Day Three

Today was easier in a way. We knew where to go, and we knew what to do. It’s hard being in a new place, but as we get more familiar, we can focus more on our project goals. That easing enables more hours of more efficient back-breaking labor. If yesterday was our introduction to digging, today was our perfection of dirt management. It’s not just about how you move it, but also where. All in, we had to move about 240 cubic feet of dirt. I wont say that I moved more than my fair share, but I held my own. I figure that’s about 1000 pounds of dirt. I can’t tell if that sounds like a lot, but I can say it took me a solid eight hours of strenuous work to break it up and move. By the end of the day, the mason started laying the base of bricks and raising the rebar columns that will support the front wall of the house. About this time, the home-owner lit some incense, and offered up some sweet treats to the gods by tossing them at the base of each column. The smell alone dramatically changed the tone of setting. It took a smelly worksite, filled with sweaty armatures, and turned it into the scene of home being raised.

Our ride back to the hotel was interrupted by a flat tire. The driver and his helper did an impressive job of swapping the dud out for a dusty spare they pulled from the belly of the bus. He laid a white cloth on the ground, covering some significant mud, and made sure to lay square across it, working the jack flat on his back. The whole operation took about fifteen minutes, which was enough time to walk down the street to a small Hindu temple. It was a fairly industrial building, but with a marble floored courtyard in the center. I removed my shoes and explored a bit. There was a bell with some colorful streamers tied to the clapper. I asked the proprietor if I should ring it, but he gestured me to an alcove at the back of the temple. My fingers had been up near the streamers and pushed them gently as I walked away. A few dozen flies swarmed from the bell and dispersed. The alcove contained the temple’s main altar. I sat for a few moments at the mat beneath the diorama of some Hindu god whose figure seemed dark and nondescript. I don’t pray, so I sat there taking it all in. I’m open to being caught up in the spirit of a place, but that wasn’t going to happen here. I got up to leave and put 100rp in the donation box (about $2). The proprietor handed me an orange hued sweet sitting on a paper wrapper. This was the same type of sweet offered to the house by our home-owner. One of the other teams had been given them to try, but took our supervisor’s advice and abstained from gift food. One guy gave his to a goat, another gave hers to a little boy. The boy liked it more than the goat. I’m pretty adventurous in what I’ll try, but Delhi is a dirty city, and even if the sweet was prepared with care, it likely sat among the flies for a time.

The rides home seem infinitely longer than those to the work site. Every bump in every road sends waves of discomfort through our tired bodies. The cacophony of horns from tuktuks darting around us sound more scolding after such a hard day’s work. We start the ride on a high from our exertion, eager to go out at night and explore the city. But two hours later, fatigue has set in; muscles have hardened; turned to stone. Still, after a few hours of milling about, we gather as a group and walk over to the ‘American Themed’ restaurant, Rodeo. The Indian staff is dressed in black country garb, complete with chaps and holsters, neckerchiefs and cowboy hats. I find it ironic, this eastern version of cowboys and Indians. I wonder if they know the villains wear black. The space is surprisingly authentic, with heavy black iron hinges on all the doors, including the swinging saloon doors to the rest room. The food is Mexican, all prepared with the Indian supplies at hand. My shrimp were bathed in a chilly sauce so tangy and pungent it made my eyes burn just smelling it.

Every night, I stay up a bit later, and sleep a bit longer. My body is adapting to its position on the planet; adapting to the strain I subject it to. I miss the time I’d spend awake in the early morning, the world still dark and quiet.