Sam gets a hair cut from "Uncle" Amos

"Uncle" Amos (actually Sam's cousin twice removed) has five boys of his own, and early on decided that he could save a LOT of money if he would just give his own boys haircuts.

So he is well experienced with giving haircuts to wiggeling, squirming, opinionated toddlers.

Sam looks great.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas to everyone out there in computer-land.

The Incarnation of the Infinitely Beautiful Son of God was celebrated in our household with a pleasant day indoors, in the company of cousin Amos and his wife Rowena, along with Dirgham their youngest son.

We had a breakfast casserole of eggs/bread/milk/cheese/homemade water buffalo sausage and cinnamon rolls, which was enjoyed with gusto. Then we answered a gazillion phone calls from various well wishers, and proceeded to open presents. The girls were very happy. Dirgham seemed to like his box of Capt'n Crunch.

Then Amos, Rowena, Amy and I sang for about 3 to 4 hours. That was very fun.

GIrls went down for naps, and the rest of us cleaned the house, cleaned ourselves, and started prepping for supper.

Supper was a Water Buffalo pot roast, baked chicken, baked corn, green beans, homemade (and hot out of the oven) rolls with Strawberry Jam and homemade Lemon Curd, Turkey gravy (from a packet, but it was great), chestnut and dried cranberry stuffing, cranberry sauce and homemade dill pickels. Ooooh, was it good. More desserts than you can shake a stick at, not that you would want to.

A good time was had by all.

Amos is my paternal grandfathers brothers son. If you desire more information about my relatives, let me know. His wife is also related to me, I believe.

A notable lack of goats these days

Bukr Eid is over, and we have filled ourselves with many kilos of goat meat, along with a fair amount of Water Buffalo.

Friday was Bukr Eid, when Muslims world wide celebrate the substitution of a Ram for Abraham's son, when God told Abraham to sacrifice his son.

Muslim culture's around the world emphasize different animals, and in our fair city the ever curious Goat is the most popular animal to sacrifice. Water Buffalo are also popular, and there are even a couple of Camels sacrificed locally (the meat tastes sweet, I am told, though I have never had any). No cows are slaughtered here, out of respect for the Hindus.

SOme of the meat of the sacrificed animal is given to the poor, some is given to friends (we have quite a few pounds in our fridge right now), and much of it is eaten in the few days following the sacrifice. So as we made our rounds to visit so many people, we got fed a lot of meat.

And on the streets, which a few days ago seemed to have so many goats clustered around, there are few to be seen.

The Waiters then gave all the Miscreants a Sound Thrashing

I was digging through some old music I had laying around, and I came across a songbook left from our good friends the Freemans. (We won't say how old it is).

Tucked in among the music was this little newspaper clipping, describing a shootout at a local restaurant a few years ago.

What makes the clipping all the more memorable, is that the Freemans were in the restaurant at the time of the shooting, and had bullets hit the wall over the table where they were sitting.

My recollection of the story is thus: the Freemans' food had only just come to their table, and the gunmen were blocking the only exit. So the Freemans, in their emminantly practicle state-of-mind, took their plates underneath their table and proceeded to eat their supper huddled on the floor down there.

After all, what else was their to do?

Jillian, I shall expect comments. :)

Home School in the Study

One room our apartment is designated "the Study", and is more of an all purpose room: laundry/study/spare bed/sewing/extra storage...

And now it is also the Home School room.

Miriam evidently found the days proceedings rather un-engaging, and decided to take a brief nap on the floor.

Beauty is Important to me

I like beauty.
So one of the ways I can start my day with a little more beauty (beyond my lovely wife and three kids with bed-head) is to have a cup for my tea that has beauty integrated into it.

Here are some of my favorite teacups. That would be vanGogh in front, and from the British Museum on the right.

Now if only I would have the same appreciation for spelling.

A Week of Illness, Injustice Imposed on One-Year-Olds, and Cooler Weather

We are doing well overall, but some illness has been circling in the house (well, the city also, but that's usual for this time of year).

Amy had "Delhi Belly" on Monday and into Tuesday, when Lowell also started it, and then Miriam started on Thursday. Everyone is slowing improving, but we are still pretty much only eating toast and oatmeal. Sam and Nora Grace escaped that, but Sam has an amazingly snotty nose (pardon the graphic word there).

Nora Grace virtually never gets sick. She is amazing. She got a bad cold once in her life so far.

Sam is a bit upset with his Mom and Dad at the moment. We have all these brutal and unjust rules in this house, that are grossly unfair to one-year-olds. "Can't play in the toilet bowl," "Can't play with knives," "Can't throw things out the window and watch them fall," "For that matter, he can't crawl out the window either," "No permission to eat either dirt or cow dung," and so on and so on.

We are obviously going way overboard on the rules around this place. He lets us know in no-uncertain-terms that he is unhappy with the current legislation.

Anyways, winter season is here, and outside the overnight lows are down into the 50's. Still in the 80's during the day, but it feels kindof good after a damp and cool morning.

Miriam, now three years old, with a friend on thanksgiving day

Shanti is one of Miriam's closest friends (along with Benjamin, Tarin, Braeden, Gabby, and Priyanka, who respectively hale from most of the worlds known continents). They have conversations together that no one else understands, but they seem to be happy. :)

Who did the bombings?

Well, we may never know for sure. Three guys on bicycles wiht suitcases on the back.

BUt the current most popular rumor with some grain of truth in it is this...

A few weeks ago, a bunch of young muslim guys were arrested, on charges of terrorism. The lawyers at the courthouse refused to represent them (that is their job, to represent people in court), and indeed, beat them up a bit. (Not a good sign when the lawyer assigned to represent you beats you up).

It is extremely likely that most of the young guys arrested are completely innocent, as the local authorities are not renowned for their detective work, have a long history of planting evidence, and have several reasons to be holding grudges against the accused.

But it is also extremely unlikely that the accused will get a fair trial, or even make it to trial, at this point.

So when the bombs went off, and seemed to be targeting Lawyers, and a few hours later an unsigned anonymous letter saying the bombs were because the lawyers were refusing to uphold the law, much speculation centered on the possibility of a local banned group.

Of note, India has had dozens of such bombings in the years we have been here, and their has never been any one who has taken credit for them. They have targeted Hindu Temples, Muslim Mosques, Tourist areas, non-TOurist areas, historical sites, etc. There seems to be no particular pattern.

So we may never know who planted the bombs.

Either way, everyone is on strike today, so it is a bit quiet outside.

We are safe

About 3 hours ago, (1.30PM local time) today, Friday, 23 November 2007, a series of three bombs went off in three cities in eastern Uttar Pradesh, our fair state.

One of the bombs went off at the High Court building, about a mile west of our apartment. Several people died, and more debris is being removed as they look for more wounded, and look for clues.

We are safe. We currently don't know anyone personally who was killed or injured.

We pray.

Lawyers go berserk in city

This headline is actually a little older, but I thought you all might enjoy it. I get newspapers in three languages these days, and it also interesting to see how the story varies between papers.

Sleeping without a fan

Last night, for the first time here since last March, we slept without the fan on.

The overnight low (outside) got down to 58 for the first time in a long time (still up to upper 80's during the day).

We had a sheet to cover up with, but it was almost weird without the fan going like a turboprop over our heads. Hopefully, it will stay off till March again.

Christmas from the perspective of a 12 year old Muslim boy in Varanasi

My tutor's son was asked to write a short paragraph on any topic of his choice for a recent English exam. He wrote on Christmas. Following is the unedited version:


"Christmas is the most important festival of christian on this day houses are dacorated on this day santaclose come and give gifts to the children they exchange gifts and christmas tree dacorated on this day jissus christ born."

My Usual Beggrs are Temporarily Seeking More Verdant Pastures...

Varanasi has plenty of beggars. In the fine tradition of the infameous saying, they tend to congregate "Where the Money Is." So we do not actually have many beggars in our neighborhood (lower to middle class Muslim). But you can find plenty of them at Tourist Sites, Temples and Mosques.

As I get close to my Tutor's house, there is a prominant mosque, where there are usually three or four beggars sitting. It is usually the same group, and I usually hand out a few rupees to each of them once a week. They are my "Regulars". My Tutor thinks I earn extra points with God for doing this. We shall see.

Anyways, the Hindu Holiday "Diwali" is coming up in a couple of days, and the streets and temples of Varanasi are thronging with folks from across India to partake in the Festivities (celebrates the victory of Light over Darkness).

So my usual set of beggars that congregate outside of the mosque I pass every day, are now gone. They have gone down to one of the Hindu Temples, as many devout Hindus will be giving out coinage as they go to and from the Temples.

No worries. They will be back. I am sure I will see them again next week, after Diwali is over.

Family Photo

Took this photo a couple of weeks ago at Eid. Need to get the "red-eye" out.

Not Really Being a Slacker

Well, I haven't written anything on here in quite awhile. I HAVE been busy, nothing too exciting, just the usual life-in-Varanasi stuff.

I will be sleeping on a train Friday night (going to Delhi for a supply run), spend the day Saturday in Delhi getting stuff for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and then returning on the train again Saturday night. I usually sleep well on the train.

Interior of a typical Home in Varanasi

Ok, this photo may not seem like much to look at, but it is typical of a Varanasi home, so I thought I would post it.

Most homes have a central "Ungun" or large empty space that goes from the ground up to the outside. This helps cool the home in the hot season, plus ventalation. Then the various levels are built around the Ungun, with a walk-way/stairs around it, and then independent rooms off of that walkway.

Not sure how well that shows up here, but that is the intent. :)

Sam's First Birthday

Sam had his first birthday on October 13th (yes, I am a bit late in reporting that.

He seemed to enjoy his party, and in good one-year-old fashion, was much more interested in the box and wrapping paper then the actual gift he got.

He got a plastic truck. Seems to like it better than the dolls his sisters thrust upon him.

Train Station

The following is from a beautiful friend of ours, Gloria Carlson, who wrote these reflections on observing folks in a Train Station:


An orthopedist’s worst nightmare. People limp by constantly, one after another, their feet misshapen, dragging. An arm or hand curled up towards the elbow and wrist. A man staggers by on one foot and one bandaged stump.


A social worker’s worst nightmare. So many needy people…beggars constantly in your face. Children begging for food, doing tricks for you, just to gain a rupee or two. Mothers with thin, dirty babies, motioning for you to give something to feed them and their baby. An old, emaciated crippled woman, bones jutting out towards the skin, gray hair dirty, disheveled, matted.


A verminophobiac’s (person who is afraid of germs) worst nightmare. Dirt everywhere. Putrid puddles of liquid are scattered along the ground. Breathing in constant dust and smoke. (It is estimated that everyone in Delhi smokes the equivalent of 20 cigarettes per day just by breathing in the polluted air.) The stale hot air smells of body odor, urine, and something rotten. Trash litters the ground. Men urinate in any convenient location, spitting their red paan juice as they go along. Children play in the dirty water that snakes its way down the platform.


Yet, an anthropologist’s (people-watcher’s) dream come true. So many people, so many different personalities, languages, and cultures. Families lay out on the ground, feeding their children the rice and dal they carefully packed in tin containers, each eating with his hands, or being fed from another’s fingers. The mother trying to keep track of all the youngsters and luggage, while settling a crying baby on her breast, bathing a dirty child, washing his clothes. The men sit nearby, staring at each passerby, chewing and spitting paan, at times engaged in conversation. Old women squat on the ground resting. (The word for “sit” in Hindi literally means “squat.” If you want the person to actually sit, you must add “on the chair.”) A rush of people carry each other up and down the many stairs. A middle-aged man gently leading a frail, aged, blind parent through the crowd. Men in red shirts with cloth wrapped around their heads like turbans carry piles of luggage and crates on top of their heads, the luggage owners trying to keep up with the coolies’ quick hurried steps. The group of young men not to be trusted, mischeviously congregating in the corner. A group of students scattered, sitting and intent on their task: drawing each nearby person with pencil on scratch paper.


A culinary artist’s dream come true. Vendors line the walkways with every sort of food. Theses are carried in baskets, either resting on the vendors’ heads or held above the heads in one hand. People reach out through the window bars to purchase a snack or drink. Others motion a vendor to stop by as he makes his way down the narrow and crowded aisle. All kinds of foods are sold: papaya, grapes, apples, oranges, guavas; also samosas, chana dal, salad, chai, cucumbers sliced in half and filled with masala. The hot foods are served on pieces of newspaper. Each vendor has his own call to announce his individual wares. The chai-walla calls out “chai, chai” in his own tone and pitch of voice, while the chana-walla calls out “hara chana” in a different tone of voice. The boys come through, calling out “thunda pani boatel sealed.” Each item costs but a few rupees, each vendor with little to account for all his hard work.


An extrovert’s dream come true. People everywhere! Of all ages and sizes. Most ready to talk and engage in conversation, even if the other does not listen or even understand the language. Children run around, ready to play with any stranger who will pay attention.


So this is it. My reflections from a six-hour wait at Patna Junction train station.

I've been a Doctor for 15 years and it took me a WHOLE MONTH to figure this out?

I haven't seen much of my Urdu Teacher's wife for a month or so. It was the month of fasting, so people often keep strange hours during that time, so I wasn't really thinking about it. When I asked how the fasting was going, my teacher told me his wife was not fasting. When I asked why, he just replied, "Oh she isn't feeling too well this month."

Hmmmm. Now why would a 30 year old married woman not feel too well for weeks on end?

Before I would often see her, if she would bring chai down, or say "Hi" while coming or going. But I haven't seen her for weeks. When I asked, I was just informed she was getting a little extra rest.

Hmmm, now why would she need a little extra rest?

My delightful wife finally gave me one of those, "Men are from another planet" looks as she informed me, "Well, she is pregnant, obviously."

Oh, yeah. I'm supposed to be the clever one.