Smells Like Masala

Nearly a tenement due to neglect, I plan to dust off the cobwebs of my blog and start writing again.

Since last I posted here, Tristan and I started on a story and my guts fell victim to another attack.

This time it seemed a whole troupe of trolls donning golf shoes decided to put on a season of “Stomp” in my stomach and intestines.

I’m recovering slowly and nearing the end of my 10-day course of amoebacide. After receiving rave reviews for their performances, the gaggle of trolls have moved on to a larger stage.

For our first story, we’re following Chris, a self-styled circus performer, as he trains children how to juggle, walk tightropes and all other things clown.

His pupils hail from a tent-city slum in Dharamsala. They have been taken out of the slum and given the opportunity to attend school and generally be children. Tong Len, the program with which Chris is allied, provides room and board for the children as long as they don’t make any money.

In the slum’s families the primary earners are often the children.

Today we watched the students perform for their families outside of their homes.

The slum is largely comprised of huts, tents and lean-tos with black tarp roofs and general detritus serving as walls. The entrance to community is a hole in the brick wall off of one of Dharmsala’s main drags, It is probably a square mile, has its own network of paths and even a small general store.

The first thing that sruck me as an American, is the sense that, yes, your pocket may be picked, but the threat of physical violence — perceived or otherwise —doesn’t exist.

Tristan caught a small child with its hand in his back pocket on his wallet. Otherwise the people were helpful and friendly.

The Tong Len children, despite being from the slum, were easy to pick out amongst their peers. Those that stayed to earn money or otherwise were caked with a layer of filth. Many didn’t have pants and some had hair which bordered on dreadlocks.

Despite their situation, the children played, laughed and were just as adorable as children anywhere else.

The biggest and most humbling surprise, however came from an adult and requires a bit of back-story.

About two weeks ago Tristan went to the hospital with amoebas of his very own. While we were waiting for a doctor, Tristan was waiting for a bathroom to empty so he could tend to his overwhelming nausea.

A genuinely caring and kind Indian man helped him up to the second floor bathroom. He wasn’t an employee of the place, and he had nothing to gain. Just a true and simple act of compassion.

He even asked how Tristan was twice, before saying goodbye on his way out.

Fast forward to today in the middle of the slum. The same man was helping set up the stage.

Despite crushing poverty, chief among his concerns for the day we spent in hospital, was making sure Tristan was okay.