I Often Wish I Could Forget

I live just beside a government hospital. To say there was a view, would certainly be true, questionable however, whether it is a view you would wish to see everyday from your kitchen window.

There are drips flung from the windows, empty water bottles cascading unto the floor below, any forms of unwanted food begin to make a patchwork of rubbish from the ledges to the ground, and of course least forgetting the crows and rats that feed on the discarded matter. I try not to look, imagining that i were looking out of my window at Frieth Court, seeing the kites flying overhead, hearing the dogs prowl the perimeter with their friendly barks.

You cannot always escape though, especially when you hear the screams and cries from the people inside.

At night i hear them most, sometimes anguish is uttered in muffled sobs, and sometimes i hear the most blood curdling of screams, as though the bearer had, had their hearts riped out.
I wonder to whom do the voices belong? Is it a mother screaming for her child's loss, is it a husband crying for his wife's demise, is it a sister weeping for her brothers illness, is it a grandmother watching her child suffer?

I begin to imagine the state of play just a few meters from me, i try to distinguish between their differing emotions by listening to the volume and pitch of their unease, speculating about the cause of the disturbance. I catch myself doing this and think I'm a rather morbid person, curiosity claiming the better of me. You cannot however block out the noises or the smells, it's part of your environment, and as you lay exhausted in an air conditioned room, you begin to question how fragile human life really is.

I've always taken the NHS for granted: yes that rather impressive but highly critiqued institution we have in Britain. You would think it a marvel though if you had ever stepped inside a poorly run Indian Hospital. Allow me to just clarify, many hospitals in the city are clean and well maintained, but there is no quality assurance in place to ensure all hospitals are maintained to a high standard.

So by accident i found myself in a government hospital in India, i cannot quite put into words, the smells emanating from the wards, something between a strong iodine and the smell of rotting flesh. These people were dying and receiving the limited means of healthcare available to them. If at any point in my life have i ever though euthanasia a good thing it was in this moment. How i wish i could have wielded the hand of God and stopped so much suffering, but all i could do was watch and place a hand over my mouth to stop the bile rising in my throat. In that instance i forgot how to place one foot infront of the other and continue to move forward, i was so consumed by rage, fury, sadness, emptiness, sorrow, feelings that cannot be contained by merely words alone.

I've never seen anything like it apart from on the t.v. and then it's never quite so real is it? We are able to move from our chairs, turn the t.v. off and go about our daily business with little thought for the atrocities we've seen, but when it's real, inescapable, the images flow freely into your dreams, becoming permanent nightmares.

Harrowing? Most certainly. Real? Absolutely......unalterable? No, Of course change can happen but it will take time and care.

Aren't we all special?

"Tumi Narcho?", absolutely, you should always dance as if no one were watching.

Inhibtitons are an alien term in this line of work, your enthusiam and willingness to try anything, no matter how bizarre is what seperates you from the more convential type of teacher. I always believe you should never ask of another what you would not be willing to do yourself.

So we danced; we learnt the tango, the waltz, a little salsa, and then only what i can describe as a fusion of street and Hindi dancing. Children with Downsyndrome are renowned for being loving, enthusiastic and friendly, even so Chotto was an exception. Everytime i walked into the room, this bundle of sunshine would launch himself into my arms "Hi Aunty", he would say. Slowly he would life my bag from my shoulder, carefully undo the catch and pull out the assortment of goodies i had roaming around in there.

Chotto would pull out bubbles, ribbons, feathers, pencils, crayons, until he found what he was looking for, my ipod and he would then attach them to the quite resilient computer speakers i take with me everywhere. Chotto would chose a track and then that would be it for the next hour, we would dance until our clothes were soaked through, our breath caught in gasps from pure exhaustion. We danced like our lives depended on it, as if every second were as precious as the last, and as the hour drew to a close i would always catch the faintest sense of saddness lirking behind his eyes, but as soon as i thought i had seen it, it was gone replaced by the most brilliant of sparkles.


We threw a party for him last Sunday night, before he left Hope to join his new home. I grew so very attached to him, as i have with all the special needs boys i work with. I could not however be consumed by sadness, i went with him to his new home and its perfect, surrounded by countryside and people with a great understanding of his particular needs. He will be well looked after aswell as the other boys from Hope who are accompanying him, but i would be a liar if i did not admit, i will miss them all greatly and that i am secretly wishing i could have gone too.

Sing not for your hearts content

'Excuse me M'am may i come in?' it took me a few seconds to realise the young girl dressed in the blue salwar was talking to me, i felt myself flush, and quietly said in response 'of course you may'. After the fourth time this occurred i thought to myself "Seriously I'm no lady of consequence", i stood lounged against the door frame and ushered the remaining ten children in with a quick wave of my hand, sat down in front of them and grinned like a Cheshire cat.

I am in adept at dealing with this kind of admiration and respect, though flattered i believe it is not warranted. Now i was the main spectacle, 'perform' a little voice in my head began to say. Hmmm i thought, every eye was now on me, so i began to sing. The only songs i know off by heart are from the musical Les Miserables, i remember growing up adoring this musical and suddenly from this ramshackle classroom, i transported twenty children, a teacher and myself to 1815, right into the heart of the French barricades.

I love music and song, because it transcends language, you do not have to speak in the same tongue to understand the sentiment and feeling behind the words. One's pain is another's relative understanding.

I began to think though i really know nothing of the pain of men, i know nothing of sacrifice, i know nothing of poverty, i know nothing of hardship, i know little of this world i am apart of. All i know is that i feel humbled to be here and i embrace everything about this city and its people.


"M'am please sit" said the gentleman in the blue flannel shirt, whilst pointing towards an empty seat in front of me. Unexpectedly a small silver sign engraved with red italics caught my eye, upon it was written "Ladies". How quintessentially English i thought there is a separate section for ladies on the train. It's curious the things that have survived the country's move to Independence . The behaviours of the people mar a bizarre culmination of English reserve and Indian eccentricity. How can i aliken such behaviour?

Imagine you began a conversation with a stranger and instead of beginning with 'Hello, how are you?' you began by saying 'goodbye it was lovely to meet you'. All the right words were said, the right level of politeness was conveyed, but the way in which it was put together was just utterly disorientating. There's something so familiar about Indian culture, as if parts of it stayed preserved, as if it were bottled in a jar and displayed in a museum for all to see, and then other times it appears so alien.

I find i difficult to comprehend so many of the daily images i store, sometimes without even a consciousness of how deeply they have affected me. It is not until the night, when i am deep in sleep do i begin to see the things that haunt me most about this city. I often wake drenched in a cold sweat, and fear to go back into a sleeping state, wondering what other horrors i have hidden there. It is not always this way, and though it perturbs me a little it does remind me that i am aware and constantly questioning, permitting me to be in anyway desensitized in this environment.

People often say experiences such as these have a great impact upon a individual, perhaps they can even prove to be life changing. I do not feel i will totally appreciate that until i return home, and the things i used to consider to be important will pale into insignificance. I can already feel though i have a better understanding of human nature, it's weaknesses and its strengths. I work in the area i do because i have a natural curiosity to be consistantly challenged and educated. Everyday i learn something new about a culture, that a couple of months ago was completely foreign to me, whilst also learning many new things about myself in context. I thrive for these experiences.