Recuperate, reintegrate, commemorate

It's been over 10 days now since I've been home.
From the day I returned, it was as if I had never left. The kids were back to arguing and testing. The days were hectic from dayrise to long after sunset. Work waited for me, in piles on my desk.

I did have a chance to reflect however. I had a chance to discuss with those who were eager to hear about my adventures.

Here's what I came up with.

I did, after all of my resistance, fall in love with India. At which point this happened, I don't know. But it did. I would go back. No question. Did it change me? It did. Not sure how, but it did. Regardless of the insanity of everyday life back in my 'bubble', it feels different. Someone said to me the other day, you look peaceful.

I feel like I'm letting everyone down by not having concrete answers to the questions I had before leaving. But in the spirit of honesty and truthfulness, I can only say that I can't quite express adequately in writing what this trip has meant or done to me.
I guess you'll just have to find out for yourself why it is that everyone that goes to India comes back changed and inspired.

The point of it all

I'm sitting here at the Heathrow airport in London on my 50 hour journey home. Really, all in all it will have taken a total of 50 hours to get to the Ottawa airport. Regardless of the fact that I have no idea what day of the week it is, I am sitting here with a smile of my face.

Although at times the trip was difficult, I return home with fond memories and life lessons.

This trip has certainly made me appreciate my life and family. I feel so incredibly fortunate.

I didn't come here to find myself, I'm too old for that. I think I'm getting to a point already where I trust my values, my decisions, my experiences, and the people that I chose to surround myself with. But I did find something here in India. I found a world, where the people and places within it now seem less distant from me. Not sure if that even makes sense.  In a weird way, I feel more connected now to the world -- to the different cultures, music, art, traditions. I tasted life outside of my bubble. It tasted sweet.
I made human connections with people that I only dared dream about, those who I saw only in movies, or read about in books. Now, I have real names, human stories, and new friends.

It was awesome. But next time, I want to share this experience with my family. It's too precious of an experience to keep all to myself.

I will log in again in a few days to wrap up. Once I know which way is up again. Once I pry the little arms from around my waist...but I want to bask in that first.

Leaving soon...

This is my last full day in India. Tomorrow I leave on a long trek back home. Although at times this trip seemed so painstakingly long, at the same time I feel that time flew by.
I have to admit that I’ve had a tumultuous love affair with India. It certainly started with a volatile courtship. Perhaps it’s because our first date was in Mumbai, one of the most crowded and polluted cities in the world, and one where the disparities of class and status are blatantly obvious.

It’s when I left Mumbai that I began to see the country and its people for what and who they are. It’s difficult to explain what it’s like in India. There is so much diversity; both in the landscape and in its cultures. It is large crowded cities with high-tech enterprises and new wave architecture – but at the same time it’s deserts, jungles, and oceans. Each state has a dialect and a culture within its own. There are longstanding traditions and customs, intermixed with the influences of colonialization and globalization.
I found an excerpt in the Times of India the other day from a man called Ramachandra Guha who attempted to explain the Indian experience. I cut it out. It stuck with me.
“India is the most daring, not to say most reckless, political experiment in human history. Never before has a territory so disparate and diverse constructed as a single nation. Never before was a population so poor and illiterate given the vote. Given India’s size, its poverty and its colonial past, the history of this experiment can certainly be illuminating for other countries. Given the staggering diversity of religions, languages and cultures that this experiment contains, Western nations now coping with mass immigration can learn from it too.”

Throughout the day today I’m going think of my lessons learned here in India. I need to be able to share those with my family when I get back. That was the point of this after all wasn’t it?
Perhaps I’ll have to do all of this thinking lounging by the pool today.
Come on, it’s my last day before I go back to my hectic chaotic life that I love so much.

I will bask in these last moments of solitude.

On that note, I leave you with this picture that I took yesterday evening at dinner in Vagator, Goa. It was our view from our table.

Hope for Street Children

Today I had an amazing day. I had the opportunity to visit El Shaddai a not for profit child welfare organization that works with street kids and orphans in Goa.
We visited the school, completely funded by this organization, and where hundreds of children flock to each day from nearby villages. Some are bused in. Here, they are given an education, a hot meal, and hope for the future.
Then we visited a shelter for street kids in Margao. This is where homeless children who live in the streets are picked up by field workers and brought to this centre to be cleaned, to be given clean clothes, and to learn basic educational skills like the alphabet and writing their names. This shelter had over 100 children there today. The minute we walked in there we were completely jumped on by these children. They wanted to shake our hands, tell us their names, show us their dancing and signing skills.
By the end of the 2 hours, they were riding on our backs, tending their arms up in the air for us to hold them, giving us hugs, and showing us their secret hand shake.

My new friend Anita from the children's shelter

After all the poverty and sadness that I have briefly witnessed during my time here in India, this experience provided me with a lasting impression of resilience and spirit. Organizations such as this one can only do so much, but yet they do so much.

In a few days I leave India. But now I leave with an understanding that within despair there is hope.

Me with the girls at the school run by El Shaddai

The Women of Baga Beach

I love the beach. I’ve been to Cuba, Mexico, and Jamaica. All beaches were great. This beach however, is like no other that I’ve seen. It has thousands of thousands of people on this beach, and most are Indians vacationing from other parts of India. There are a few intermittent foreigners which are obvious and for those of us who’s fair skin makes us stand out, we become easy targets for the hundreds and hundreds of peddlers. At first glance I ignored them. It was chaotic, everyone wanted a piece of me. It made me uncomfortable. Most were women, very young, and obviously working under the supervision of a tough looking man wearing expensive jewelry and glasses. Yesterday, I took a stroll by on Baga beach by myself. This time with the intention of engaging with the women peddlers; looking them in the eye, answering their questions.

What is your name, they ask.
Where are you from?
How long have you been here in Goa? Not long because you look very white!

Funny, three or four of them told me the same thing. I guess I need a tan.

But after a while of not ignoring these women I had about ten of them around me. Touching my hand, asking me questions. Telling me about their children, asking me about mine. I told them about leaving my children behind for this trip. They told me that they leave their children behind all of the time during the tourist season – it’s not so bad, they said.
I knew what they wanted. But for that moment it didn’t matter. It felt like I had a genuine connection with these women. In some weird way, we had a bond.

Then, I purchased an anklet bracelet from each of them.

A young girl performing on a make-shift tight rope for the benefit of the tourists.

Saturday Night Life in Goa

Sorry for the delay in posting. The internet has been intermittent. So bear with me as I update you today, but using different posts.

Saturday evening, we did what every good tourist in Goa would do, we experienced the nightlife. We dared go out to the hottest club in Baga beach Goa. I have to say that it was a worthwhile experience. It showed me 2 things; 1) I am too old for the nightclub scene and 2) not every night club has a fire code limiting the number of people within it. So, not only was I one of the oldest people there, had there been a fire I would most certainly have been either trampled to death, or burnt to a crisp for lack of an exit.
There must have been at least 500 people, dancing, shoulder to shoulder within a room no larger than my hotel room. I say shoulder to shoulder but really, it was more like face to face.
After 1 hour, we left, feeling overwhelmed, sweaty and somewhat violated.

But at least now I can say that I’ve been to a world famous night club.

Wonderful Day in Calengute, Goa

Today was one of the best days in India yet. This morning we set out for a town called Calenjun. It’s a small town near Baga beach in Goa, and its mixture of Portuguese Catholic influence and local heritage make this area spectacular. We set out with a mission today, and that was to engage the locals in conversations, something that we had not yet attempted fully, cowarding behind our tourist identities.

I met Jackson, our first driver, a 30 year old man from the area who seemed all too thrilled to show off his music repertoire while driving us to the town. “Nice music”, I said. He cranked up the volume with a broad smile across his face. In the short distance that we were together during this ride he told me about his family, with whom he lived, all 3 generations of them; all of them working in the rice fields during the off season. It’s hard work, he says, and he’s glad that the season is over. During the tourist high season, which will start shortly, he drives a cab.
If you need a safe driver, he told us, you call me. I will keep you safe.

In town I met 14 year old Michael when I stepped into a small t-shirt shop along main street. He was working the store. He was small, and looked no more than 12, but he assured me – he was 14. Where are your parents, I asked? He stared at my curiously. “Why do you ask?”
Because I wonder, why a boy your age isn’t in school?
He simply shook his head.
He was desperately trying to sell me a t-shirt. He offered me tea.
“Do you want to have tea? My sister can make some.”
He took every single shirt off the shelf for me to look at. I felt bad not buying anything, too sheepish to tell him that the only reason that I had entered his shop was to talk to him.
I’ll take that one.

On the way back I met Raj, our other cab driver, who was all too willing to tell us about himself. He was from Rajastan and had been driving for 22 years. For a while he was an ambulance driver in Mumbai.
How did you get around in that traffic, I asked?
“I put the siren on all of the time”, he laughed.
He had been a driver in Dubai, in almost every state in India, and was proud to claim that he knew every single main road in the country.
We asked him about the night scene here. It was, after all, Saturday night. Should we go out to the nightclubs in Goa tonight?
“No”, he said firmly. “Too many Indians, not safe”.
We told his about our travels around India.
Apparently, if we make our way to Jaipur, we can call his brother who owns a good hotel and who would be more than happy to help us around there too. He gave us his number.
All of these encounters keep bringing me back to the overarching theme that keeps astounding me here in India – the people. They are truly caring and warm.

A tailor that we met on the main road.

Now the nightclub scene might be a different story.

Pushing my limits

This whole experience has pushed my limits. It has forced me to place myself outside of my comfort zone that I have become so accustomed to and restricted by. However today, I will push them even further.

As an introvert by nature, and at times even reclusive and perhaps even anti-social, it is very difficult for me to be the one to start engaging in conversations. I usually just hang back, wait for people to talk to me, or just do my own thing. Today I will force myself to engage. Even better, I will force myself to engage with the local people here in Goa. This is somewhat of a social experiment I guess -- perhaps more of a personal test.

Regardless of what you call it, it should be interesting to say the least.
Hopefully I'll have some good stories to share with the kids!

p.s officially homesick now.

A beautiful culture!

Yesterday evening we were invited by the students of Gujurat University in Ahmedabad to attend their traditional Garba dance for teh closing of the Navrati festival. So we put on our best Indian attire, and went for an evening of dancing with the local students.

Aside from the humid temperature of what was probably 35 degrees, it was a magical night. The students took us by the hand, brought us into the circle and showed us the traditional Gujurati dance steps. I have to say, that although I have never sweat so much in my entire life, I danced the night away with my new friends.

The traditional attire was astounding. The colours, the music, my senses were blown away by this colourful and joyous culture. It made me envious actually.
Never have I ever felt so welcome and accepted as part of the group by people who seem so different than me on the surface. It turns out, we aren't so different after all. Together, we laughed and we danced.

Oh, I might also add, that I took home best dancer award! Pictures to come soon!

Today, we left our friends from Ahmedabad behind and flew to India's southern state Goa. It's late, I'm tired and sweaty (again), and i am looking forward to a good night's sleep.

Let the adventures in Goa begin!

They told me so...

A few people kept telling me before I left that after a week or so I would fall in love with India. I kept wondering why this was so? Why did one need to be here for a while before seeing the beauty?

Now I think I understand. The cultural shock of travelling to India for the first time takes over your senses in the beginning. The constant noise, the smell, the sight of blatant poverty -- it overwhelmes your being and your experience.

However, as horrible as this sounds, over time you become desensitized. Over time, you notice the beauty of the land, you appreciate the history, the art, and you experience first hand the spirit and richness of the culture.

This is where I am in my journey.

The amazing people - updated.

I am just back from a two day trip into a rural area of Gujarat. We accompanied the NGO Marag to 4 villages of pastoralists. These are the people, who for centuries, have raised cattle. They are called the Maldhavi people. These people are migrants, they raise their cattle on land that they do not and can not own Once their cattle have graised all of the available land around them, they migrate. These people are marginalized. They do not register their births, they do not own any land, they can not vote. The Marag organization is a grass roots organization that has helped the pastoralist communities advocate for their rights. Specifically, they focus on women and children's rights.

In all the villages we were welcomed like royalty. Many from the village came to greet us. The children had songs prepared for us, the women made us tea. Words do not do justice to explain these encounters. They have been life changing in too many ways to explain.

No longer am I blinded by the shock of the living conditions here in India, but rather I am awakened by the spirit of the indian people. In the villages, we sat together,  not understanding each other's language, but somehow understanding that in each other we saw similarities. The women held our hands, the children ran towards us waving hello.

A children's group in Gavana village

As we left the villages, the children would run behind the bus, waving, shouting, smiling. This deep human to human connection was awe-inspiring.
Also, seeing the interventions between the Marag staff and the villagers provided a perfect example of what community building and capacity building should be.

Villagers in Guydishan?

Video call with the Kids

Big mistake.

I saw the kids on MSN video tonight. I don't have a webcam here or microphone so I could see and hear them, but they could only read what I typed. They were fine. I was not. I am not.

I miss them terribly. I still feel extremely guilty for having left them solely with their father to deal with the chaos of home. Although, bless his heart, he won't tell me of all the hockey games he has to juggle or the phone calls from school. He just tells me he's fine.
They're fine. Me? that's another story. Hopefully, this awful feeling will pass.

Perhaps a fleeting moment will Kingfisher beer will help.

ahhhh....Ahmedabad

After a 10-hour wait in the Mumbai domestic airport for a 40 minute flight to Ahmedabad, we arrived yesterday evening to this new city. Ahmebadad is such a breath of fresh air, literally. It isn't smoggy. It is a clean, vibrant, and wonderful city. Today we walked to the market. Not once did we encounter the sadness of the poverty that we had in Mumbai. This is not to say that the people of Ahmedabad are well off, however the city as a whole seems less chaotic, and the disparity less blatant.

Everywhere we go here, people are interested in having conversations with us. They ask questions, they are curious. The area is reknown for its bright colours, its festivals and dancing. Already, I feel quite at home here, not as bound by my internal struggles with the injustice of the extreme poverty admist financial and industrial growth. Perhaps these internal struggles clouded every minute of my stay in Mumbai.

Now, I am curious to find out more about Ahmedabad, its people, and its history. This was Ghandi's home town for a while. I have another 10 days to find out.

The beauty awaits, I hope

I am now 3 days into my stay in India, and I am conflicted to say that I have yet to see the beauty that I have been told about by so many.

Today we made our way to the market that so many people told me about. Our experience at the market was marked by the many, many children beggars that came to ask us for money. They were so young, and walked through traffic to come to us.We were apparent, even from hundreds of feet away -- they saw us.

On our way to the market a boy, not more than 6 years old came to our window. He had a mustache painted on his face with a 10 written on his forehead. He came to the side of the car and started doing cartwheels in the middle of a busy road. Then he came to rest his outstretched hand on our window. My friend couldn't take it anymore and put 2 rupees in his hand. "Ten rupees", he said. Of course, it was written on his forehead for us. She pulled out her money and gave him 50 rupees without hesitation.

The minute he left the side of the car, 2, 3, 4 more children lined up beside us. We couldn't give more, and the look on their faces was utter despair.

Everywhere I have looked in Mumbai I have seen poverty and disparity. Below a Porsche car lot lay the homeless.

Perhaps this is Mumbai only? I am hoping that my future travels to Ahmnedabad and Goa will allow me to see the beauty that is India.

A life changing day

Today was a big day. A day we knew we would never forget. We were excited and nervous, unsure of what we were going to experience. On the way to the tour, we sat in the back of an air-conditioned taxi, and at the first stop of the car we were faced with the gut wrenching reality of child beggars. One boy, about the same age as mine, pressed his face against the window, gesturing with his hand towards his mouth. My friend and I looked at each other, without words we knew exactly what we had to do – what we had been told to do. We turned away. That experience of ignoring a needy child so blatantly will stay with me forever. The guilt, the confusion, it was all just too much. We both took deep breaths, and the cab kept on moving.


Our tour guide’s name was Thomas. He was a handsome Indian man in his twenties. He had a brilliant smile. We paused for a moment on top of a bridge going over a train track. Over the bridge was one of the world’s largest slums, Dharavi. On the bridge Thomas’ matter-of-fact account of the number of people who are killed daily by the trains below, who are so packed with people, was surreal. On each side of the tracks, people picked through the garbage on the tracks when the trains were gone. “17 a day probably”, he said. The trains below us, on the bridge, kill seventeen people a day. “Everyday I come I see some body parts down there. Today, nothing. You are lucky”, he continued. If only he knew how lucky we were, in too many ways to count. Behind us came two laughing children, probably no more than 4 years old who kept pointing at my water bottle and yelling “water!”. Thomas, without hesitation, swatted them on the head with his newspaper. They went on the merry way. “Thomas, please, no need to swat the kids” I said. He laughed.

view of Dharavi Slum from the bridge

Then, as we walked down the cement stairs of the bridge, we made our way into a city within a city, into the slum of Mumbai. There are a million people living here, all within 400,000 square feet. In the slum area, there is little wind, and it is very, very hot. The slums are separated by religion here. Muslims, Hindus, and Christians, all live within their own neighbourhoods. We started the tour in the industrial part of the slum. Thomas showed us the various trades of the people. The slums export more than 650 million dollars US internationally. Next time you buy a purse, think of where it was made. If it says made in India, it was made in the slums. The people of Dharavi are industrious. They are specialists in textile, leather goods, plastic recycling, pottery, among many other trades. Thomas told us that these workers have trouble finding work outside of the slum, even though they are qualified, all because of the stigma of being the lower people in a caste system. Those who get out, he says, are those who lie about their addresses in order to get jobs outside and make more money.

Living in a slum costs 2500 Rupees a month and an average salary is 3000 Rupees a month. This is about 35$ USD. That leaves little for food for a family of 6-10 children. “Who do they pay this money to”, I ask. “To the slum lords. You see that car that is covered by a sheet? That is the slum lords BMW. He lives in America, and pays someone to watch his car here all day and night. This is a reminder that he is the boss”.

Everywhere we walked, there were people. Children play in the dark spaces between the houses not more than 2 feet wide. Sewers run openly through the streets, and onto the streets. Children run barefoot, smiling and playing in piles upon piles of garbage. As Thomas took us through the dark alleyways we could see inside the houses, which were no more than a room where everyone ate, slept and bathed. All 10 of them. Young children would walk through the maze of houses as though they owned the place, smiling at me saying hello. Children would run up to us to shake their hands and tells us their names. Without hesitation, we shook their hands, and they went happily on their way, proud to have just met 'those other people'. "Shake their hands", said Thomas. "It makes them feel like they matter. "

It was smelly, extremely hot, full of noise and people. I was overwhelmed. At one point, I thought I would be sick. Thankfully, Thomas took us to a place inside a textile building where there was a fan. There, I had some water, feeling guilty for being so weak during my 2 hour stay in Dharavi. These people live here for ever.

What surprised me the most was the industrious nature of the people in Dharavi. This was truly a city within a city. The people were hard working, earning a living, raising a family. The people were very nice and courteous. The women were especially nice to us. Bringing their children beside us so they could view the white people, a novelty for most. We waved, said hello.

On our way back to the hotel, we took a cab that wasn’t air conditioned and the cab driver took us to the wrong hotel. Our trek, in what must have been 40C heat, took over an hour. During this time we once again were confronted with child beggars, this time with the windows down and within heavy traffic. A 3 year old boy, walking between 3 lanes of moving cars, came to ask us for money. We looked him in the eye and said, “no”. These images will stay in my heart forever. The unfairness of this world, where people like me who are among the priviledged are told to turn our backs on those less fortunate. Why?
Because we can't help them all, I am told.
I continue to struggle with my entitlement.
Back at the hotel room we were completely deflated, tired, sweaty, and dehydrated. This from only 4 hours of experiencing India. How spoiled I feel now back in my air-conditioned hotel room, sipping my Evian water. How privileged I feel. How much I miss my own children back home.
I have so many stories to share with them.

45 Minute Assault

My room mate and I decided to be adventurous today and decided to talk a walk down the street in front of the hotel. What I experienced only meters from the hotel lobby, was something like no other. It was culture shock. A 45 minute walk turned into a full on assault on my senses.

Here, there are people everywhere on the streets. People are intermingled with cars, buses, coconut cabs, bicycles, motorcycles, and dogs. The tiny streets, with mangled concrete strewn about, has no signs, no lanes, no obvious standards for traffic. Every second, 1000 car horns sound off. Every second you must ensure that you don’t take a wrong step or you will be run down. On the side of the street runs the open sewer, with street vendors selling their goods above them, their carts set on planks of wood which cover portions of the sewer. Garbage is everywhere. You walk in, around it, and through it.



There is one thing that I will never forget about day 1, it's the smell. A smell unlike anything else I’ve ever smelt before. I am not sure if it is a smell of pollution, or sewer, or garbage, or everything put together. But the smell, I will always remember the smell.

There are men everywhere. The ratio of men to women walking the streets of Mumbai are most probably 1000-1. The women that I did see, where graciously and beautifully dressed in Saris and traditional Indian dress. So beautiful, and graceful.

This is my first experience of India. Although one might think that the sights , sounds, and smells are what have impacted my impression of the country so far they would be wrong. So far, it's the people, especially the women, that have impacted me the most.
Tomorrow, the slum tour.

The trek

Finally here in Mumbai! Seems surreal.
My trek over took 2 days, 19 hours of flying, 6 advil sinus tablets, 3 hours of sleep, to get here. But I'm here, safely tucked into my hotel room.

I came in at midnight last night, so I wasn't expecting to report much, but apparently for the people in India, there is no sleep, because there must have been 1 000 people waiting outside the terminal -- 1000 people and a wall of thick heat and humidity. No one can prepare you for this kind of heat. It should be interesting today.

Last night my purpose was to get some sleep, and thanks to the beauty of pre-packaged melatonin, I finally did. Now this morning I wake up on Mumbai time -- and it's time for Mumbai!

So here starts the adventure, I shall pretend that I don't feel the heaviness of jet lag, hunger, sleepiness, and a soar throat , for now.

Lets get this show on the road!

The butterflies are starting, must be getting close. Three more days. The only reason that I know this is because I see it on the blog, otherwise life is so hectic right now I have no idea what day of the week it is most times.

But I do know, that tomorrow is my last day of work until November.
Today I attended my kid #1 and kid #2's last hockey game for a month.
This weekend I used the dishwasher for the last time in a while.
People are wishing me well, it's getting close.

But at this point, I'm done talking about how excited I am about this life changing adventure. I just want to get the show on the road.

Next time I post - it will be from India.

Namaste.

Extra Cuddles

The thought of my leaving is starting to sink in now. I am the happy receiver of extra kisses and cuddles from the boys. Even the oldest, usually too cool for anything other than a head nod when I drop him off at school, is letting me know....this is what I found in my coat pocket yesterday.

Finally started.

I didn't anticipate this trip to cost me so much in pharmaceuticals! 200$ today!

But this is why I love the dollar store...

my own personal travel toilet paper.

Where the rubber hits the road.

I've said from the beginning that I refused to feel guilty for taking on this personal journey. This is proving to be more difficult than I thought. Actually, it's proving down right impossible.
I think it's important to be honest, especially for this experience to be fully embodied -- good or bad. It will change me as a person, for that I'm sure (and I've been told many times). In the spirit of honesty, I reflect on this heavy feeling of guilt that I have been pretending not to carry with me.

My own guilty conscience is getting the better of me, it feels tremendously heavy.

When I first told friends and family about this trip, the first question was 'What does their father think about that?'

It's true. I am asking alot. Four weeks to care for the kids is a long time.

But...but what?
I don't know, I guess I just have to trust that what I'm doing is o.k., for me , and for everyone counting on me.

Nuff for now, gotta start packing.

Procrasti-Nation

You may delay, but time will not.  ~Benjamin Franklin

So with only 14 days left, why am I still no where near ready to start thinking about packing? Is this part of the process? Am I purposely not getting ready?

The entire family, myself included, is acting as though my trip were months away. Really, guys -- 14 days, 13 sleeps, 4 hockey games, and 2 weekends.

Kid #1 gave my name to be a volunteer for a hockey team activity that's happening on...Oct. 11th.
Daddy says he'll get me his work schedule for October in a couple of weeks for me to plan for backup.
I have yet to make up a list of things to purchase for the trip.

But I was SO excited! I started this blog in July for goodness sakes.

Alas, the family is in procrastinating mode, perpetually delaying the preparation involved in seeing mommy take off for 4 weeks!

Denial feels great, until you realize it's denial.

Repurposing my purpose remember?

A few weeks ago I mentioned that I was reflecting on exactly what I wanted out of this trip. As the date gets closer, it seems to be getting clearer.

I want to be a traveller, not a tourist.

This means that I want to take the time to engage with the local people. To listen to their stories, take part in their activities. This means that I may not have time to visit 'touristy' landmarks, it may even mean that I won't be able to take as many pictures as I had originally promised friends and family.

And that's ok. Because what I want is to experience India, not see India.

The beauty of this blog is that I can describe and share these experiences as they happen, in written form, without having to subject the locals to further marginalization by 'objectifying' them with my camera.

Woah...Deep.

Emergency - Parent Preparedness Plan

I wasn’t expecting to have my stomach in knots a month before departure. But I’m in the early stages of being a total wreck. Already, I’m panicking about leaving the kids for a whole month, already I wonder who will possibly think of all of the things that usually only I think about? These are important things!!

Who will remind my youngest to go #2 everyday?
Who will make sure to separate the ‘delicates’ in the laundry?
Who will remember to send a note to the teacher when there is a problem with one of the kids? Better yet, who will spot those problems before they are problems?
How will life possibly go on without me?

Sheesh, sounds like I’m leaving the kids in a box in the backyard or something. I’m leaving them their father for goodness sakes. They will be fine right? Yes, they will be fine.

BUT just in case...to make it ‘easier’ on him, I’ll do up a list of things not to forget. I’ll put together a daily schedule. That will be helpful right?
I am going to put together a daily schedule, pulling in family and friends, each taking on a task –

Day 2 grandma picking up Kid #2 at 4:30pm taking little guy to hockey practice

Day 3 auntie picking up Kid # 1 at school taking him for his allergy shots

Day 4 Neighbour taking both Kid # 1 and 2 to grandma who will feed them, then call auntie to pick # 1 for karate and dropping off # 2 at friends house for school project which will be dropped off at school by said friend’s mom for Kid #2, while bringing #1 to Dairy Queen, where grandpa will pick him up after work and bring home to daddy.

Currently on page 12 of schedule development.
I hope he appreciates this. He would do that for me if he went away on a long business trip right?
Yes, he would make me a list.

"Oct 31 - 6pm - arrival at airport."

October 10th...spending my bday on a 'slum tour'.

I've mentioned it before in a post. We're booked through a tour company for the slum tour. Here is an interesting glimpse beforehand. Mumbai Slum Tour Report.

How many days and counting?

I realize that my blog updates are infrequent at this point, but right now I'm just starting to prepare -- my luggage and my mind. I downloaded Slumdog Millionaire the other day (am I supposed to admit that?)

Haven't watched it yet. People say I should.

People have been giving me all sorts of advice - but the one thing they all keep saying is "this will be a life changing experience". I wonder what will change in me there? I'll make sure to make note of any 'changes' while I'm there.
For now, I'm just waiting and with each and every day that goes by I feel more and more nervous and more and more guilty for leaving my kids. Doesn't help that their father keeps reminding me of his empending challenge. Don't get me wrong he is supportive, I just owe him big time.

Enough with the guilt already...did I not bear his children? Did I not give up sleep for the last 11 years?
My turn. No guilt....for now.

Everyone's got a travel tip.

So as I prepare to embark on this journey I am trying to get as much information about travelling to India as I can possible find. Surfing the web requires so little effort so I'm mostly looking there. In my 'research' I came across a website called Heart Space. When I typed in 'tips for travelling to India' in Google, it was the first link on top of the list, so I thought...must be good right?
Oh boy. Not sure how to get a website to appear top of the list but...can't be too hard.

It pains me to post the link, I don't want to entice more hits than it already has -- 40,000 too many already, but it needs to be said. The guy that wrote this is completely bonkers, and among other things is completely culturally incompetent and racist. What's worse is that on his home page (may I remind you the site is called Heart Space )he claims that his site is for the 'spiritually awakened'. He posts his poetry and shit like that.

In his 'travel tips' he talks about the 'Indians' as though he was seeing them from his car as he is travelling through Park Safari. You know, the zoo where you can drive through it and touch or feed the animals?
Yeah, that's it. It's exactly like that.
Apparently enlightenment means different things for different people.
Sheesh. Here's the link.

Lesson: just cause it's on the web...

Back to researching travel tips, this time, reading this.

Repurposing my purpose

Sorry, been on holidays at the lake with the family. No time for blogs. Only time for knee boarding, cannonballs, and smores.

We were at one with nature. Well actually, I was trying to be at one with nature. But my relationship with it was far too often interrupted with requests for After-Bite cream and freezie pops.

But I did have time to do some thinking. I thought about this trip I'm planning, and about why it's so important. If someone asked me that a few weeks ago I would have answered "to come back a better person". Cheesy. Reminds me of Tom Cruise in Jerry McGuire. Fromage.

It needs to be deeper than that. So I need to give it some thought. I need to repurpose my purpose.

Booked for...the "slum" tour.

My travel companion sent me an email today saying that she had booked us for a guided tour called the "slum tour". My brain is in overdrive. Why am I so excited to go on this tour? It seems so wrong and exploitive. Is this ethical? Is it ethical for me to want to go on this tour in the first place?

I am not sure what this says about me as a person, as a mother of 2 kids. I will willingly pay money to walk through a place where children are dying of hunger on the streets. Do we simply walk by and mumble "how sad" under our breaths? How can you keep walking and not stop?

In my mind right now I picture the irony of the wealthy tourist on this tour, with their Swiss Army back packs and their HD multi-lensed Canon camera hanging around their necks, staring at crowds of poor, hungry, and disparished people. Yet I can't wait.

Perhaps it's that I can't wait to finally see with my own eyes the plight of those that you simply read and hear about. I remember World Vision ads growing up. I had to change the channel.
Now I will be faced with it. I will put myself in the midst of it, safely, well-guided by my paid tour guide. Will that change me as a person? Of course it will. Maybe this justifies the whole thing. Something has to.

Note to myself. Hug my kids twice tonight.

Trip booked!

This is getting real now. No changing my mind - I am going to India in October.

My eight pages of travel itinerary tell me that I am going to have an interesting trip. At this point I am completely naive. I'll give you that.

I love those little heated hand towels during the flights.
Thank you Mr. cab driver for the fast, cheap drive to my hotel room.
Room service for moi? Why, thank you sir.

I realize that I am in for a whallop of an wake up call when I leave for India. But a girl can dream no? Can't blame a girl for hoping.
People are saying that India is a magical country. It changes people for the better. It is a spiritual journey. For this I am so excited and grateful for the experience.

Someone who had traveled to the same hotel that I booked in Mumbai sent me an email the other day. "Bring the RAID".
Right. Check.
Another friend, "don't eat meat, dairy, fresh fruits, salad, eggs, or drink any water unless it's in a bottle".
Lose weight. Check.

Next up-packing...how do I fit my medicine cabinet into my backpack again? How many tablets of immodium can I bring into the country legally?

Not looking forward to the day when reality hits and I realize that I am leaving my kids for 4 weeks. Gulp. Until then, I'll just keep stressing about bugs and diarrhea.