January 21, 2006

Mark Little and Chef Ragubabbu

This would be our final day of working at the construction site, and each of us arrived for breakfast with mixed emotions – a feeling of accomplishment; another sub-chapter drawing to a close; working alongside the laborers for the last time; beginning our journey back home in a few more days… the list goes on and on. The chef, Ragubabu, was waiting for us, as usual, and wanted to know if we would prefer poached eggs, fried eggs – up, fried eggs over easy, or would we rather have him create something else special for us. It was amazing to think several of the staff at the hotel, from the manager to the front desk clerks, to the bellmen, to the chef, to the doormen…they all seemed to have remembered us from the prior year, remembering our team members, and inquiring about some of them. For some reason, we had made a lasting impression nine months ago, when we came from the other side of the globe to work in their territory to restore some sense of normalcy to villagers who had lost so much. There were many other guests, in groups traveling for business meetings or elder hostel people trying to absorb some of the culture, but for some reason, the staff treated us differently. They knew we had left our families and at our own expense, had traveled to India solely for the purpose of serving others – their fellow citizens.

Kumar types Indian National Anthem

We finished breakfast and had asked Kumar, our driver, to be ready to leave at 8:30 for our journey south. Earlier that morning, Shanmugam had contacted Kumar by mobile phone to alert him to the fact that there would be a group of nine members of the Rotaract Club from Cuddalore Central who would be joining us at the worksite. We were, once again, to meet them along the coastal road, just at the turnoff to Pannithittu Village. Saturdays are like any other days of the week, and the working crew would be waiting for us. We arrived at the pick-up point and there were seven members of the Rotaract Club waiting. They boarded the coach and we headed down the winding road to Pannithittu. Each time we passed by the front of the local school, we had to sort of brace ourselves because of the huge sleeping policeman across the road, to help slow the traffic. A couple of times, Kumar had forgotten it and we bounced over it, tossing us around a bit and if we were standing at the time, banging our heads against the ceiling. When I inquired about the missing members, I was assured they were coming by separate transport.

Along the road the previous day, some of the members of the Rotaract Club asked us to sing some songs. In turn, I asked them to sing songs, but they were somewhat shy about doing so. Mark and I broke into one of the songs we had used on the job last year, “I’ve been working on the Railroad”. Mark sang one or two English ditties and I said I could not recall all of the words to the next one, but I would whistle it instead. I began whistling the notes of a song with which all of the Rotaractors would be familiar – the National Anthem of India. Over the course of my travels to India, I had somehow memorized the music, and they seemed to be very pleased. I remarked that if I had the words, I would be happy to sing it for them. One of the members said he would have the words for me on Saturday morning. He was good to his word. As we approached the worksite, he produced a hand-written paper with the words written out in “Roman” style, so I might be able to pronounce them. We stopped beneath the huge ficus tree, once again, and as Mark, Melpo and the others left, Anita and the young man who had written out the lyrics remained with me, along with Kumar. I asked if we could take a few minutes to type the words into my laptop, so I would have them to look at later. We began sounding out the words and I started to type them, but Kumar insisted upon bring the one to enter them onto my laptop. He finished that task and we reviewed the lyrics once, speaking them out loud, and then sang them quietly. Finished!

Some of the members of the Cuddalore Central Rotaract Club who worked tirelessley with us.

We walked toward the area where we would be working, and the laborers seemed even friendlier than on previous days. Mark had taken with him a copy of a photo taken of me with Swami Chidanand Saraswati, the one of him passing me the jug of holy water from the Mother Ganga, and had shown it to Amir, the foreman, and he in turn had shown it to the laborers. Having seen the Swami’s photo emblazoned on the huge billboard-sized posters at the entrance to this development, they were very familiar with who he was and what he represented. They were now putting together who we were, and as Martha Stewart says, “It was a good thing!”

WHAT DO WE WANT? MORE BRICKS!

WHEN DO WE WANT 'EM? NOW!!!!

The night before, following dinner, Mark, Melpo and I had taken an auto-rickshaw down into the shopping district of Pondicherry, as each of us had some things to purchase for family and friends. My purchases consisted of a kurta and Punjabi pajama bottoms for a friend back home. At the same shop, I had seen shelves containing dotis and lungis (typical dress for men in this area). These two items are really nothing more than pieces of cloth, about the size of a half a bed sheet, the dotis being white with a colored stripe along the edges, and the lungis being more colorful, generally in a plaid motif. I chose the one I wanted, and with coaxing from Mark and Melpo had decided I would wear the lungi on Saturday while working. Mind you, it takes a bit of practice to be able to wrap the lungi properly around you, first having it sort of a full-length skirt, and then learning the next step, where it becomes a half-length skirt. The choice remains with the wearer as to whether or not to wear something under the lungi… I chose to wear a pair of gym shorts.

We worked for a while and then I ducked into one of the homes, and changed my clothes, wrapping the few yards of material around me, tucking in the ends and rolling it to form a waistband, and then reaching down to take the ends and folding them up to form the shorter version. I merely came out of he building and proceeded to the brick line and began passing the bricks along with my fellow volunteers. First Anita noticed my change of attire and then another and another, and the Rotaractors all smiled and cheered that I had adopted this form of clothing. It was a few more minutes before some of the laborers also noticed and they smiled and nodded approval. The lungi provides a nice breeze and is most comfortable to wear. I carried a few baskets of sand over to where they were mixing up more concrete, but primarily worked in the brick line.

We had all become quite proficient in moving tons of bricks and with a good deal of speed and accuracy. The last one in the line was responsible for stacking the bricks in an orderly fashion, to make it easier for the mason’s tender to pass them to be cemented into the walls. It was amazing to see the progress that had been made since we had first arrived days before… from bare foundation to walls erected to a height of some ten feet, with the supporting concrete columns for which I had carried the hods of concrete on my head, and which had been dumped into the forms the previous days. Again, a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction.

A Real Fashion Statement!!!

Since we were going to be at work early that day, we had checked with Amir and he had told us we could plan to leave at noon. However, since we seemed to be on a roll, we chose to work straight through until 1:00 p.m., when the rest of the crew was going to take lunch. Bricks moved along the line faster and faster, in anticipation of the completion of a task, and rather than merely passing them from one member to the next, we were tossing them an even further distance, catching them often in one hand and shifting them to the other, in one fluid motion, while tossing them on to the next in line. Most of the local laborers simply would come to the brick pile, load up six, eight or ten bricks in a basket, lift the basket onto their head and then carry them to wherever they were needed. If they could have assembled a team, they might have moved more bricks, but having said this, there was a certain poetry about watching as young men and women walked along with piles of bricks on their heads, swaying somewhat, but always maintaining perfect posture and balance. Each of us was contributing in his or her own way to the greater goal of building this village.

When one o’clock arrived, we passed along the final round of bricks and gathered to take some water and electrolytes, before packing our things into various bags and walking one last time through the village of one hundred homes. The concrete steps up the sides of each unit had been completed and smoothed beautifully; the corrugated cement roofs had been lifted and set into place atop the poles, thereby creating a shaded veranda on the front of each unit; septic lines had been connected to the tanks at the back of the units; wooden frames with screening material had been installed into the window openings; electrical services had been wired in. All in all, everything was coming together and we were left with no doubt that not only was this the village which was the first in all of India to be dedicated, but it would be the first to be completed within the coming few weeks.

SATURDAY BATH TIME...

We rounded the end of one of the houses, entering upon one of the “courtyards” and found the workmen hosing down near to the common well, and then lathering up concluding their work for the week, as well. They seemed to be very happy, and willingly posed for us to take a few snapshots of them, but always wanting to see the instantaneous results on our digital screens. Smiles and laughter came to them as they checked out the photos on Mark’s camera and mine. The strangers who had at the beginning of the week invaded their space, had become friends in the course of time, and now were departing with as little fanfare as when we arrived. Some of the laborers gathered around the office area, where Amir and his assistant came to say thank you and to shake our hands. Wait! Did I detect one or two faces indicating a bit of sadness that we were leaving?

From here, we boarded the bus and had Kumar drive us into Cuddalore, where we dropped off the Rotaractors and gave them some Rupees to buy their lunch. We were going to return to Pondicherry and rest a while and get showered and dressed for the next event. This was going to be an amazing time for us and deserves its own entry.