Mathru School for the Differently-Abled
Bangalore, India
3 a.m. Saturday 12/14/2013
Wasn't "Three A.M. Wednesday Morning" an early record album by Simon & Garfunkel? Well here we are at three a.m. Satruday morning in Banglore, up with a cuppa tea to soothe an itchy throat and jet lag jitters. Maybe I'll get to hear the daily five s.m. prayer chanting that is broadcast over the neighborhood from the nearby mosque loudspeakers. We often hear drumming too, also part of local religious rites here, but usually not in the oh-dark-thirty hours.
We finally got our extra pillows, and they did change one of the mattresses, but I still don't think Andy's getting much better sleep. The beds are wrought iron steads at either end supporting wrought iron slats. The mattresses are about three inches thick, stuffed with cotton, very firm with not much give to them at all. The beds are harder than I prefer but I am getting used to them. Andy is miserable, though: he keeps waking up with achey arms and neck and finds it hard to get back to sleep.
I need to get to a department store or whatever is available here soon. For one thing I need a hair dryer to replace the crappy cheap Conair that died on me in Singspore. (Chesp isn't necessarily bad, but crappy cheap is.) My hair will take forever to dry in this humidity without one, even if it is not as humid here as it was in Singapore. Long hair can be more trouble to wash and dry than short hair, but with long hair I can pull it back into a pony tail, which is much cooler than short hair around my face and neck would be.
Speaking of which, I suppose that is why almost all the women I've met here have long hair, pulled back into pony tails or, more commonly, a bun at the base of the neck. The men all seem to have very thick hair and short haircuts. Andy has confirmed my impression that there aren't any bald men around here -- except him, that is. He's about the only one around here with a beard, too, although Andy says he's seen a few beards since we arrived in India.
Andy and I saw a different slice of India yesterday, right next door to this little Mathru school compound. One of the staff members took us for a short walk along a dusty gravelly dirt path behind the school to the road where there are several shops and vendors. Much of the path went alongside an open sewer channel that was about a foot wide. Andy and I expected a much worse odor than there actually was. We walked past workers clearing out a blockage in the channel, lifting out thick black muck with bare hands. Children played next to the channel, and vendors hawked fruits and vegetables nearby. Andy said one woman was selling sliced peeled cucumbers.
Along with lots of children playing and running about, there were a couple cows meandering around, little dogs quietly curled up out of the way, piles of trash everywhere, and monkeys hanging out on a power pole behind the school. Andy said the kids were wide-eyed to see us -- we were probably the first white people they'd ever seen, and with my sunglasses and white cane I must have seemed alien to them.
Very little wood is used in construction here. Even the power poles are rectangular cylinders of concrete. Andy says the only wood he's seen are ladders and some scaffolding used for construction or painting, lashed together with some kind of rope. All the buildings are concrete or stucco. Walls and fences srs ususlly made of concret blocks like the cinder blocks we use at home. Most of the concrete walls along the road are painted to advertise everything under the sun, Andy says, or firmly state that it's "NOT FOR SALE."
The buildings are off-white or pastel colors mixed among others that are painted in a riot of bright colors. I particularly enjoy imagining how wild the building looks that Andy said has bright pink walls framing a bright blue metal pull-up garage door on the ground level, under a deep brick red top story with a lime green and yellow balcony.
Most of the buildings are only one or two stories. Andy says the roofs are all flat and often have balconies, and many have big water tanks. The roofs are flat, actually a bit concave, to catch rainwater. There were also lots of big water barrels on the ground. There is no public water delivery system in this part of town.
We had to cross a little concrete slab bridge over the sewer channel to reach the road. The ground everywhere was uneven and full of irregular steps and stones and pebbles. Once we got on to the road, we found lots of tiny shops -- medical supply stores, liquor stores, clothing stores, hardware and paint stores. We passed a stall with caged live chickens and hanging chicken carcsses. They didn't smell so good but Andy sniffed longingly at several bakeries and sweet shops as we passed them by. Again, lots of fruit and vegetable vendors. Some of their carts were made with plywood boards (one of the rare wood sightings here) mounted on bicycle wheels.
There wasn't much of a sidewalk, and no curbs at all. Debris from buildings under construction tends to spill out onto the sidewalk, and we often stepped into the road and then back again to get out of the way of oncoming vehicles.
Those were trucks, small cars and motorbikes. There were lots of motorbikes and scooters, Andy said, as well as amotorized three-wheeled taxis that look a bit like the ones meter maids and parking ticket officials ride, or maybe a covered golf cart. They can carry two passengers, and I informed Andy that in this kamikazi traffic country I do not intend to ever be one of them. I want a little more metal between me and the collisive elements on the roads here.
Andy did a fabulous job not only guiding me safely through that maze, but describing everything so that it all came alive for me. It's such s gift to have him here with me the first couple of weeks. He's helping me get oriented, and he's also helping me get everyone used to me.
On the way back we stopped at a fruit vendor (one of the ones not near the open sewers) and picked up a small but very yellow and intensely fragrant pineapple. The fruit here is mostly excellent, by the way. The first day we were here Andy mentioned he likes a lot of fresh fruit, and later one of the staff came in with a big bag of fresh fruit -- a papaya (one of the best i've tasted), a fruit that looks iike a small squat pear, and tastes s bit like one, too, only with curry sauce; bananas, apples, and a pomegranate. Andy impressed the cook with his technique for seeding a whole pomegranate in less than five minutes, but I was not impressed with the pomegranate. It was not as good as the ones we grow in our backyard.
Muktha greeted us in the garden when we got back from our little tour, and I told her how impressed I am with the haven she has created here. The school compound is truly a jewel, an oasis of safe nurturing and learning for the children here.
Andy told Muktha he'd seen the monkeys on the power pole, and while we were walking through the grounds, a monkey came crawling across the yard to feast on some of Muktha's garden plants. The monkeys pick all the best veggies and fruits, even flowers and tender leaves, and she told us she's had to give up on having a good garden. She doesn't want to incite the wrath of the monkeys by trying to drive them away like she did the snakes.
When she first acquired this property for the school, there was a den of snakes in the yard. Muktha had them flooded out and driven away. The snakes were gone but then she started getting all kinds of financial and health problems. Finally she consulted an astrologist who told her that the snakes she had driven out were angry with her and sending her bad luck. He told her she needed to build an altar to the snakes to apologize to them for making them leave.
And there was the shrine she had built, a large stone or concrete altar on which she regularly had flowers and candles. "And the minute I built this," Muktha said, "my neck pain went away."
So … her experience with the snakes makes her wary of getting into the same trouble with the monkeys.
This story makes absolute perfect sense to me here in India.
After our stroll through the grounds with Muktha, all three of us took a cab to go see the other Mathru facility, the Mathru School for the Blind. Andy said this cab ride was much less of a kamikaze experience than our ride here from the airport late at night. Still, it was a hairy experience and I renewed and strengthened my resolve never to do this in one of those little dinky three-wheeler jobbies.
It took about twenty minutes to get to the Msthru School for the Blind, which is located in a more modernized part of Bangalore. The facility there is lovely: Muktha has performed miracles since she founded the school with only four students several years ago. There are now more than 80 students at the school, ranging from tiny kids as young as 4 to young teens.
Muktha said that almost all the government and private schools here will not take children under the age of six. And almost none of those schools will take a child with a disability, no matter how old they are.
She asked if I could make a round floor mosaic about four feet in diameter in the foyer of the building, on top of the existing concrete slab. I can but I am not sure how well it would withstand foot traffic. We'll see what kind of materials we can find.
Muktha showed us some unique tactile and Braille art on some of the wslls: pictures with large raised English letters, then the Braille sign. It was all poured concrete, brightly painted and mounted on the walls, all very nicely done. I was impressed.
And I enjoyed listening to some of the children singing. It was a happy sound, even if I couldn't understand the words.
It was a long day and I was happy to get back home.
Home. Yep, for now, this is home.
Next: Andy writes to fill in the details of our day that I left out, grin.
Bangalore, India
3 a.m. Saturday 12/14/2013
Wasn't "Three A.M. Wednesday Morning" an early record album by Simon & Garfunkel? Well here we are at three a.m. Satruday morning in Banglore, up with a cuppa tea to soothe an itchy throat and jet lag jitters. Maybe I'll get to hear the daily five s.m. prayer chanting that is broadcast over the neighborhood from the nearby mosque loudspeakers. We often hear drumming too, also part of local religious rites here, but usually not in the oh-dark-thirty hours.
We finally got our extra pillows, and they did change one of the mattresses, but I still don't think Andy's getting much better sleep. The beds are wrought iron steads at either end supporting wrought iron slats. The mattresses are about three inches thick, stuffed with cotton, very firm with not much give to them at all. The beds are harder than I prefer but I am getting used to them. Andy is miserable, though: he keeps waking up with achey arms and neck and finds it hard to get back to sleep.
I need to get to a department store or whatever is available here soon. For one thing I need a hair dryer to replace the crappy cheap Conair that died on me in Singspore. (Chesp isn't necessarily bad, but crappy cheap is.) My hair will take forever to dry in this humidity without one, even if it is not as humid here as it was in Singapore. Long hair can be more trouble to wash and dry than short hair, but with long hair I can pull it back into a pony tail, which is much cooler than short hair around my face and neck would be.
Speaking of which, I suppose that is why almost all the women I've met here have long hair, pulled back into pony tails or, more commonly, a bun at the base of the neck. The men all seem to have very thick hair and short haircuts. Andy has confirmed my impression that there aren't any bald men around here -- except him, that is. He's about the only one around here with a beard, too, although Andy says he's seen a few beards since we arrived in India.
Andy and I saw a different slice of India yesterday, right next door to this little Mathru school compound. One of the staff members took us for a short walk along a dusty gravelly dirt path behind the school to the road where there are several shops and vendors. Much of the path went alongside an open sewer channel that was about a foot wide. Andy and I expected a much worse odor than there actually was. We walked past workers clearing out a blockage in the channel, lifting out thick black muck with bare hands. Children played next to the channel, and vendors hawked fruits and vegetables nearby. Andy said one woman was selling sliced peeled cucumbers.
Along with lots of children playing and running about, there were a couple cows meandering around, little dogs quietly curled up out of the way, piles of trash everywhere, and monkeys hanging out on a power pole behind the school. Andy said the kids were wide-eyed to see us -- we were probably the first white people they'd ever seen, and with my sunglasses and white cane I must have seemed alien to them.
Very little wood is used in construction here. Even the power poles are rectangular cylinders of concrete. Andy says the only wood he's seen are ladders and some scaffolding used for construction or painting, lashed together with some kind of rope. All the buildings are concrete or stucco. Walls and fences srs ususlly made of concret blocks like the cinder blocks we use at home. Most of the concrete walls along the road are painted to advertise everything under the sun, Andy says, or firmly state that it's "NOT FOR SALE."
The buildings are off-white or pastel colors mixed among others that are painted in a riot of bright colors. I particularly enjoy imagining how wild the building looks that Andy said has bright pink walls framing a bright blue metal pull-up garage door on the ground level, under a deep brick red top story with a lime green and yellow balcony.
Most of the buildings are only one or two stories. Andy says the roofs are all flat and often have balconies, and many have big water tanks. The roofs are flat, actually a bit concave, to catch rainwater. There were also lots of big water barrels on the ground. There is no public water delivery system in this part of town.
We had to cross a little concrete slab bridge over the sewer channel to reach the road. The ground everywhere was uneven and full of irregular steps and stones and pebbles. Once we got on to the road, we found lots of tiny shops -- medical supply stores, liquor stores, clothing stores, hardware and paint stores. We passed a stall with caged live chickens and hanging chicken carcsses. They didn't smell so good but Andy sniffed longingly at several bakeries and sweet shops as we passed them by. Again, lots of fruit and vegetable vendors. Some of their carts were made with plywood boards (one of the rare wood sightings here) mounted on bicycle wheels.
There wasn't much of a sidewalk, and no curbs at all. Debris from buildings under construction tends to spill out onto the sidewalk, and we often stepped into the road and then back again to get out of the way of oncoming vehicles.
Those were trucks, small cars and motorbikes. There were lots of motorbikes and scooters, Andy said, as well as amotorized three-wheeled taxis that look a bit like the ones meter maids and parking ticket officials ride, or maybe a covered golf cart. They can carry two passengers, and I informed Andy that in this kamikazi traffic country I do not intend to ever be one of them. I want a little more metal between me and the collisive elements on the roads here.
Andy did a fabulous job not only guiding me safely through that maze, but describing everything so that it all came alive for me. It's such s gift to have him here with me the first couple of weeks. He's helping me get oriented, and he's also helping me get everyone used to me.
On the way back we stopped at a fruit vendor (one of the ones not near the open sewers) and picked up a small but very yellow and intensely fragrant pineapple. The fruit here is mostly excellent, by the way. The first day we were here Andy mentioned he likes a lot of fresh fruit, and later one of the staff came in with a big bag of fresh fruit -- a papaya (one of the best i've tasted), a fruit that looks iike a small squat pear, and tastes s bit like one, too, only with curry sauce; bananas, apples, and a pomegranate. Andy impressed the cook with his technique for seeding a whole pomegranate in less than five minutes, but I was not impressed with the pomegranate. It was not as good as the ones we grow in our backyard.
Muktha greeted us in the garden when we got back from our little tour, and I told her how impressed I am with the haven she has created here. The school compound is truly a jewel, an oasis of safe nurturing and learning for the children here.
Andy told Muktha he'd seen the monkeys on the power pole, and while we were walking through the grounds, a monkey came crawling across the yard to feast on some of Muktha's garden plants. The monkeys pick all the best veggies and fruits, even flowers and tender leaves, and she told us she's had to give up on having a good garden. She doesn't want to incite the wrath of the monkeys by trying to drive them away like she did the snakes.
When she first acquired this property for the school, there was a den of snakes in the yard. Muktha had them flooded out and driven away. The snakes were gone but then she started getting all kinds of financial and health problems. Finally she consulted an astrologist who told her that the snakes she had driven out were angry with her and sending her bad luck. He told her she needed to build an altar to the snakes to apologize to them for making them leave.
And there was the shrine she had built, a large stone or concrete altar on which she regularly had flowers and candles. "And the minute I built this," Muktha said, "my neck pain went away."
So … her experience with the snakes makes her wary of getting into the same trouble with the monkeys.
This story makes absolute perfect sense to me here in India.
After our stroll through the grounds with Muktha, all three of us took a cab to go see the other Mathru facility, the Mathru School for the Blind. Andy said this cab ride was much less of a kamikaze experience than our ride here from the airport late at night. Still, it was a hairy experience and I renewed and strengthened my resolve never to do this in one of those little dinky three-wheeler jobbies.
It took about twenty minutes to get to the Msthru School for the Blind, which is located in a more modernized part of Bangalore. The facility there is lovely: Muktha has performed miracles since she founded the school with only four students several years ago. There are now more than 80 students at the school, ranging from tiny kids as young as 4 to young teens.
Muktha said that almost all the government and private schools here will not take children under the age of six. And almost none of those schools will take a child with a disability, no matter how old they are.
She asked if I could make a round floor mosaic about four feet in diameter in the foyer of the building, on top of the existing concrete slab. I can but I am not sure how well it would withstand foot traffic. We'll see what kind of materials we can find.
Muktha showed us some unique tactile and Braille art on some of the wslls: pictures with large raised English letters, then the Braille sign. It was all poured concrete, brightly painted and mounted on the walls, all very nicely done. I was impressed.
And I enjoyed listening to some of the children singing. It was a happy sound, even if I couldn't understand the words.
It was a long day and I was happy to get back home.
Home. Yep, for now, this is home.
Next: Andy writes to fill in the details of our day that I left out, grin.
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