for what would seem to be normal middle-class housing to indicate that there is a middle class here.  I am told there is, but I haven’t seen much indication.  There are very wealthy people, and there are the terribly poor.  I am grieved by the hovels in which people live.  The shops are little hole-in-the-wall places that can’t possibly generate much income.  At every tourist attraction there are hawkers and beggars and some are very aggressive and children.

Then there is the trash…there is litter everywhere.  Apparently, Indians see no reason to put drink containers and other debris into a receptacle.  It just lands wherever they finish with it.  The streets are strewn with junk of every description.  I want to shout “Let me off this bus and give me a rake and some trash bags!  Someone needs to start to clean this place up!”  I don’t know what animals could possibly find that is nourishing in all of this clutter, but I have seen dogs, goats, pigs and even cows rooting around in it.

Today we visited the palace of the third king in the Mughul dynasty, Akbar.  He had three wives:  a Muslim, a Hindu and a Christian.  They each had their own palace within his compound.  It was an interesting place, but the hawkers were unbelievably aggressive.  They pushed their way into our group.  Children begged for chocolate.  Sellers put their wares in our faces, and there were scores of them.  Even in the area of the mosque that is part of the complex.  They followed us to the bus and tried to open the windows.  As we left without buying from her, a little girl stuck out her tongue at us.

 

Bill wasn’t interested in the mosque itself, so he stayed outside the wall that surrounded it.  I guess it didn’t occur to us that me being alone would make me even more vulnerable.  A young man repeatedly approached me and said that he worked there and would guide me.  I tried to ignore him.  As I approached the entrance of the mosque, he commented that I was in luck that I was wearing a hat…my head was covered, and I could go in.  As I got up to the door, he said, “this way, this way” and directed me to the left…most of the people entering were going to the right.  I assumed that he was directing me that way because I was a woman.  After we got around the first corner of the corridor, I realized he and I were the only people in the corridor and it was a dead end.  I immediately said that I was turning around and finding my group.  “Don’t be afraid,” he said.  “I will be your guide.”  Huh?  I don’t think he meant to do me harm, but I think he was going to pressure me to pay him for being my guide. 

I caught up with some in my group.  As we left the mosque, a “holy man” was sitting there asking for donations.  He had a small broom-like thing in his hand with which he was tapping the donation box to draw attention to it.  When I walked past without putting any money in his box, he hit me on the top of the head with the broom.  I was glad to get out of there!  Later someone told me that the rap on the head may have been a blessing.  I have no idea if he tried to bless or curse me.

On the positive side, during the long bus ride today, I did see more fertile well-watered farmland than I had previously seen.  I also noticed numerous bee hives.  We passed through an area with many places selling carved stone….some interesting pieces.  Also, many places where bricks were being manufactured.  The kilns were like towers in the middle of fields, and there were bricks stacked everywhere.  Most of the small dwellings in that area were made of brick, but they were just stacked and didn’t appear to be mortared together.

Another positive I have noticed, in the midst of the squalor, is that Indians seem to have friends.  I have seen groups of women working together or just enjoying each others company and the same for groups of men.  I suspect some people in palaces don’t have that!

Journey to Jalgaon

The Jain family, who are our hosts for the wedding of Athang Jain to his bride Ambika, arranged for our flight from Mumbai to Aurangabad.  They booked us in first class seats where we were given damp towels for our hands and served lime juice.  There was a meal, but we weren’t hungry and just had hot tea.  Bill slept most of the flight, but I had a window seat and enjoyed the views….albeit through very hazy conditions.

When we arrived we were met by drivers from the Jain company who transported us on about a 4 hour car ride to the Jain compound in Jalgaon.  Now about the ride….

If you haven’t driven in a vehicle in India, you can’t imagine!  The road is a mass of vehicles….autos, trucks, 3-wheeled open vehicles which seem to be taxis, motorcycles…lots and lots of motorcycles, a scattering of bicycles and an occasional oxcart.  A few pedestrians who are apparently suicidal attempt to cross this raging stream of traffic.  There are few signal lights or lines on the road, but no one pays them much attention anyway.  Everyone is darting about, crossing into on-coming traffic and constantly sounding the horn to say, they are passing or squeezing through or just think they haven’t honked recently enough.  I witnessed our driver honk and squeeze around an ambulance with its red light flashing.  Seriously!?  It was dark and we were, of course, driving on the left rather than the right side of the road, and it was all pretty exciting/terrifying even though we were in the back seat.  I had my hand over my mouth some of the time to avoid my gasps being audible to the driver….who as far as I could tell spoke no English, but was expert honker.

About the motorcycles….some had only one passenger, but many had entire families clinging to them.  A small child would be sitting in front of the driver, while a woman and another child hung on to the back of the motorcycle.  The woman would be wearing a sari or a burka with fabric flying in the breeze, and I wondered if it ever happens that a loose end of the fabric gets caught in something and pitches the woman off into the street.  If anyone had on a helmet, it would be only the driver….I never saw a woman or child with a helmet.  Did see three buildings that claimed to be hospitals and trauma centers, and I expect they are needed.

I distracted myself by watching the sights…oh, such sights.  We passed thousands of roadside shops in tiny booths with open fronts.  There were barber shops, street foods, fruits and vegetables, furniture, cell phones, drinks, eggs, carcasses of animals hanging by their legs, and “stuff” about which I was clueless.  Bill saw one of these tiny places that purported to be an “exclusive Dell dealer.”  I saw one that had a sign “Tailor” with a man bending over a sewing machine inside.  People were milling around everywhere….even in the pitch black of night.  Along the way, I also saw hundreds of dwellings which must be homes….but such poverty as we do not see in the US.  Most of the homes had openings for doors and windows, but appeared to have nothing in the openings.  Families were visible outlined in dim lighting.  Many of these structures are covered with shredded blue tarps which serve as the roof.  I saw one corrugated metal roof held down with large rocks.  People gather around outdoor fires.  We did not just see occasional pockets of this….it was everywhere along the route for the entire 4 hour ride.  I had expected to see poverty, but not on this scale.

We made one stop along the way to allow us to use a rest room….very primitive, but maintained by a gracious young man who offered us napkins to use as toilet paper and hand towels, and who made sure I knew how to turn on the water to wash my hands.

We did not arrive at the Jain compound until about 10 at night….what a contrast to the sights along the way….more about that later.  It is just too much to relate in one sitting.

What Misery is Mine!

What misery is mine! The godly have been swept from the land.  All men lie in wait to shed blood, each hunts his brother with a net.  Both hands are skilled in doing evil; the ruler demands gifts, the judge accepts bribes, the powerful dictate what they desire; they all conspire together.  Do not trust your neighbor, put no confidence in a friend.  Even with her who lies in your embrace, be careful of your words.  For a son dishonors his father, a daughter rises up against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law….a man’s enemies are the member of his own household.  But as for me, I watch in hope for the Lord, I wait for God my Savior; my God will hear me.  (from Micah 7:1-7 with a few phrases not included)

When I read this last night, I couldn’t help but think that it describes the current time.  I am sure there have been prior periods in history for which this was true, but it certainly fits the pattern today.

What is the righteous person, such as Micah, to do when the fabric of government and social structure is shredded?  Not ALL people are behaving in the evil manner described, but there is certainly way too much of it.  So many are out for their own gain, at the expense of anyone else and at the expense of ethics and values.

Daily there are reports of leaders taking bribes or engaging in other unethical conduct.  Politicians resign their posts as their misdeeds are exposed.  Actors and other celebrities are revealed to be sexual predators.  Family members fight over inheritance.  This sometimes results not only in broken relationships, but in the taking of a life.   

These problems are so pervasive that it seems unending.  It isn’t possible to root out all the evil.  Yesterday on a plane, I read a copy of an Indian newspaper.  The nature of man is the same on both sides of the globe.  Some of the crimes described and evils discussed were exactly what I have read in papers in the US.  I was especially saddened by an evil perpetrated against a child, which I read about in the Indian paper and have, in the past, read of the same horror being inflicted on a child in the US.

Later in Micah 7, the text says, “The earth will become desolate because of its inhabitants, as the result of their deeds.”  Not a very promising future for mankind!  Whether it will happen because of failure to care for the environment, or because of war, or a punishing act of God, I don’t know.  But Micah is claiming it will happen one way or another as a result of our deeds.

There is only one source of hope.  The book of Micah ends with this promise: “Who is a God like you who pardons sin and forgives the transgression of the remnant of his inheritance?  You do not stay angry forever, but delight to show mercy.  You will again have compassion on us; you will tread our sins underfoot and hurl all our iniquities into the depths of the sea.”

However, this follows the earlier statement, “they come trembling out of their dens; they will turn in fear to the Lord our God.”  God is merciful, but we cannot keep on in the present course.  We need to acknowledge the sin we as a people have engaged in, and with trembling ask for forgiveness and mercy.  There are better days ahead, but not without the experience of the described desolation forcing mankind to its knees individually and collectively.

Forfeiting Grace

Those who cling to worthless idols, forfeit the grace that could be theirs. Jonah 2:8

This verse strikes a cord with me each time I read it.  I began to write about it the last time I read the Bible through and never finished my thoughts.  I read it again this past week and began pondering it again. 

When put so succinctly, it seems utterly foolish to cling to a "worthless idol" and forfeit grace, but the situation is, of course, much more complicated. Or perhaps, in the real world, much less black and white.  What is a a "worthless idol?"  What is so important to us that we would ignore the grace of God?

One might not recognize that he is clinging to a worthless idol. Life holds many things which seem to be of value, but are really wisps of emptiness. We see others with education, power, fame, material possessions and the admiration of men.  They may seem to "have it all" and be happy. Seeing their smiles, we assume that they are satisfied and have a meaningful existence. And perhaps, they are content and believe they are making an impact on their world.

One might also not realize that he cannot possess worthless idols and grace at the same time. If his hands are full of one, he cannot open them up to be filled with the other.  "No man can serve two masters." (Matthew 6:24)

Being committed to Christ means singleness of purpose, desiring the glory of God above all, giving up our own desires.  It may seem like we are losing something, but it is hard to compare anything to the grace of God.  It makes me sad to think that there are those who think they have something substantial in their hands when it is something that will evaporate.

Pondering

I ponder the “what ifs” of my life,

The wide range of possibilities,

            A broad spectrum

            From disaster

To spectacular.

I recount the “supposes of my life,

The infinite complexities

            Puzzle pieces,

            Some dovetailing,

Others in hopeless tangle.

I indulge in a dream of “if onlys,”

Those happy coincidences

            That propel one,

            Soaring upward,

To grand success.

I shudder at life’s “near misses,”

Those frightening times.

            When something unspeakable

            Was inches

Or seconds away.

I bow in gratitude to Him,

Whose all-powerful hand

            Has in the maze

            Pointed and pushed

And protected.

I wrote this decades ago, and it was published in a denominational magazine in 1985.  It still expresses my feelings about my life and the course it has taken.