Off to Mumbai

So I must admit that I am a blogging virgin and I have reluctantly created this blog while ignoring my disdain for what seems to be a silly past time for bored adolescents and adults. However, I hope that this blog will serve a greater purpose than what I would consider the literary equivalent of a token photo of a little orphan boy with Kwashiorkor's (think pot-belly).We are all well aware of our Western privileges. It is my hope that this blog will allow you a bit more of a tangible understanding of this awareness; to perhaps put a name, a face, with the omnipresent strife and turmoil that confronts individuals in an underdeveloped country.I'll appreciate your feedback and remarks while abroad. In one of the largest cities in the world I shouldn't have a problem finding an internet cafe.
Best,m

No luggage

Last time I was abroad I went a week or so without luggage. Natalie and I are on day 4, but no worries...watcha gonna do? We are living in a nice high rise condo-like building with fine amenities and our own cook. We are very lucky actually. We're traveling via rickshaw and train to all the clinical spots. The train rides are a fantastic experience. Take any subway system in the U.S. and add a few dozen people to each car-at rush hour. Upon entering and exiting the car it is like a New Years Day sale at Walmart, but with elbows involved. One has to be comfortable with no personal space.The clinical experience has been incredible as well. We visited a slum clinic this week. Dr. Mahtra is a very selfless physician, providing care to the poorest of the poor with very little, if any, fee. His clinic is no bigger than an office cubicle. It is not so much the clinical knowledge that is enjoyeable, but rather to watch his interaction with the patients. Warm reassurance, gentle scolding, and a caring touch are all a part of his encounter with a patient. On a more comical note: Natalie is sitting next to me on the computer. She sounds like a fog horn. I've never heard such bombastic nose blowing. There seems to an unearthing of mucus from the deepest recesses of her sinuses. I'm an embarrassed American! The exhaust from the rickshaws must serve as a great mucolytic!!
much love,m

D'oh!!

I just erased the post I was working on when i went to copy it so that I could paste it again if I accidentally erased it. woops.Yesterday, we visited Acworth leprosy clinic: http://www.theacworthleprosymuseum.org/main.htmIt was an incredible experience to meet these individuals with the understanding that historically they have faced more hardships and persecution than any other disease related group. I must admit and with shame that the first thought to cross my mind after shaking their deformed hands was,'where is the hand sanitizer?' I knew full well that they are cured and no longer contagious and that leprosy is the least contagious bacterium among infectious diseases. But I suppose with what we are unfamiliar with we still may act irrationally. Less than a decade ago there were nearly 500 people living in the Acworth community, but because of education and treatment these numbers have diminished to ~100. There will come a time when it is no longer needed and leprosy will have have all but been eradicated, but it is there hope that the museum will still serve as a reminder of this millenia old disease of great social importance and those that fought to aid the afflicted.Natalie and I are going to explore southern mumbai this weekend. It is suppose to be the more historical and posh side town. We continue to eat well and apply our smog facials every day. I will write more this weekend, but I 'm going to head home now and see if our luggage has finally come. Keep your fingers crossed!

Random thoughts at 36,000ft

An inevitable conclusion (one would hope) from international travel is the realization of how clearly we are in fact similar as a species regardless of geographical location. Our biological differences are minute. However, the few millimeters of skin visible to us has allowed for the creation of artificial barriers, arbitrary divisions into groups, and races, which ultimately has led to the denial of humanity among them. This in turn has wrought the oppression and occasionally the extermination of a people.We have all come from the same mother. Literally. There are little Energizer bunnies in each of our cells, called mitochondria. They evolved from bacteria, so subsequently contain their own version of DNA, which is inherited through the generations. As humans we receive our entire mitochondrial “DNA” from our mothers. This means that the total mitochondrial “DNA” in the world today came from a single woman-The Great Mother Hen, if you will. She is estimated to have lived approximately 150,000 years ago. Men, before you begin doing the dishes we too have a Top Cock to worship. The letter of the alphabet that makes us appreciate flat-screen TV’s, beer, and video games is Y. We received our Y chromosome from our fathers who received theirs from their fathers and so on back to a single male. One doesn’t have to go back many generations to find common ancestors among us all.A few recent books have described the world as becoming more flat, and not in a medieval-Vatican kind of way. I would argue that it has always been flat. The common threads among cultures are not solely biological, but they are also observed with respect to mythologies and religions. Virgin births, great flood stories, and similar creation accounts, for example, permeate various religious and cultural belief systems and are not unique to Christianity.Cleary what has changed is the tremendous ability with which we can globally communicate. What has not caught up with this communication globalization is the understanding of our commonalities. As communication has increased, rather than embracing these similarities, we have established the social construct of race and arbitrary classes and used them as a means for the isolation of power among a few and hierarchies with no biological basis.We are in desperate need of a person or symbol to globally establish this common thread. It will not be McCain or Obama (maybe...hopefully) or the Cross or a Jihad or Oprah. Some of the greatest movements and revolutions have started from a single person. Think of apartheid, slavery, and women’s suffrage. [Insert inspirational quote here].

This week has been a bit disappointing in regards to the medical aspects. We started at a new hospital and there has been very little guidance/teaching. We were left to read charts one afternoon. I don’t know if Indian medical students are more proactive, but I would feel tremendously invasive wandering around the hospital inquiring doctors about their patients. It has been very hot and muggy here, not Bangkok hot, but Mitchum certainly doesn’t work worth a damn. I was compelled to buzz my head, and now I’m a bit cooler. I’ve dispelled the old-wives tale of catching a cold from sleeping with the fan on because ours has been on full blast every night.We are still eating very well. Our personal(!) cook has given us a few lessons. We also discovered an amazing ice cream store right below our building. Yesterday, we made a couple of stops throughout the day. I think we have tried more than a dozen flavors already. If we hadn’t found a gym I would probably come back a bit rounder.

Back in Mumbai

We spent the last few days in a small rural town east of Mumbai. We observed a rural general practice as well as a dermatologist. The dermatologist was extremely welcoming and taught us a great deal-stuff we wouldn’t see in the US. Our accommodations were more “rural” as well. Natalie said that she has always wanted a canopy bed but preferably not in the form of a mosquito net. She wouldn’t let me open the window for a bit of a breeze because of the Geico geckos crawling all over the outside walls. Not only did the mosquito nets keep out the mosquitoes, but they also prevented any movement of air. More than once I woke up feeling I couldn’t get enough air. Thank goodness for Ambien!!I will not forget the experiences of riding the Indian commuter trains. They are no Chicago L, New York subway, or Paris metro. Rather, they are gender segregated, doorless cargo, train-cars with faded paint and dimly lit florescent lighting. Dust and grime covered fans circulate the stale air and steel hand grips hang like hooks at a rendering plant. But I can’t escape their allure. I have found them to be a small microcosm of Indian culture. In India space and privacy are a luxury. Personal space is more like a Venn diagram with your bubble sharing a bit of space with another. An accidental bump or nudge is in no need of an apology instead they are often ignored. I have unintentionally planted the occasional elbow into the back of a passenger’s head to have it not even garner a sideways glance. Like a queue, passengers line up at the edge of the doorway facing the direction of travel. Of course, I could not sit for long before I too was hanging out the door. Every few hundred yards there is a new kaleidoscope of color and new smells in the air. As the train bends around a curve I enjoy watching the colorful wisps of women’s saris accent the train’s otherwise drab aesthetics. In India there is no other way to travel.
This is the link to the new online version of the Abaton.http://www.dmu.edu/communications/publications/abaton/2008/fall/

Diabetie balls

So Natalie wasn’t feeling too well today. There was a lot of whining going on and sad “what should I do” looks. I told her that she could probably use some rest so maybe she should head home. “Can we stop at AND (her favorite mall shop) for a few minutes?” Twenty minutes later from the dressing room I hear, “I’m feeling a lot better, Mark!” I’ll have to remember the prescription for fashion therapy.Perhaps, the reason for her minor bout of Delhi-belly was the gluttonous binge last night at a new restaurant, Sheesha. We were stuffed after the starter course, so following the third dessert we were borderline comatose. We had an Indian dessert called gulab jamun. It consists of slightly smaller than golf ball size dumplings in sugary-rose petal syrup. Natalie and I simply call them “diabetie balls.” They taste like semi-solid baklava.Switching subjects from dessert to leprosy: While in Panvel we stayed near-by in a small village that was also home to a 150+ person leprosy community. The community “officials” established a program that allowed the outcast lepers to live there, work, and even establish savings accounts. Monday evening we were invited to attend prayer with a few of the community members. Outside on a blue tarp I and 8 others sat under the full moon—the only source of light. Without any other illumination the hallmark remnants of their long-ago cured affliction blended in with the moon lit surroundings—no longer were they available for scrutiny and judgment. What arose from the men was a beautiful, harmonious chant. It began with the words ‘om shanti,’ which could quite possibly be the Indian equivalent of Tolkien’s ‘cellar door.’ It was easy to loose one’s self in the prayer. One particular elderly man sang with such rustic tenor I could feel the undulations of gravel-like sound waves. He was Johnny Cash, Tom Waits, and Pavarotti rolled into one. After a few other song-prayers a younger gentleman began to read scripture. I certainly could not understand what was being said but his tone followed the same sentence to sentence decrescendo pattern so common in the Western religions; each sentence starting out with great emphasis and trailing off in dramatic fashion. --Posted By Mark Stephany to Mumbai, India at 10/16/2008 04:41:00 AM

A night out

Tonight we are taking our local coordinator out for dinner at the Taj Mahal Lands End Hotel in Bandra. She has been extremely helpful and patient with us, so it is the least we can do. Natalie and I are looking forward to it not only because of the guaranteed excellent food, but we will also have the opportunity to wear our new Indian clothing. Nat bought a beautiful sari and I'm going to wear a kurta. We have enjoyed the no-prescription-needed pharmacies here. Stocking up on allergy meds, ambien (you never know when you’re going to be sleeping in a mosquito tent), prescription strength zit cream (smog does wonders for your skin!), heartburn meds for the Indian food induced acid fountain… We are thinking they will make great stocking stuffers too! --Posted By Mark Stephany to Mumbai, India at 10/17/2008 09:54:00 PM

An editorial in the Times of India

This is a link to an excellent editorial in the Times of India concerning the historical significance and actual meaning of jihad. It would be nice to forward on to others since it may clear the air of a lot of misconceptions.http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Opinion/Editorial/LEADER_ARTICLE_Making_A_Mockery_Of_Jihad/articleshow/3567513.cms --Posted By Mark Stephany to Mumbai, India at 10/17/2008 10:14:00

On Poverty

This afternoon I was going to wander around the local community hoping to find a few intriguing images to photograph. I did not have to go far. Outside the gates of our building sat an elderly, homeless woman. She appeared to be painting her toenails, but rather than nail polish she was smearing a gritty, tar substance on her toes. Like the salon her toes were separated to dry, but not by cotton balls. Rather, small sticks were wedged in these spaces. Certainly, this was a unique sight for our Western eyes. Unlike, the young children whose parents send them out to beg on the streets (arguably a rudimentary form of the welfare system) this woman was not asking for spare rupees, so in turn, I felt compelled to give her a few coins in advance of photographing her.I shot the woman from the left. Her knees were drawn up towards her chest so her sari fell loosely across her cachectic thighs. The woman’s dark, almond eyes stared into my lens. There is something about the Indian aesthetic that harbors the air of antiquity. I was not merely looking into her eyes, but generations of Indians before her.Moving to her right side, I once again focused-in through the viewfinder. Shooting continuously, I heard footsteps of a passerby behind me and I noticed her right hand move up to shield her face, while her left hand displayed the 2-piece rupee I had given her. Having been focusing on her face it was not until lowering the camera that I realized she had further parted her legs, exposing herself to me. I immediately stood up and while fumbling away dropped another 2-piece at her feet.This incident has haunted me throughout the day. I sit now unable to sleep, trying to make sense of it. However, unintentional my actions may have been I seem to have captured the exact theme I hoped to avoid—the cliché representation of human plight. It is not an artistic mishap that troubles me, though.Why had she exposed herself? Was she even aware of this? Why did she shield her face as the person walked by and why had she held up the coin at all? Was the sun in her eyes after I had changed shooting position? Or was she hiding her face in shame and holding the coin as if asking for understanding and forgiveness?Reflecting, I have asked myself why this photo would be of interest to anyone. Certainly, Indians would look at it like we would a photo of a homeless man on the streets of New York City—tragically yet apathetic. Would the fact that she is Indian and wearing a sari change your perception? Would it tug at your Sally Struthers heart strings a bit more? I have photographed a number of similar images, though not as explicit. I wonder why I have taken these photos in the first place having experienced squalid conditions in underdeveloped countries before.This account of my experience is not a realization of the fortunate existence I am blessed with, and again it is not a self-critique concerning my artistic growth. I photographed her because I was able to view her as an “other.” In the moment that the shutter closed, in my mind, her eyes had lost their voices and she became a spectacle. When you eventually see this image will you hear—will you feel her stories? Or will you see poverty?I have seen naked children digging in trash for food, maggot infested wounds, legless men pushing themselves along on carts, and children defecating in the village water source. Yet, I have seen these same people smiling more than individuals on the streets of the US. I have watched children playing with immense joy as they run with their grocery bag kites and families and friends dancing to the festivities of Dassera amidst the squalor of their shanties. So what does it mean to end poverty? Will it look better on paper than it does in the slums? What then are we trying to correct? Is the problem poverty? No matter the amount of support from governments and celebrities poverty will never cease to exist because poverty is arbitrary. In practicality it seems to be a subjective entity that does not represent the humanity of a person or a people. Undoubtedly, I will capture another image of a beggar or the inhabitant of a slum, but I hope that this time through the viewfinder it is my own eyes that I see. --Posted By Mark Stephany to Mumbai, India at 10/20/2008 09:46:00 AM