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While in India, I got to witness how uniquely gifted Truthseekers is at contextualization.  They are reaching lower caste Indians and speaking the language in a way that most other ministries can only dream of.  One of the coolest things they do?  Coconut communion…

A religious leader at a New Delhi rally.

One of the younger Truthseekers named Deshpande has a ministry to Eunuchs, who are some of the most ostracized people in India.  I had the opportunity to visit a community of these eunuchs with Deshpande, and it is a memory that will remain with me for a long time.

I learned a lot about the country simply from experiencing everyday events.  By watching workers on the street, I gained a valuable new perspective on manual labor.  And when I visited a rehabilitation center for the dying and destitute, I knew that I would never be the same.

Over the three months that I was there, it became apparent that Truthseekers was attempting to do the impossible.  And yet, Truthseekers presses on.  They really are making a difference.

Culture Guides

The kids in India are amazingly beautiful!

Of course, my time in India was not always quite so intense.

I picked up quite a few interesting lessons and facts that could actually help you the next time you travel to New Delhi.  If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like eating curried goat’s feet, wonder no more.  I’ve gone to the trouble of finding out for you.

Oh, and if you find yourself on a crowded bus in India wondering why that man is resting his belly on your shoulder, perhaps I can enlighten you on some things I learned about personal space from an Indian perspective.

Travel Journals

Yes. Yes. Of COURSE I saw the Taj Mahal...

Now, no trip to India would be complete without a little bit of sight-seeing. But I’m not exactly the touristy type.

Of course, walking around an Old Delhi spice market was fascinating… but it became especially so when I broke away from the main roads and delved deeper into the city.

But it was taking a 22 hour train ride to the coastal city of Mumbai that really sticks in my memory.  Who would have ever thought that I’d one day explore ancient Hindu caves on an island off the coast of India?

———-

All in all, my 3 months in India were some of best, worst, most hilarious and most depressing of my life.  And I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.  I know that what I learned at the feet of the Truthseekers has changed my perspective on the world forever.

To get to Old Delhi, I had to take the city’s relatively new subway system. The trains are as sleek and modern as in any Western city, but there are definitely still some elements of the developing world. You see, for some reason, many people here seem to think that, unless they board the train right away, they won’t be able to get on.

They crowd up against the door, waiting for it to open. When it does, it’s like a mad free for all. Everyone’s jostling each other, people trying to get off the train are pushed further in, mothers are dragging their screaming kids by the arm. Chaos. Finally, everyone settles in and waits a good half a minute for the doors to close!

To be honest, it really frustrates me quite a bit. I don’t like being pushed and shoved. But I suppose I can’t really blame them, considering how crowded everything else is here. If it were a bus or a train, they really might not get a seat!

The Delhi Metro, after the chaos...

Once at the right stop, I walked out of the metro station and began trekking down Chandni Chowk. This street has been a famous market since the days when Delhi was still a walled city called Shahjahanabad (yeah, good luck pronouncing that right on your first try!).

The street is a fascinating microcosm of Delhi itself. Once, Chandni Chowk was a bustling bazaar filled with skilled artisans and rare goods from around the world. Now it’s a rather depressing stretch of shops full of tinsel jewelry and knock-off clothing brands. Like Delhi, it has lost much of its initial wonder and charm due to encroaching westernization.

It was a bit of a disappointment, to say the least. However, once I veered off of the main road and into the heart of Old Delhi, I began to get a sense of what the city must have looked like before cars and McDonald’s.

Chandni Chowk today.

The winding streets of Old Delhi still look much the same as they have for generations. Tiny mosques and temples are nestled in between crumbling havelis. Small vegetable stands provide produce for each neighborhood.

Groups of Muslim men stand around chatting, waiting anxiously for the Muezzin to call so they can break their Ramadan fasts. Children chase each other down alleys while their mothers enjoy some afternoon chai. It’s a little bit like stepping back in time.

I wanted to take pictures of everything, but I had a really hard time asking in Hindi. Don’t really know why. All I had to say was, “Kya mai apka photo ley sakata hu?” Of course, when you compare that with Swahili (“Pige picha?”) it’s a little easier to understand my difficulty!

I'll be this man can remember when Delhi was a very different city.

Thankfully, most people were gracious enough to indulge me, and I got some really interesting shots! Once, after struggling to get the sentence out (“Kya apka… no. Kya may, wait. Mai…”), the woman I was asking answered me in English, “Sure. Why not?” Oh well… I tried.

Finally, I arrived at my destination, the spice market. As every Delhi guidebook points out, the sights, smells and sounds are overwhelming. Burning incense, pungent spices and the ever-present stench of garbage clouded my head. I wandered around in a bit of a daze, wondering when Aladdin was going to run by, chased by a bunch of turbaned men with scimitars…

Well, after 20 minutes in the market, I figured that I had punished my olfactory glands enough. It was time to leave. My little journey into Old Delhi had come to an end.

I checked my bag to make sure I had the object of my mini-expedition. It was there all right… a tiny little box of saffron.

Ok, that might be a bit of hyperbole… but in all honesty, I’ve never seen one here. Nor have I seen any backhoes or jackhammers or earth movers. Nearly everything in India, from construction to landscaping to demolition, is done by hand. And when I say “by hand,” I mean by hand.

When workers have to move a huge pile of gravel, they carry it on their heads. When builders are pouring cement for a roof, they lug it up on their backs. When a crew has to demolish a driveway, they use pickaxes.

These three guys were hired to demolish this driveway. They're holding all the tools they'll get to finish the job.

Many of these workers face rather treacherous conditions, too. I’ve seen men resting on the edge of a four story building without any harnesses. Several times I’ve noticed guys climbing rickety scaffolding in flip-flops. It’s not uncommon to see entire construction sites without a single hardhat.

And at the end of a backbreaking 11 hour day, these unbelievably hard-working people head home with maybe 40 rupees ($1) in wages. 80 if they’re lucky. Barely enough to feed themselves, much less their families.

So what is the cause of all of this unjust labor? Why are so many people willing to work so hard for so little? Why don’t they do something about it?

Well, it all comes down to this… India is absolutely swarming with people willing to work for pennies just to have a job. Even if laborers were to walk off a job site in protest, hundreds of able-bodied men and women would be eager to take their place.

Every single day, thousands of rural Indians pour into the city to make a new life for themselves. What they find, however, is a cruel and unfeeling metropolis that devours the weak and the non-compliant. So they stay. They sweat. They toil. And the rich sit back and relax.

If you look in just about every park or garden in Delhi, you'll see groups of unemployed men and women waiting for work.

Now, before we start condemning exploitative Indian employers, we need remember that unjust labor is a problem all over the world. Even in our own lives! Look around the room. Look at what you’re wearing. How much do you think someone earned for making your shirt? What about the computer you’re using? Were the workers who built it treated fairly?

You see, the truth is, even though we can’t see it, our lives are intimately connected to those of poor laborers all over the world! Sure, we’re not forcing people to mow our grass by hand, but you can’t deny that to make our lives easy, many other people must work extra hard. It’s an awful injustice, made ever worse by the fact that we are so distant from it.

Now, I’m really sorry if I’m coming off like Debbie Downer about this. I’m not trying to send you on a guilt trip. I’m not trying to make you feel frustrated and helpless. I promise.

I am simply hoping to make us all more aware. Aware of the fact that our shoes didn’t just appear one day on the store shelf. Aware that our cell phone had to be assembled by someone. Aware that our coffee beans were actually picked by a person’s hand.

It’s taken me two trips half-way around the world to grasp this vital truth: My life is connected to theirs.

Hopefully I can remember that the next time I pick out a pair of jeans…

Now, when most people think of Indian food, I’m sure they picture beautiful buffets full of tender meats and succulent vegetables cooked in exotic spices, saffron colored rice piled high and waiters bringing hot garlic naan to the table. That’s what I pictured before coming.

Well, after two months in India, I can conclusively say that it is exactly like that here… At really expensive restaurants.

But I don’t eat at expensive restaurants. I eat at the office. With a bunch of guys from rural Maharastra. These are guys that laughed at me when I mentioned Chicken Tikka Masala (I don’t think I get the joke). And they eat what they’ve always eaten. Real Indian food.

Indresh, our talented cook, with Ulhas in the kitchen preparing dinner.

I’m pretty sure the conditions in the office kitchen wouldn’t stand up to health code regulations in the States. Everything is prepared on the same stretch of counter. Chapati, veggies, meat… They wipe it down with a cloth every once and a while, but still.

And then there are the critters. We seriously have a family of Uruk-Hai cockroaches living under the fridge. They have no fear of sunlight. Or of humans. I could have sworn that one of them cursed at me when my back was turned.

But they’re not the only species in our kitchen ecosystem. The other day, Pranjal and I were putting our dishes away when a huge rat jumped through the window, ran around the stove and launched himself on top of the cupboards.

“Don’t worry. We’ll kill him tomorrow” he said.

“Oh, ok. Cool.” I replied, laughing.

An average dinner with a few of the office guys.

Usually I’m totally fine with the food I am served. Sure, steamed okra gets a little old three nights in a row, and sometimes the curry is so hot that burping burns three hours later. But generally the food is really good! There have been times, however, when they’ve served up something that I just can’t finish.

The other night, I noticed that the table was missing something. We had the veggies, the chapati, the dal. Hmmm… Where was the main dish? As we started eating, Ulhas came out of the kitchen humming with excitement. “Two minutes!” He told everyone.

Two minutes later, he came back out with a big, sloshing bowl full of red curry and goat’s feet. Goat’s feet, guys. I mean, goat brain is slimy and gross, but at least it looks like a normal meat dish. Here was a bowl full of hooves and ankles. I almost lost it.

In my head I kept repeating the mantra, “I’ll try anything once. I’ll try anything once. I’ll try anything once.” And I did. I took two bites, struggling to chew and swallow the tough, rubbery meat. Thankfully, my mantra didn’t say anything about finishing it.

The whole time, my mind kept switching between hilarity and nausea. At one point, one of the other guys asked me how we prepare goat’s feet in the U.S.! “We don’t exactly eat that part of the goat,” I said, not mentioning the fact that most Americans wouldn’t even know what a goat looks like if it weren’t for The Sound of Music.

Don't worry. No goat feet here. Just some regular old mutton curry.

Well, long story short, I made it through the meal without barfing all over the table. And right now, I’m sure many of you want to run off to cook up some tasty goat’s feet for yourselves! Apparently they’re called “trotters,” which just so happens to be one of the absolute worst food names in existence. I found a recipe here. You’re welcome.

So, all that to say, even though my experience with Indian food has been a bit, um… authentic, I’m still really enjoying it. At the very least I’m getting some good stories, right? I’ll dominate at “Two truths and a lie” now!

And to think. I used to get squeamish eating anything with a bone still on it…

To begin with, Truthseekers is trying to reach a massive group of oppressed people that don’t even realize they are oppressed. The caste system teaches that the only way they can rise higher in the next life is if they stay utterly faithful to their low position in this life. The Brahmanical leadership perpetuates this mindset to stay on top.

Millions of lower-caste children grow up believing that they can never ben anything but servants.

But they don’t stop there. To maintain the status quo, these “religious leaders” have created thousands of sub-castes to promote prejudice and hierarchy among Shudras themselves! Now the lower castes actually fight each other for superiority, leaving the upper castes with all the power.

And this is the system Truthseekers is trying to change. This is what they’re up against. Crazy.

But the difficulties don’t end there. To bring an end to caste, Truthseekers tries to spread the transforming message of Jesus and his kingdom. Let’s just say this sounds a whole lot easier than it is…

In several Indian states, there are actually laws prohibiting conversion to Christianity unless both the converts and their pastor sign documents at the courthouse saying that they were not coerced! Can you imagine?

There are even several counter-missionary organizations that go around to villages preaching that Christians are evil and want to make the country a slave to the West. And it’s not hard to understand why they are angry.

Who should they believe? The Christians offering them freedom, or the Brahmans saying it's a lie?

You see, when people in India becomes Christians, they are usually taught about their uniqueness and value as children of God. Freed from the bonds of caste, many of these “converts” actually try to get good educations and high-paying jobs. So in many villages, the Christians have become relatively rich and influential, which infuriates their opponents even more.

In fact, this is the root cause of the violence happening now in Orissa. Since the killings and church burnings began early last week, Truthseekers has been working non-stop to organize Christians to protest the lack of government intervention.

Ah, but even here there are roadblocks. First of all, the Christian Church in India is very fractured. There is little or no collaboration between denominations, and with a message as contextualized as Truthseekers’, many churches don’t want anything to do with it.

And even when Christians can agree to stand together, it usually turns into just another dime-a-dozen protest rally like the one I attended today. Just walking to the car, we passed seven other rallies and hunger strikes protesting everything from unfair treatment of electrical workers to inadequate pension plans.

What does it take to be heard?

How does anyone hope to be noticed by the government when speakers have to be turned all the way up just to be heard over neighboring rallies?

So you get the picture. Deep cultural barriers. Real-life enemies. An indifferent government. It would be natural to assume that Truthseekers will never accomplish its mission.

But that assumption would be dead wrong.

Even though fighting impossible odds, Truthseekers is actually making a difference in this hostile environment. I’m not making this up! Mindsets are changing, oppressed people are finding freedom, and cracks in the walls of caste are beginning to widen.

Believe me. I struggle as much as anyone in believing that God can really move mountains. And at times I’ve felt immensely frustrated here.

But during my short time with Truthseekers, I’ve started to understand an incredible truth… When God sets his mind to something and his people are willing to act on it, nothing is impossible.

Questions like these run through my head all the time here. It seems like whenever I am in a public place, there is always someone touching me. As an American, this weirds me out! In the good ol’ U.S. of A., we are champions of the “personal bubble,” and rarely do we allow people to get inside. So you can imagine how strange it is to suddenly have that bubble breached by a complete stranger.

As you can see in this illustration, it is not ok to breach another person's personal bubble.

About a month ago, as I sat on the ground at a worship service, the man sitting in front of me began gradually leaning on me. It was pretty tight in there, but not that tight. I shifted my weight to regain my space. A few minutes later, there he was again, shoulder resting on my knee. I wanted to do something, say something. But what could I possibly come up with?

For weeks after this I asked myself, why do Indians seem to have no problem being in each others’ personal space? Is this just some sort of weird cultural thing, or what?

It's crowded in Delhi! Ok, ok. This is a rally, where it's supposed to be crowded, but still!

But then, after several trips on Delhi’s public transportation, the answer dawned on me. People in New Delhi don’t have any personal space, so there’s no reason to protect it for anyone else.

New Delhi has over 11 million inhabitants crammed into just 270 square miles (and this is just the city proper! It’s over 18 million if you include the surrounding area!). No matter how you count the population of Delhi, it is one of the top 10 most populous cities in the world. In other words, there are a lot of people living in not a lot of space.

Going to the market, there is a crush of people everywhere. Driving in traffic, three lanes are packed six cars across. Even public parks have people sitting under every tree. This place is full of people.

Riding on the bus in New Delhi is a perfect example of this. Just today I had to jump onto a moving bus with three other guys, pulling myself on in an effort to get a space. Once on board, travelers crammed to the front, lucky if they could get a seat. Most had to stand in the aisle, holding onto the rail above as the bus lurched on to the next stop to let on more passengers.

On a bus in New Delhi. I actually got a seat! Of course, some guy had his belly resting on my shoulder the whole time, so I can't decide if I was lucky or not...

So now, after almost two months in India, my attitude is changing. Sure, I still like my space, but I’m beginning to realize that all the awkward touching and uncomfortable contact is really not all that awkward or uncomfortable after all. Here, it’s just a part of life. I really can’t complain.

Besides, I’ve learned a valuable lesson through all of this. As an American, I know that I take for granted all sorts of things: running water, electricity, cheese… But I never would have expected one thing that I take for granted every single day:

The space around me.

Sleeper class. My bunk was the middle one. It folded down to make a seat when we weren't sleeping.

For example, instead of flying I took 22 hour train rides there and back. My tickets were “Sleeper Class,” which is the second cheapest way to get around. “Second Class” is the cheapest, but there you pretty much have to stand the whole time! No thanks.

Inside, the train cars were a bit dirty and often somewhat crowded, but once everyone settled in, it wasn’t so bad. The windows were always open, so I got the pleasure of smelling whatever happened to be outside the train at any given moment (garbage, cows, feces…). In the night, I was able to sleep pretty well, except for when passing trains would scream by with their horns blaring, scaring me half to death!

Just about every 30 seconds (I’m not exaggerating), someone walked through the car trying to sell chai, newspapers, samosas, etc. Along with beggars asking for money and people stopping to stare at me, I never had to worry about feeling lonely!

A Mumbai fruit juice vendor. I'm sure he washed his hands...

When I got to Mumbai, I had the whole day free before meeting up with Sunil in the evening. So, I set out to see the “real” city. I wandered for miles through back streets and markets, stopping to try food or drinks from different vendors. I even went to see a Bollywood movie, although I had absolutely no idea what anyone was saying…

Another funny India moment… By about 4 or 5pm, I still hadn’t heard from Sunil (who was supposed to arrive by plane that evening), so I gave him a call. He told me that plans had changed and that we weren’t staying where he had originally thought. He said I needed to call Nitin (his brother) and meet up with him at the Hotel Oasis. Ok. Can do.

These black and yellow taxis are everywhere in Mumbai.

Well, Nitin’s phone wasn’t working, and nobody had ever heard of the Hotel Oasis. So, I had to get a different number from Sunil. When I called that one, the connection was bad and the guy didn’t speak any English. Finally I got him to put Nitin on the phone, but with the bad connection, all I could make out was “near GPO.”

So, I took a taxi to GPO and started asking around. Eventually I found the Hotel Oasis and a few familiar faces. Not exactly the American way of doing things (detailed itineraries, hotels booked months in advance, Google maps…), but it all worked out in the end.

At the rally. Lots of passionate yelling in Hindi. I'm sure it was all very compelling...

The second day was spent traveling all over the city with Sunil and his entourage. We visited caste leaders, politicians and even attended a huge anti-discrimination rally. Basically, it was Sunil doing what he does best; using his influence and connections to slowly change the tide of caste and racism in India. Very cool.

My third and final day in Mumbai was another free day. I did a bit more wandering, and took a ferry out to Elephanta Island, which has some ancient Hindu temples carved into caves. Ended up being way cool. I felt a bit like I was walking onto the set of Indiana Jones or Jurassic Park or something.

One of the Elephanta Island caves.

I suppose this was the most “touristy” thing I did in Mumbai, but I tried my best to break the pattern. On my map I could see another hilltop with two more unexcavated caves. It looked somewhat accessible by taking a footpath a little way around the island.

So, even though nobody had any idea what caves I was talking about, I set out. Unfortunately, after a while, the path ended up being completely waterlogged. There was no way around without trudging through the jungle. Which I totally would have done if I wasn’t wearing flip-flops… *sigh* Next time Elephanta. Next time.

Well, all good things must come to an end. My time in Mumbai was over, and I had to get back on the train. 22 hours later, I arrived back “home” in Delhi. Super hungry after being warned to avoid the train food, I sat down to dinner, laughing when I found out what we were having. Goat brain.

Ah… it’s good to be home.

I spent today at Sewa Ashram, a rehabilitation center for the dying and destitute. The mission of the center is quite a bit like what Mother Teresa was about in Calcutta… giving sick and dying people a chance to become well again, or simply to die with dignity.

If things work out right, I will get the chance to spend a week or two there sometime in September. However, even if today is the only one I will spend at Sewa Ashram, I know that my life and ministry will be richer because of it…

One of the Sewa Ashram puppies.

Upon arriving at the center, I was struck first of all by how peaceful it is. I honestly expected the place to be rather depressing. Instead, I found it to be an oasis of life in a city filled with death.

Small concrete buildings surround a central vegetable garden, with tree lined paths running through it. By the clinic is a pen full of rabbits, happily munching on veggies. The whole time I was there, a brand new litter of puppies ran around, fighting each other and licking my toes.

Most striking of all, however, were the butterflies. Everywhere I looked, there were butterflies darting in and out of trees, resting on bushes. Too many to count. It was… breathtaking. I realized without hesitation that I was standing on holy ground.

After meeting some of the patients, that feeling only grew deeper. Again, I came in with the expectation that I would see countless grief-stricken faces, twisted with agony and despair. And I did see a few. But most of the faces I saw were lit up with wide smiles and bright eyes. “To us, this place is heaven,” one of the men told me. Heaven indeed, I thought.

One of the many smiles I saw at Sewa Ashram.

But my visit was not without a few glimpses of Hell. Inside the clinic was a man being treated for a dog bite that had somehow become a horrific open wound. I have never seen an injury like it. A shredded heap of bone, muscle and blood where the calf should have been. He was moaning with pain as the clinic’s two nurses cleaned and dressed it.

In the children’s area, I met a boy with spinal TB, who will never be able to use his legs. I talked to another who had childhood arthritis, bent over due to the pain. Some children were mentally disabled, others had HIV.

One of the young men, who everyone calls “Helicopter,” was picked up off the street at a very young age. He practically grew up at Sewa Ashram. While the kids ran around us, he leaned on his crutch and told me, “I am a child of God, and that means I am taken care of. God always takes care of his children!”

This boy will never be able to walk.

“He sure does,” I mumbled, wondering if I truly believed that in the midst of such brokenness.

Later, I talked and prayed with a man who was sick and malnourished. He probably weighed 50 pounds. This was the only time that I truly got emotional. As I held his scrawny hand and closed my fingers around his bony shoulder, I prayed. And barely made it to “Amen.”

It was an intense day, made even more so by the Delhi bus system, which I took alone on the way home. When I had finally found the correct bus, I sat quietly, staring out the window and trying to process all of what I had just seen.

In the end, I came to a very simple conclusion. What I had just witnessed was Truth. Big ‘T’ Truth. The kind of Truth that changes who you are and what you are about. The kind of Truth that gives direction to your life.

The man I prayed with. The "least of these." (Matthew 25)

This Truth, which has been shaping me daily over the past couple of years, is this: The world is a messed up place, and something needs to change.

But I was reminded of another Truth as I rode the bus back into town: There is hope for this world, and it comes through the kingdom of Jesus Christ. I saw this hope lived out in the beautiful men, women and children at Sewa Ashram, who were given a second chance at life, even though forgotten by the world.

I am writing this through tears. This, I believe, is one of those holy moments in which God is reminding me of just who I am and why I exist. I am an instrument of God, here to spread peace, justice and life into this dark and broken world.

I will spend myself on behalf of the poor. I will stand beside the broken. And someday, when I stand at his throne, I will know with all of my heart that I spent my life with Jesus.

1. When everyone is drinking their chai, DO NOT NOTICE the slurping. The moment you notice the slurping, it’s all you will hear!!! *slurp* *slurp* *slurp* *slurp* Noooo!!!!!

2. Don’t say ‘thank you’ very often. It offends people! When you thank someone for doing their job (bringing you chai, clearing your plate, etc.), you are basically implying, “I am surprised that you are actually capable of doing your job.” Woah. Sorry Mom. I know you taught me to be polite, but… well, I can’t.

3. Auto rickshaw drivers are mean. Well, maybe they’re just misunderstood. But they sure do seem annoyed every time I want them to take me anywhere…

4. With 85% humidity, you’re going to sweat a little. Get used to it!

5. We get a lot of English words from Hindi (thanks to the British). Pajamas, bungalow, cushy, pundit, thug, khaki, juggernaut, pariah, shampoo, loot, caravan, bandanna and a bunch more! Nifty…

6. If you’re a westerner, don’t ever pay the first price a merchant says. People joke about “skin tax.” But oh, it’s real. I usually start about halfway down and work my way up…

7. When going for a run, be sure to remember which way is north. After a few minutes, all the streets of South Extension 2 start to look exactly the same. Don’t worry, though. I eventually found my way home. Haha…

8. With no word for “please” in Hindi, many Indians don’t know how to use the word in English. So don’t be offended when someone tells you to “Just come do this now.” They’re probably not trying to be rude.

9. If you ever want to taste again, go easy on the green chilies.

And probably the most important lesson I’ve learned here…

10. Smiles go a long way. Use them often.