Train Ride

While I was in India...(I may intro a lot of my subsequent blogs like this to get a bunch of stories off of my chest, just so you all know...)

Melissa and I had just left Kolkata and were traveling by train to Agra (going to see the Taj Mahal and other palaces, forts, etc.). It so happened that we had recently seen the movie Slumdog Millionaire. In fact, Melissa just blogged about this movie and her reflections on it, check out her blog at http://www.melissahayward.com/ for her honest reaction to it. The images and faces of children in the movie, their suffering, and the painful reality that it wasn't just a movie still swirled in my head as we sat on the train for a 22 hour ride across the country.

I rode all night, trying my best to sleep amidst the sound of the engine and the strange surroundings. In the morning, I awoke to several things: the sun gleaming through the bars in the window, the chai wallah's voice ringing out his call for morning tea, and two eunuchs passing through. I had just got down from my sleeping area and was sitting quietly on a bench when they approached. In India, the blessing of a eunuch is valued, and the curse even more greatly feared. They are known to show up at weddings or births, pronounce a blessing, and then ask for money. Typically, they dress in a sari (traditional women's clothing). They also beg or prostitute for money and can be seen as aggressive and demanding.

I'll admit, I was a bit nervous - I didn't know what to expect (and I had just woken up too!) One of them asked aggressively for money, while standing 1 inch away from my face. They danced slightly in the aisle, and clapped their hands together lightly in a repetitive manner. I shook my head no. Then, he/she moved on to the passenger next to me. With more insistence, they danced, clapped, and motioned to the passenger for money. When the passenger hesitated, the eunuch began to lift up the skirt of his sari. The passenger quickly gave them money, and the eunuchs moved on to the next train car.

A little while later, a blind man stumbled through our passenger car. He said little. He held out his hand. His eyes were lifeless. Somebody put a rupee into his hand. Scenes from Slumdog Millionaire flashed through my mind. I looked down. How did this man became blind? What happened to him when he was little? Why? He stayed only for a brief moment and then shuffled to the next car.

Later on in the day (still on the train), I was listening to the Caedmon's Call's album, Share the Well, whose songs, styles, and themes center on India. And on Hope. And I was overwhelmed. I pulled my scarf over my head and face as the tears rolled down. Suffering and pain took on a face that day. The face of blind helplessness. The caked-on make-up and piercing eyes of the eunuch. The boy who swept the train floor on his hands and knees. The two little girls asking for our leftover breakfast crumbs. If the suffering of humanity became a flood surrounding me that day, then hope also became a song. A song that entertained the possibility of swallowing all hurt. All pain. A song of immense implications. A song that delivered what it promised. Not only for me, but for the world. For India. For the eunuch. For the blind. For the poor. For the forgotten.