A walk round Kiran

The Kiran compound is actually much bigger than we had imagined, and we had a wonderful guide to show us around. Sarah, a volunteer from Luxembourg who is here to film a documentary about Kiran, came to our door our first day. A lovely girl, tall with long red hair and a quick sincere smile, took us to see the sights. We walked the paths of the compound – while the kids of course ran. Federica was immediately attracted to the stray dogs living within the compound. “Look, look a dog!” she would shout as if she had just seen the rarest beast in India. There is little affection for these animals here; they are found everywhere along the roads outside the compound and much is done to keep them out. But they always manage to find their way back in, and so their presence is grudgingly tolerated.

We took a walk around to see the various units: the bakery, physiotherapy, special education, IQ toys, the classrooms… and then we went down a gravelly, brick-red dirt path, passed the fish pond covered with large water lilies and towards the cow stalls. There was a horse grazing outside next to a small cornfield which was being harvested by hand. The cows were actually water buffaloes and produce the milk for the children staying at the centre. We walked round to the back of the stall to see the cattle up close. I was immediately reminded of an overpoweringly strong odor I had encountered for the first time when we arrived at the Anoop Hotel in Delhi. I had heard that one of the first things to hit you when you arrive in India is the smell,  and so I thought, “Well, this must be what they’re talking about.” I discovered, however, while standing on the rooftop restaurant of the hotel, that the smell was coming from one side of the building. The space between the hotel building and the next was so close I could have jumped across to the other roof, and down four floors crammed into the narrowest of alley ways in the capital city of India were water buffaloes, cows, goats, and pigs – the stench was unforgettable. 

Of course at the Kiran farm, the smell of the animals was to be expected and did not have at all the same effect. We did, however, make our first more intimate encounter with the apparent abyss that separates the white well-to-do westerner and the poor third-world laborer.

As we walked around the stalls we met a farmer, bare footed and bare chested, carrying a bucket of manure with an arm amputated just below the elbow. He was walking towards a small cement cistern that at first looked like a well, but which the children had just discovered was nearly full of cow dung.  The farmer stopped at the cistern, lifted the bucket up to his shoulder and poured the contents into it. He then proceeded to pat the manure down evenly with his one good bare hand.  Leonardo watched it all up close and kept a straight face until he turned around and stuck out his tongue as if to vomit. Alessandro on the other hand was overwhelmed by the sight and did little to hide it. At that moment the man raised his head and looked straight at us. I can’t remember exactly what I did, but I suppose I pasted some stupid smile on my face, nodded my head and said “Namaste,” ingenuously hoping to hide my unease with the situation. I wasn’t at all surprised or disgusted by what we had seen; I knew that in India as well as in many other countries, animal dung is worked by hand and used for fires, floors, stuccoing huts, etc. But it was one of the moments, of which I would have more, when I felt undeniably white.

The abyss, however, would soon be breached in the most unexpected way. Check out the next blog post “Where are the kids?”.


Paul
03/09/2010