Mumbai, India

Sunday, June 21, 2009

by Naomi Zacharias

After just a few hours, it felt like we were in a different part of the country much further away. There were mountains, and winding dirt roads, and an open stretch of blue sky. We started the day by visiting a home for girls. We instantly had friends, who giggled and slipped their hands into ours and began to show us their home. We entered rooms with several single beds and pink comforters, and they showed us cupboards with their personal space and items. They gingerly tidied the already extremely neat piles of t-shirts and skirts, obviously wanting us to notice how well they kept their things. One of their first questions was about boys and dating, and what was it like in the US? I encourage Emily to take charge of the answer to this question. They were fascinated by Emily’s striking blue eyes and couldn’t believe they were real.


We left their house and went to another home for children who require special medical care. As we walked in the door, 35 sets of beautiful brown eyes beamed back at us and we instantly had our hands full. We ate a lunch of curries and freshly made chapatis, and learned about this home where children are given extra care and attention to tend to all of their health needs.

From there we went to a home for women previously trafficked and sold, and another for young boys who had been living on the streets of Mumbai addicted to drugs. Every child attends school, and the women can choose vocational training and learn to make silk pajamas and clothing and leather goods that are then shipped to retail vendors in the United States. The houses sit several acres of lush land filled with mango trees and offers a peaceful life of safety and calm.
By the end of the day, we are mentally tired. It is about 100 degrees and the unfamiliar humid heat seems to make everything process a bit slower mentally. And perhaps it is the stories themselves, too. Later that night we each stretch out our single beds, waving away mosquitoes and taking turns at discouraging four legged friends from coming closer. Then we see a lightning bug and something about it soothes us. I don't know if it is the reminder of summer nights of childhood running around for hours outside with a jar trying to get a little closer to this unthreatening creature. Or maybe it just is the little light that flickers on and off and offers warmth, or comfort, or even hope. We lie still to catch the breeze from the fan and talk about all we have seen, the way it hurts inside, how you must grieve the realization that we can’t actually fix the past. We can help to build and participate in the future, but we come from a culture that with all good intentions would love to believe we can actually erase horrors of the past and create a life perhaps happily ever after. But the stories don’t lend themselves to this, and they launch us into a different reality of life that is marked with unusual pain, but life that triumphantly perseveres. We talk until we are too tired to think, Emily strums on a nearby guitar that was recently donated and hums tunes I've grown to recognize in just a few days, and we briefly leave this reality to fall asleep.