Baap, revisited

(Guruji's Schedule, dinner is actually usually at 10PM)

Typical for a morning at Baap, Guruji stares into the distant sunrise on his, the only, raised cot and begins to muse Indian philosophy aloud at 6AM. On the dimly lit terrace our bodies are huddled underneath blankets-- open shirts the night before-- and Guruji gently raises the volume of his soliloquy until we all wipe the dust from our eyes and reluctantly wake up. Seriously, I can't make this up.


(Guruji)

The hustle and bustle of the morning begins as usual and slowly the dormitory becomes an office. This time, I was equipped with a kit, a method, and a room in which to conduct water testing. We arranged our field laboratory as best we could, unfortunately without a fan, and began doing the methodical (insanely boring) sterilizing process of everything we had. A few mishaps with the pressure cooker, a few spillages of the broth, but mainly decent work. I benefited from having a lab background and introducing some 'uptight American' QA standards for what we were doing--cultures, turbidity, pH, and mineral content--micro/analytical 101.


(Sterilizing petri plates, Baap Center, 8AM)



(Guess which one I didn't drink.. thinking it was the dirtiest..)

The tricky part was that the lab was only for prep and the actual testing was to be done.. on location. Fast forward, I'm sitting under an expansive living tree supplemented by branches to make a roof of sorts in the middle of a group of huts. The ground beneath me is the hollow mortar paving they use for their floors, I'm sitting on a khat. I'm marveling at the ingenuity and beauty of the place, chameleons climbing around the tree, a matka (clay pot) hanging for water, a Marwar placidly spinning a bobbin and making string from the family goats. The breeze here is hot, but justifies the anatomical function of sweat and feels cool, even at literally 116.6F. We hear the tinkling of goats, the breeze whispering through the intertwined brush, and the gentle spinning of the bobbin. I've had tea yet I succumb to the serenity and fall asleep.



This field visit was less about monitoring workers and more about spending time with villagers. Ask them where they get their water, if anyone's been sick, how they clean their water, if they wash their hands, etc. Most are cooperative and some are funny in smilingly saying they use the desert sand to wash their hands (yet they really do). We go to the taanka and take some water, drink it (I think I shouldn't have had so much, but I did anyway--still alive), test it carefully in the jeep, record my results and move on. The villagers are fascinated with our syringes of red fluid and pyrotechnics (we flame methanol to sterilize a vacuum filter). The women cover their faces and refuse to sit on the raised level with us to answer questions-- so I make an excuse that I want to watch them make lemon juice and join them on the floor. After finding out about the sickness of a baby I ask to see it and the sister runs away with the child thinking I'm going to take her away-- the local doctor will come today anyway. I inspect more medicines and supplements. Many people politely request I refrain from pictures of their homes and I oblige. After confidently speaking my new language Hingradi (HIndi-eNGlish-gujaRAti-marwaDI), i reveal I am an American to a particularly happy Bishnoi. As we pull off in the Jeep leaving him in the desert, he smiles, points to the sky, and delicately says "America". Some are sarcastic, seemingly having the belief that money grows on trees where I'm from and is not the result of a bit of luck (in getting there) and 27 years of the hardship and work of my family-- it's really just a matter of perception. Just another day at the office I suppose.



I spend time talking with new and old friends at the field center. They take me away to 'work' which is really 7 guys watching 1 guy paint a bumper-- while they dance around, joke about women, eat betelnuts, and drink chai. I exchange shirts with one of them, grab a 5rupee mango juice (puree), and head back to speak with Guruji who gives me tips on how to control my unruly 'he-rry powter' hair. The dust and sun basically control it now. And as dusk falls, we sit on the grass and do some 'manoranjan'-- which today was a whistling contest which ended between me and my shirt-swapper. He won for volume and diversity of skill (I swear he could whistle with his fingers positioned in his mouth in maybe like 20 ways), I won for melody. Dinner is excellent as usual (atypically, I do it the Marwari way and just mash the roti and vegetables together and eat the delicious slop, leaving my spoon untouched I drink the loose yogurt directly from the bowl). I've picked up the habit of eating raw onions, the Rajasthani way-- Dad/everybody tells me it helps combat heat. With a bit of lemon is tastes like a sweet spicy fruit.


(Chillaxing, trust me they were smiling two seconds before I took this, 9PM)

Another night under the stars, the meteor showers are gorgeous and the small bits of windblown sand give a slight illusion that these celestial missiles are falling from the sky and gently landing on my face.. all as the moon rises slowly in the horizon.

When I take the bus back, a kid in my lap due to overcrowding, I have a sense of being home.