Mumbai, India June 2009

Part 3
by Emily Sernaker

I asked some of the women at the rehab center what the best part of their day was. Without hesitation, they all told me the same thing: the rain. It really is something to see everyone look at the water falling from the sky as if it is direct proof that God has heard and answered each of their prayers. I was excited for the rain too, until I realized that the water inspires more creatures to come out and play. The women were quick to give me advice: "Close your suitcase so bugs won’t crawl in. Shake out your shoes before putting them on." After a bug flew in my mouth the other night I started to think that keeping things shut in general seems to be a good rule.

The girls at the center think it is hilarious that I am acting like a contestant on fear factor. They love showing me toads the size of both my feet (I'm a size 6 1/2 ), mice, snakes, crabs, stray dogs ("they won't bite you unless you run away"), red velvet spiders, goats, beetles, lightening bugs, and butterflies (the best butterflies are yellow and look like little pieces of tissue paper floating all around). I will say that I do enjoy it when a cow just walks into the middle of the road and stops traffic cold. If he's feeling really sassy he'll plop down and take a seat in front of the cars. No one can go anywhere because a cow is taking some time to collect his thoughts.

On another note, India has style. It is common practice here to use dye from henna to over up grey hair - which means every day I see elderly people with bright orange hair. Besides embracing orange, India is all about being shiny. Sparkly nail polish, sequins all over shirts and scarves, flower stems wrapped in tin foil; India looks good in the sun. A few other things India supports: hand gestures, garlic/onion/peppers, the girl being three years younger than the man for marriage, tea time, three wheeled taxis, wild pigs.

I have enjoyed staying with the women at the shelter this last week. One of the program directors will pull me aside and tell me stories about what they've been through as we watch the ladies sip their tea and play with one another’s hair. If someone's scarf barely touches the ground, one of the women will rush up to help her fix it. Even the way they tease one another is very soft, very sweet.

Trying to understand things like the cultural importance of a woman's reputation, the idea of being someone’s property, the concept of a dowry, proper burials, the government’s relationship to the mafia's relationship to the madam's relationship to the prostitute's relationship to whoever sold her into the district – it’s all very difficult. In the red light district, one of the program directors handed me a pile of death certificates for all the people they had buried that year. "Look," he showed me, "This one was only 4 years old, this one was 5, 7, 10, 16, 23, 31..." I felt sick holding the papers, just feeling them in my hands.

Holding the hand of one of the kids with AIDS at a children’s center has a different kind of weight. We will be playing and he will be smiling at me and I will be smiling back trying not to stare at his speckled skin. I think, what kind of pain have you known in your little life?

At the same center everyone will cheer when it starts to pour. The children will sit together in front of the window, totally captivated, just watching the rain.