sjoe.... we are privileged

the view from our rooftop

It is with joy that I write from home the of Biryani and chai, mango lassi and tandoori chicken, colour and dust. The contrasts in the space of two seconds is breath taking, not necessarily in a good way either. Open urinals litter alternate street corners, while a chai vendor shares one of those littered walls. Dogs lay around all day, their senses non existent, numbed by the hustle and constant noise. Cows own the roads, 'roads', like the word ‘hotel’ is freely thrown around. And has absolutely nothing in common with what you would imagine.

Spiritually we see the poverty, punctuated with the physical proof. The life here is ‘in your face’, one is unable to be unaffected by it. When beggars start tugging at you, asking for ‘one rupee – for rice’ or blocking your way as you pray whilst walking the streets, one is strangely human and shakes them off, trying to forget they are there, and thereby wondering who are you really here for? Who am I praying for? What am I doing here in the first place?

Deflated I start praying some more, praying that God would raise up honorable men, honorable fathers and leaders in their households.