A-bad Goodies

John and I rolled in to the A-bad train station after a sleep-deprived stretch in Singapore and Mumbai. With a swarm of competing, cursing rickshaw drivers in tow, we finally were identified and rescued by Anand from IndiCorps. Jubilant reunions with Nipun, Guri and Viral followed apace. We took two Sumos to the Gandhi Ashram where we were greeted by a gauntlet of five or six dozen brightly smiling kids. Recognizing an opportunity to hog the glory I sprinted down the two lines administering semi-high fives to the utter delight of the children. Nipun and the others saw their brief window of fame shutting and rapidly followed suit, producing new waves of laughter from the children (but not as loud, almost forced).

At the head of the lines we were garlanded with homespun khadi and given bindis by Lakshmi--a radiant youngster with 10 kilowatt eyes. She is an exemplar of the amazing work that is done by Manav Sadhna at the ashram. Survivor of an abusive past she is flourishing under the loving care of the volunteers and staff at the ashram. I was lost in the swirling admixture of empathy, joy, remorse and compassion when she proudly showed our group her neatly organized locker with toiletries and school items. We were given a tour of the Mahatma's quarters including the privelage of meditating in his simple room which featured a mattress and spinning wheel. Gandhi's quotes adorned the structure throughout and you could almost hear his original utterances faintly echoing off the walls still today. Certainly his spirit is kept alive by the amazing work done at the site.

Later we had dinner with the kids and I, along with Nipun, had the unique honor of serving them a circular bread biscuit that is made in-house. The bolder children quizzed us repeatedly, "What is your name?" With a couple of attempts they eventually were able to nail the pronunciation, while I myself struggled with their often unfamiliar-sounding names. After dinner we hung out with the kids and I removed my thumb multiple times before astonished eyes. "Again, again," they insisted, but I was firm about not re-enacting the drama of the disappearing digit until the following day. Too much "paining" in the thumb!