Cobras, Beggars, and Skeleton Men

Just when I thought I was getting used to the cow roadblocks and gawking men of Indian streets, I get a series of bizarre sights jammed into a day.

1. We're outside at 9am as usual, waiting for the rickshaws, when an elaborately turbaned and mustached skeleton man strolls up, silent and casual across the path from us, sits down, and pulls a circular box from a dirty shoulder sack. I'm half-watching with curiousity until he lifts the top off and the head of a COBRA lifts out... I'm immediately swearing and backing up and hiding behind the few of us who aren't safe in idle rickshaws. And the skeleton man is oblivious to all of us, seeming almost as hypnotized as the swaying cobra, as our coordinator is chastising him and most of the girls are freaked. Never have I been more thankful to scramble into the rickshaw and off to school.

2. Again, a usual morning ritual is interrupted at school as we're serving the children their hot rice breakfast. Two village women are heralded in by the ten or so wild dogs that have been napping in the schoolyard. They beeline through the piercing barks toward our Western appearances, approaching us direct and unafraid with poor words ("hungry", "money", "help" - all in Hindi but translated by a knowledgable fellow volunteer) but not poor eyes. They were so aggressive; they didn't keep their distance, grabbing at our arms and nearly shouting a stream of angry Hindi. All I can think about is what this must look like in front of the children and how they may interpret whatever we do, meanwhile the teachers and our coordinator tell us to ignore them (nearly impossible) and try to get them to leave. They were offered food but didn't even want it, convinced that Western volunteers would be a free money handout. All we could do was ladle rice into their outheld skirts. I wanted to do more, but they were so bitter and the situation sadly complicated.

3. Departing from Cafe Coffee Day (i.e. Indian Starbucks) we sight Skeleton Man Number Two. He's across the street and naked. I'm a mix of shock and sorrow looking at his protruding ribs and ragged, palid nest of hair. He bathes and relieves himself, then re-dresses so nonchalant as if he's the only one on earth. And watching from the rickshaws we could do nothing, just like the pairs of silken women and collared men walking past.

India continues to surprise me.

~christiana