How I Met My Hindu Realtor:

(Note: I wrote this post about 5 months ago while I was completing my internship in India. I recently found it on my computer and decided to publish it to the blog.)

I have just returned from a failed attempt to search for Wifi in the neighborhood--with nothing but a sack of mangos. Now... how I GOT this sack of mangos... that is a story that I must tell.

I went out at about 11, looking for a restaurant, coffee shop, or something that would allow MAC to connect to the internet. Sadly, I found nothing. What I DID find, however, was a very talkative, slightly inebriated, Hindu Realtor in front of a large temple to the god Ghatrapathi, just about 8 blocks from where I am staying. He stopped me and asked where I was from. I answered, “the Philippines”... which gave him a somewhat confused look as he tried to process the anomaly of the color of my skin and the country that I was coming from. The man preceded to tell me all about the temple that he was coming from, which was solely for the worship of this particular god who had the head of an elephant and legs of a man. He told of the harsh conditions that were suffered by the people of this area, long ago, and how this particular god had brought liberation from that suffering. His story eventually lead him (how... I do not know how) into a long historical description of what India was like before and after the Arabs came and then a long lecture of british colonialization and how Ghandi finally sent them all home in 1947. As he told his story, the man kept meeting people, waving, and interjecting sentences to passers-by. I could tell this man was well-connected in the Bangalore “social scene.” Finally, at the conclusion and finale of his talk, I looked at the watch that I don’t own, which doesn’t sit on my wrist and said that it was about time that I be getting home. He gladly agreed and began walking alongside of me telling me that he just lives up the block, which meant that we could continue the stories as we walked.

Arriving at his apartment, he spotted a caucasian couple across the street and told me, “OH, wait here, I’ll introduce you, they are from Britain!” (As if their caucasian-ness would give us instant camaraderie). He quickly jogged off the edge of the curb and part of the way across the street, motioning the couple to come over. As they exchanged glances and began to walk over, I began inching away, as I felt my “awkward threshold” reaching critical mass. The couple walked over and, come to find out, they actually did know the man. In fact, he had sold them their house. We talked for a brief bit, exchanging where we were from and why we were here and they parted ways. I assumed that the talkative and slightly inebriated, Hindu realtor and I would part ways as well... but then he met his friend with the sack of mangos. This changed everything. As I introduced myself to the friend with the sack of mangos, the very talkative, slightly inebriated, Hindu realtor just continued talking, telling all about his friend and where he comes from. This seemed to be a relief for his friend who seemed to have a bit of anxiety about speaking in English. In place of words, the man offered me one of his mangos, a firm green one. I thanked both of them warmly, looked once again at the watch that didn’t exist, and told them that I must be going.

As I turned and began to talk the realtor stopped me and nearly insisted that I come up and visit his apartment. I kindly turned him down, but he insisted that he at least needed to get me a riper mango from upstairs. Slightly, apprehensive of what ulterior motives the talkative realtor might have, I, once again, turned him down. He insisted once again, and I began to analyze the situation. This man checked out. He was a realtor--the couple confirmed it. He knew everyone, and just about everyone on this block had noticed him, or at least heard him chattering on. He was too well known to be up to something, and beyond that, both he and his friend appeared to be unarmed. Not to mention, they were much smaller than I--I was sure I could take them if they tried anything. “Sure... but I have to get back in just a couple of minutes,” I told them.

Out of the nighttime air, we quickly ducked into his building and tromped up several flights of narrow stairs to the third floor where he lived and kept a small office. As I entered the small room, I watched their hands and looked for any suspicious shifting in their eyes. There was none. I was asked to have a seat just across from the talkative, slightly inebriated, Hindu Realtor. With the realtor seated before me, and the mango toting friend lingering over me at the back, the realtor ducked behind his desk, grasping a large mass that he had hidden out of my sight, and out towards me, on to his desk came... another sack of mangos! Only these were a bit more ripe this time. Following that, came a plastic bag from his desk, into which he placed about six very nice-sized green and yellow mangos. He then brought out a map and proceeded to show me the location of his village and the village of his friend with mangos. I pointed to Philippines, and showed him where to find Ohio, clarifying that it was NOT in Great Britain or Australia. After are short, but very kind meeting in his apartment we shook hands, he walked me down the stairs, and I have had a wonderful lesson in Indian history, I have a strange story to tell, and a several mangos to eat for breakfast in the morning. Not bad.

Reflecting on Bethel

I will honestly miss Bethel. As I am presently sitting on a train headed to Bangalore, my mind keeps reviewing the faces and the the stories that I have been privileged to encounter over the past week. I was brought to the train station in a car that was arranged for me by Dr Kanagaraj.  We arrived and found the appropriate waiting area. After about 20 minutes, I received a phone call from one of the students, he and another were there at the station! They had come to say goodbye. We sat and had tea there at the station and they remained with me until the train pulled away. What a wonderful group! No doubt, I will miss the people the most.

It has been a marvelous week of sharing in stories and experiences. Dr. and Mrs Kanagaraj were wonderful and made me feel right at home, or at least as if I were staying at Grandma and Grandpa’s house for the week. I think I have been to just about every major project on the Bethel campus, talking with directors and staff people, getting to know who they are and how they minister. I was able to teach the first two days of “Introduction to Communication,” which was a lot of fun. This morning I spoke in chapel, which was also a good time, but most fulfilling of all was the time simply spent in conversation with the students. Perhaps one of the most memorable experiences will be the time that I spent in the villages last Sunday, walking from place to place, trekking through fields, and seeing the places that the students minister.

Yesterday Jacob took me through the farm and fields. He explained a bit about where Bethel came from. It all started with a large plot of land that was given by Danish missionaries to be used to provide resources for the villages and to train the villagers how to farm and make a living. From there the farm grew, and diversified. Before long there was a hospital, and a school, an orphanage, a home for children, and eventually, a bible institute for training rural missionaries. Jacob was a product of this place, and he showed me around with a comfort and familiarity, I could tell that he was home.

I hope that I will see some of these students again. Possibly even at APNTS. Jacob is planning for Master’s work, and he would prefer to do it internationally. Andrews is also thinking about possibilities in graduate education. Whatever happens, I believe Pamela, the wife of Dr. Kanagaraj, put it best, “Lord willing, we shall meet again.”

Perhaps one of the most wonderful and distinctive things about this experience was that I had the opportunity to be in the dorms, attend classes, eat the same food as the students, and eat it in the same way--hands only. Everyone seemed to have so much doubt at my ability to stomach all the local foods with their spices, exotic seasoning, and indigenous methods of preparation. I was offered to have prepared special food that would be more agreeable to my stomach. Many doubted that I could handle it. That is why I told no one about vomiting in the bathroom of the Baby home. I figure, somethings are best left unsaid... at least for the sake of my pride. :-)

This week has also afforded me the chance to explore new and exciting forms of relieving oneself. I am proud to announce (especially to my dear brothers and sisters in the Philippines) it has been more than a full week since I have last touched, seen, or otherwise interacted with a piece of toilet paper. Beyond this, it has been another good 6 days since I have made contact with a toilet bowl. I think I need not elaborate. For many of you reading this right now, you are scratching your heads, wondering what I am talking about. That is fine. Don’t worry; don’t ask. Others who are reading these words may find themselves laughing out loud, knowing exactly what I am talking about. As for me, I type these words with a quiet pride. This is a true milestone for me. Perhaps one of many to come. So, take it as you may. I write these words with my head held high. I may have quivered with the cuisine, but in the bathroom... I was victorious.

It all seriousness, the week was unforgettable. Tedious at times, but nonetheless unforgettable. I am humbled by the wonderful hospitality that I have been shown, by the friends that I have made, the culture and cuisine and dynamic learning of which I have been placed in the midst. I have learned much, and look forward to the things that are still to be learned ahead.

It is now nearly six o’clock. The day is cooling as the evening sets. I have another two and a half to three hours till I arrive in Bangalore. I have made contact with Santosh Gnanakan, a former student from APNTS who minsters in Bangalore and is the host of a Radio program on one of the local radio stations. I am told to give him a call when I arrive. He texted me that there is dinner and a bed waiting for me when I arrive. Once again, I am humbled my the hospitality and sense of welcome that has been given to me ever since I have arrived. Tomorrow will be a new city, a new culture, and a slightly cooler climate, I am told. I look forward to see what I will find at the end of the train track.

Meet “Jacob”.

I would like for you to meet Jacob. Jacob is what they call a “Bethel Boy.” At the age of seven, he was brought from his rural village to Bethel by his single mother. He has grown up in the home for boys, studied at the matriculation school, and is now entering his second year of college at Bethel Bible Institute. He is an outstanding young man. Just the other night I sat with him in his room looking through old papers that he had submitted at the school. I have to admit... he put me to shame. His work was meticulous, everything was well-researched, cited, with full bibliographies and stated in nearly perfect english. Did I mention that he was only 19? Did I also mention that all of this papers were done without a computer? Paper after paper was hand-written with numbered footnotes, organized original sources, and evenly-measured margins. He told me that it often took him several tries to make the paper just right. After seeing those, I didn’t even think to tell him about my habitual negligence to proof-read my papers that have been word-processed and automatically formated. He told me that he wants to continue through his Masters and Doctoral work so that he can be a New Testament professor like Dr. Kanagaraj (the man whose house I am staying in). I would certainly assess that he has what it takes.

It’s wonderful to understand where this boy, and many others like him, have come from. They have been provided with a nurturing (albeit, firm and disciplined) christian environment. His tuition and living expenses have been paid by a foreign sponsor church, which the school has provided him, that he keeps in contact with regularly. He remembers his sponsors from early in his life, often sending letters and grade cards to them, and receiving gift from them at Christmastime.

We have talked and shared quite a bit over the week that I have been here. He loves talking about culture and theology and is a little nerdy when it come to Greek (obviously, we get along wonderfully). It is the people like this that have made my stay here most memorable. It is beautiful to see how God can work in and through the lives of his people.

Sunday Morning Review

Good morning, and happy sabbath. We (the Kanagaraj’s and I) have had an early morning this morning. Church starts at 7:30, I understand, so we have been up with the dawn to get there in time.

I have been asked to say a few words this morning in church, mainly about who I am, where I come from, and why I am here. So, before I do that. I thought that it would be good to write a bit of that down here.

In part, this trip is an internship for my degree in Intercultural Communication. The plan is that I will travel around (backpack, really) to meet with Nazarene, Evangelical or otherwise Holiness Missionaries who are in Tamil Nadu and other parts of India. The goal is to learn as much as possible about what sorts of things God is doing, (and perhaps trying to do) in this region, among the various people in ministry. It is, in part, a kind of reconnaissance mission, as well. I am looking at these various ministries and seeing what, perhaps, we (APNTS) could do along side of these ministries, how could we work together, and what potential might there be for partnership? This is the second part of the mission, asking how we might be able to interface, partner, assist, or otherwise join-in what God is doing here, or even being something new.

I honestly hope that something could work out. The community-focused mission and drive of a the Bethel campus as a whole is a beautiful and honorable undertaking. I believe that their mission and passion would almost seamlessly mesh with the mission and drive of APNTS. Whether we work together by means of sending our students for internships and teaching or they send their MA-bound students to us for further education, or some other way of working together... some sort of relationship would be wonderful to see.

However, there is some doubt as to how much longer a project like Bethel can last, due to rising prices and decreasing foreign support. Tuition and fees per student, per semester are at about 30,000 rupees (~$700). Although, this is not a bad price to ask for this area, it is still difficult for such a school to be self-supporting without outside support. The hope would be to either find a better way of generating income for basic operating budgets or finding additional and reliable outside support.

Bethel Matriculation School

Today I met a “very dynamic woman.” At least, these were the words used, on several occasions, to describe her before we actually met. After meeting one another, I found the words to be quite fitting, indeed. Her name was Mrs. Nganaraj and she is the principal of the Bethel Matriculation School.

Now, a quick paragraph for those of you (like myself) who are not fluent in Indianized Britishisms (and, yes I did just make up that word), a “Matriculation School” is something like a boarding or preparatory school where the students are brought up in a highly regimented manner and usually live together on or near the school’s campus. So, it is something like college in the states (but minus the regimented lifestyle, of course).

My day began at 9:15 sharp in the office of Mrs. Gnanaraj. She was a robust but elegant women, beaming with self-assurance--but in a positive way. She was the kind of woman who, when you stand in her presence, your posture becomes a bit straighter, and you are all of a sudden aware of things like whether or not your shoelaces are straight and if the line of the buttons on your shirt is askew from the buckle of your belt and the zipper on your pants. She wore an bright and regal silk sari with a grand-patterned sash that whipped in the wind as she walked. I have to admit that I had equal levels of fear and respect for this women--she was good at what she did.

Anyway, after a short introduction we started out across the dusty schoolyard into the ranks of schoolchildren, at attention, standing shoulder to shoulder, about 2 feet apart. We crossed into the dead center of three troops, all facing one another. As the principal proceeded forward, I began to hold back--slightly intimidated by the phalanx of children that I saw before me. Seeing that I was falling behind, the principal gave a brief wave of her hand and uttered a quick, “Come, come!” So, I sheepishly proceeding forward into the ranks. I stood before them, just a few feet behind their headmaster. She called the children to order, and the ranks suddenly became a bit stiffer. Following her call, she maintained a piercing silence, which lingered in the air as a dagger, threatening any deviants who might dare to fall out of line or break the well-honored stillness.

She gave a short introduction of who I was and what I would be doing there. She demanded that the children “show him how we behave around here,” and I believe that both the children, as well as myself, knew good and well that this was a loaded statement. Following my introduction, the day began with hymns sung in Tamil, and a warm singing of happy birthday to one of the girls who wore a long-patterned red dress instead of a uniform as the others were wearing. The principal placed her hand on the shoulder of the girl and lead the crowd in singing “happy birthday” followed by additional verses of “God bless you, dear child” and “long life to you, dear one.” After the sweetness of that moment, the principal gave another quick wave of her hand accompanied with a firm, “get back in line,” and the birthday girl scurried away.

Apart from learning a bit about Matriculation Schools and the Indian/British school system. I got to see the greater function of the school in a context such as this. This school is the nurturing ground for the children living in the Children’s home, and the school of the babies and toddlers from the orphanage. The school gives strong christian (although, strict) upbringing and nurture. Behind the firm hand and high expectation are loving hearts that are working to create well rounded, with a firm understanding of who they are as christians.

Bethel Hospital

The Bethel Hospital has been in operation for nearly 30 years. It functions to bring comprehensive medical care to the people of the village of Danishpet and its surrounding communities. It used to operate free-of-charge to its patients; however, in recent days, it had been forced to charge for its services, due to lack of support.

I met with Dr. Angelina who is said to be one of the hospitals most committed Doctors. As I walked with her through the hospital I got to hear stories of the hospital's golden days. She told me of a full-fledged medical staff of doctors and surgeons who would faithfully work to care for the great influx of patients--sometimes even forfeiting meals to do so. Sadly, that was not the hospital that I saw today. I passed ward after ward of empty beds, now gathering dust. We passed an ICU, and a fully-equipped radiology lab, a cardiology lab, laparoscopy and endoscopy rooms, and full Operating Rooms equipped for major surgeries, but nearly everything seemed to lay quiet and empty.

This was not the case with the dental clinic. It seemed to be the office that was still alive and active in seeing patients. Since most people only visited the dentist when something was seriously wrong, the gums and teeth that they examined were usually beyond repair. I got to be present during the examination of one patient. Nearly all of this particular patients teeth were mobile. They were black and brown with neglect and her gums were red due to bleeding and because of staining from "beetlenut", a kind of rural tobacco found in South-east asia, which is known to cause many kinds of oral cancers and, of course, tooth decay. It was interesting that the poor dental care of this woman was not because she lacked money. I was told that, in fact, she was very wealthy, and own many acres of land here in the village. However, they believed was that dental care was a kind of vice and that the money would be much better spent on jewelry and ornamentation. Instead of going to the dentist, people would commonly go to "quack" doctors, who would give them injections of things, in hopes that the pain from the patients rotting teeth would go away.

Dr. Angelina explained to me that much of their work began at the level of basic education. Teaching how to your teeth, and how to prevent from gum disease, and the worth of investing in oral health. I spent quite a bit of time there talking to the dentists and technicians about how a ministry like this operates, what kind of patients they see, and how a missions hospital such as this had developed. It was clear to see that a hospital such this held great importance.

One thing that was especially impressive was that many of the people on staff were those who were called, "Bethel Kids." This distinction generally meant that these kids were a successful product of the Bethel Institute. Many of these workers, had literally begun as an unwanted baby, in the Bethel Orphanage, they had been raised and gotten a proper education at the Bethel school, received professional training in nursing or medicine, and then decided to return to work as a part of the hospital. One "Bethel girl" working at the hospital has met another "Bethel boy" and was now starting a "Bethel Family" while working as a Pharmacist at the Bethel Hospital Pharmacy. In fact, many of the people left at bethel hospital had been there for 20+ years--they were the faithful few. The Bethel institute was the world that they knew.

However, Dr. Angelina has a lot of concern for the sustainability of a ministry such as this. Bethel hospital, for the most part, is empty. It is becoming increasingly difficult to sustain a regular staff of doctors and nurses to work in a rural community, with very little pay. The hospital is supported by the modest fees that it collects for its services, and slowly diminishing foreign support from the US and Netherlands. With so much equipment, potential and such a history and mission, it is a tragedy to think that something like this might not be able to last.

Arrival in Danishpet

I had a long night on the train. I slept, but the sleep was unproductive. I awoke 2.5 hours before my stop and fearing that I had gone past my destination, only to realize that the clock on my phone was still set to Manila time, and I was only about 2/3 of the way through my journey.
After a few more hour and a few more brief naps, I stepped off the train in the town of Salem. There I met two men from Bethel Bible Institute from the school where Hanson's father was president. I rode with the two men, in a silent and sleepy daze. After about 45 minutes, we arrived into a very remote village known called "Danishpet". We entered the Bethel campus and I was surprised to see that it included far more than I had imagined. There was a hospital, a church, a Matriculation school, an orphanage, and a bible institute which served as a training center for rural indian missionaries. The car finally stopped at the house of Dr. J. Jey Kanagaraj. Where there was room prepared for me to live in during my week-long stay in Danishpet.

The day was sleepy, yet productive. I attended a chapel service and a class on Indian Philosophy. Morning tea, Lunch and dinner were spent with the students talking and getting to know them and their calls into ministry.

Meals have provided an interesting experience. Almost everyone seemed shocked when I asked to eat the same food as the students in the dining hall. I was repeatedly asked various questions about my digestive health and if I had eaten Indian food before. I would usually reply something to the effect of: "yes," my stomach can digest a brick, and "no" I had not really eaten much authentic indian food in my life. So... eating would be a bit of a step of faith. Apparently they were asking these questions because, it is a common occurrence that "white people" will come, decide to "go native" and end up spending the remainder of their trip with painful stomach cramps and diarrhea. After all of that intro, I have to admit that I did have some mild concern, but I ate with them anyway.

Meeting and eating with the students has been wonderful. Sharing in a common meal something very necessary anyone who falls into the category of "human." And for me, it's never really about the food... but more about the sharing. I believe that there is something almost spiritual about sharing a common meal. There is a amazing sense of "leveling" that takes place when people eat together. This is what I think is so powerful in the symbolism of the Lord's supper. It is a catalyst and symbol for community, union, and fellowship. This is why I believe that it is so important to share in the SAME meal, eat from the SAME pot, and eat it in the same way, because it strongly communicates something about who we are as "people" and bypasses, if only for a moment, all of those things that seem to hold us apart.

Through meals and tea times, I have had the opportunity to get to know the hearts and callings of several of the students. Bethel Bible Institute caters to training indian missionaries and ministers for work in a rural contexts. Many of the students are coming from rural farms and provincial settings throughout Tamil Nadu.

Conversations with Dr. Kanagaraj have also been enjoyable. We got to share afternoon tea together and talked about the school and what drives him forward in this endeavor. He fondly remembers teaching at APNTS and hopes that there could be some constructive ways of connecting in the future. I was also impressed to see how active Dr. Kanagaraj has been in the Academic community, even on an international level. On his desk sits a full-commentary on the book of John bearing his name on the cover, and another commentary is on the way at the request of the publisher.

Tomorrow morning will be spent at the mission hospital here on the Bethel Compound. However, before I go there... I plan on taking a much needed, full-night rest. Good night.