I request you please

Every week we have a volunteer meeting at the flat. Our coordinator comes with a list of items to discuss, neatly written out on notebook paper. The President of CRAWL is a young woman from Khardah, who after getting her degree at the university, did a survey of slum kids in our area and identified the 25 most promising, albeit, most needy children in the area. She worked to start a school for them and with the help of a few others, developed the women's program and medical project. She was joined at our meeting today by a man we have worked with a few times known only as, 'the father of Kokoli.' Kokoli is one of the other group leaders who lives on the west side of India for half of the year so we have never met her. He is a stern man who speaks loudly and yells at you in every conversation, even if he is giving you a compliment. His intonation is harsh but his words are often kind. We always chuckle when anyone talks about him because his actual name is a mystery to us, he is known only as 'The father of Kokoli', from his cell phone number listing on the contact board at the flat, to introductions made to other volunteers. Very funny.

I have picked up tips from others on adapting to Indian life. For example, if an Indian man is harassing you in anyway, it is most shameful to make him feel like he is dishonoring your family. I tried this out while haggling for a cab from the rail station home yesterday. Our cabbie agreed on a price and when we seemed to accept he stated, 'No miss, I said, 250, I request you please 250, I request you please...' Even though his English made me laugh, Ann and I had to stand firm with our original price. He didn't accept and said we were making up numbers. We looked at him shockingly and said, 'I will be a mother someday' and ' I am some one's daughter.' He looked so surprised and I could tell our words impacted him. The sense of community and family is so strong here that if you not only make yourself seem insulted, but are part of a larger picture, often the situation becomes quickly more fair. We settled on a price and headed home. I have written about how scary the trains are, but a cab ride is not an ideal alternative. I noticed early in the trip that no cars have side mirrors. This is because rules of the road do not exist. Cars squeeze themselves as close to other cars, rickshaws, bikes and people as possible. I almost can't look because we are always 2 seconds away from a potential accident. I had to close my eyes and hope I would open them to the road near our flat and not a hospital (trust me, I have seen the hospitals here:)
This morning was quiet at the train station, hopefully we will find more people tomorrow. I ran into one old man lying on a bench, wife at his side, gently stroking his hand. She handed me a folder of medical records and prescriptions. She had tears in her eyes. I looked at the paperwork which showed he had a right-sided CVA one week ago. There was a list of medications the doctor ordered. I took it from her, promised to get the medication and return tomorrow. It is frustrating that doctors discharge people to the streets without knowing in good faith that they have the ability to get medications. Hopefully I can find them all and dispense in the morning.
We leave for a few days of travel on Sunday...