Visiting the village of Killokoti

The first picture is that of a rice paddy. It needs to be constantly irrigated until the rice is ready to harvest. We went to the site where JC Bailey and Myrtle and their three girls resided along with Jim and Eva Johnston. The well with the stone steps going down is the second well that was put on the property and it is not used. The baptistry is also the second generation and only the middle part is used as the two outer ones developed leaks. Later we visited a small village congregation where a villager objected to a church building going up so he built a Hindu temple opposite the church's building. The Hindu temple is slated for bulldozing as it encroaches the road and the road is supposed to get fixed. After Ray, Laura and Shelby went back to the hotel,
Roy Knight took me to Killokoti village to speak to the people there. I spoke on the topic of "Fear" and Roy interpreted. After giving garlands to the locally elected politicians they asked me to pray for them. Then after praying for several others I ended up in a small hut where they wanted me to pray for a baby. Then they wanted me to name him so I said, "Ray." Everywhere we go people feel that they have to honour us in some small way. So the is the reason for the fancy shawls in the last picture.

NOW!

"I am going to do what I want to do!"

How do we save our precious teenagers from themselves?

Something to consider.

Wrong Place -- Wrong Time

Some of you will have seen the devastating news about the bombs in our city (Guwahati) yesterday. If you haven't (and want to) you can find the details at

http://prafulkr.wordpress.com/2008/10/30/blast-in-guwahati/ http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/7699105.stm

It all seems quiet in the city today. But we would not know if it were not. Yesterday, Ellen and Becky were at home and didn't know anything had happened until I got back from teaching at Kalapani.

In the morning I had parked the car right were the Ganeshgiri (where we do most of our shopping) explosion blew things apart. I left Autumn & Andrew in the car and took a computer to a shop 50 metres away. If we had been an hour later we might all be goners. I am wondering if the computer is no more ... doesn't matter. I hope that the brothers at the computer shop are OK. They are so helpful and friendly.

Wrong place -- wrong time. I don't even know if that makes any sense. But I do know what does make sense: A & A in the right place -- at home!

WWW

http://WWW - The Whole Wide World.

The book of Proverbs offers more wisdom re spoken words than I know how to remember, much less practise. But consider the similarity between escaped words (from our lips) and the hasty (reply) emails and less-than well-thought-out blogs!

The “publish” command is much more danger than the spoken word. In those “olden days” when we laborious, cautiously scripted out our thoughts on paper with indelible ink, we recognized that “putting things in print” can be beneficial--but also very damaging and regrettable.

“Send” has left many a regret and imparted multitudes of misunderstandings. And made fools of “the best of us”!

Diaries and journals used to be for private introspection. Today they are often thrown to wind and cast upon the waters of time for the whole wide world to read … now and forevermore!

Bloggers are many, but lurkers outnumber them … and for a good reason!

Something to consider!

Counterfeiting

While returning from Shillong last evening, along with a driver and 8 other Canadians, we pulled over to a very modern type of “petrol station” to secure fuel (diesel) for our Sumo. I handed Kuldip (pronounced cool-deep), our driver, Rs.1,000 which usually does the required. Drew, our friend from Yellowknife treated us with some delights from the ice cream vendor. Having just descended from the cool mountain heights of Shillong into the oppressive heat of Guwahati, ice cream could not be refused.

While waiting for us, Kukdip drove the Sumo out of the pump area. Then, he ran up to me and said that the attendant claimed that I had given him a counterfeit Rs.500 bill. Without much thinking I exchanged it for another.

Then I noticed that the bill was all crinkled as compared to the other notes in my pocket which here fresh from the bank and in series. We demanded to see the notes (3 500’s now) that the attendant had from me. He assured us that he had already sent them to the till. A shouting exchange ensued between Kuldip and the attendant plus my friend Shyam, who was quick to join the fray!

I headed for the office and asked for the manager who had already appeared. He called us all into his office. Lots of loud exchanges followed in various languages of which I understood very little. The manager then reached over and grabbed the money bag from the attendant and pulled out the 3 500’s, matched them with another I had in my pocket, and promptly fired the attendant.

Something worth considering if you are contemplating passing on counterfeit bills!

WATCHING IT HAPPEN!

After living in beautiful Aizawl, the capital of the state of Mizoram (remote NE India) for three delightful years, we “shifted: (as they say in these parts) to the plains city of Guwahati.
I dreaded the thought of the moving of our “stuff.” We first located a place to locate in Guwahati and then I flew to Aizawl, employed a couple young fellows to dismantle the dismantleables and to create crates for the fragiles.
I was fortunate to have the generous help and advise from a couple of our good friends in Aizawl to engage lories to make the 525 km (18 hours) trip down the precarious mountain trail to Guwahati. After approaching several offices which gave me the impression that everything was going well till I showed up with some business—we agreed on a price for two of the biggest trucks available. They would also provide the muscle to load the trucks—with neither trolleys nor ramps!
A couple observations were of interest. The amount of weight the loaders could transport on their heads was incredible. Two others would hoist the boxes up and one fellow would take off with it on his head! But just as incredible was the inability to lift things with their arms and shoulders. I could out lift any two of them by just picking things up!
The second fascinating observation was that the two drivers—of considerable physique—never lifted their hands or head to anything. They were simply stand-byers with the usual expert counsel of spectators (or sports casters)!
Oh well, three days later everything arrived and, contrary to the naysayers, furniture and “stuff” arrived in great shape.

Welcome to Canada

If you missed it on the news last night, you might (not) want to check out this web site: http://www.cbc.ca/canada/british-columbia/story/2007/11/14/bc-taservideo.html

Dziekanski, 40, died on Oct. 14, hours after he arrived at Vancouver International Airport. He was on his way to Kamloops to live with his mother in the B.C. Interior.

This Polish immigrant arrived from Europe the previous day around 4 p.m., but for some unknown reason he did not clear customs until after midnight.

An eyewitness's video recording of a man (Robert Dziekanski) dying after being stunned with a taser by police on Oct. 14 at Vancouver International Airport has been released to the public.

Perhaps the most disturbing revelation came from CBC's interview with the airport CEO. He was asked, "Are you ashamed?" His (calloused) response, "Shocked, but not ashamed." His staff had allowed a visitor who spoke no English to go unnoticed and unhelped (in spite of repeated requests from the man's mother) for 10 hours!

Apathy is a deadening virus . Some of us have person experiences with the apathy of Canada's front line welcomers. A little caring goes a long ways -- might make some friends -- might even save a life!

Something for all of us to (re)consider.