<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734</id><updated>2011-04-21T21:49:32.335-06:00</updated><title type='text'>RIVER</title><subtitle type='html'>Welcome to my blog RIVER. This is the story of my experience in India. Get ready before you read it. There are many sad stories. I want you read it from the first post. Because it's more like book. It's hard to believe. But they all are real story.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734.post-115187919707082735</id><published>2006-07-02T15:35:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-07-02T16:33:00.513-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sacrifice days and nights</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/matt16[1].jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/320/matt16%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was getting skinny more and more. Even before India, Doctor told me I'm too skinny for my high(I was 185cm, 70kg before India). I did't sleep very well after abria died. Wake up 5 AM, go to Mother house, work, come back 5 PM, practice Hindi and English untill 3 AM and during break, lanch, dinner, breakfast, walking, work and in the wash room. Sometime never slept. Of cours I did my best for volunteer working as well. I worked 3 times of the others. I did look really crazy. But it's good many of people in the restaurants and street became my friends. I sat down on the durty street, and asked them to teach me Hindi. They were surprised for what I did. I told them I'm ready to scrifice everything for the work. Sometime I spent many hours in the restaurants to practice Hindi with shop keepers too. I was always welcome to shop keepers. Sometime they gave me something to drink or eat for extra. Nobody ignored me. It's been 7 years, but even now, they are my friends. When I went back to Kolkata end of last year, many people talked to me. In that way, I became able to speak those strange languages. On the other hand, it was big sacrifice. I got weaker and weaker.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23012734-115187919707082735?l=gangariver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/115187919707082735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23012734&amp;postID=115187919707082735&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/115187919707082735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/115187919707082735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/2006/07/sacrifice-days-and-nights.html' title='Sacrifice days and nights'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734.post-114375075426658638</id><published>2006-03-30T14:32:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-30T22:22:02.186-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Abria</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/039[1][1].1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/320/039%5B1%5D%5B1%5D.1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3rd day at working for Kali Ghat. I had been called by the Indian volunteer called Korak. He asked me if I help him to give medicine to patients. I took much trouble to understand him for my poor English. It’s too strange that I such stupid guy does important work. This guy was always late to come to the hospice. I didn’t know why. Anyway I brought medicine to each patient. One of patient did not accept the medicine. I told Korak about him. Korak ordered me to continue trying to let him take a medicine. Tough. I took much trouble to understand people every time. I thought Korak is a crazy guy. He shouldn’t entrust such job to me. I tried to talk with the patient. I thought I need to know the reason why he doesn’t accept medicine. He didn’t confess it so easy. I took 3 days to understand the reason. Then finally he told me the reason. He didn’t believe there’s someone feel sad even if he dead. I told him I’ll be sad if he dead. He came silent, and then finally took the medicine. He became my first friend in India. I believed he’ll be ok.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next day I brought notebook to the hospice. I thought he can teach me Hindi.&lt;br /&gt;Too sweet, first thing I saw in the hospice that day was his death body. He was too late to take a medicine. “What’s wrong” I thought. But it’s my fault I wasn’t ready to work for the hospice. There’re so many things I should prepared before volunteering. "I was too lazy" I thought. Since then I became crazy to work or practice English and Hindi. I was too sad to listten to people's consolation. None of words made sense. I decided to sacrifice days, nights and even my own life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who is dead on the day? Not only the patient, but me as well. I was dead on the moment, and defferent person has been born.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23012734-114375075426658638?l=gangariver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/114375075426658638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23012734&amp;postID=114375075426658638&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114375075426658638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114375075426658638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/2006/03/abria.html' title='Abria'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734.post-114347217893373361</id><published>2006-03-27T09:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-29T01:54:13.936-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Kali Ghat</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/033[1].1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/320/033%5B1%5D.1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got back to Kolkata, and began volunteer working for MC (Missionaries of Charity). There’re many hospices of them. I selected Kali Ghat. Everybody who knows Mother Teresa must have heard about the hospice. Kali Ghat is the name of the area the hospice is stationed. Real name is Nirmar Hirdai. The hospice is the Mother Teresa’s first hospice. She felt sorry for there were so many people dying in the street. That’s why she started the hospice, so they can spend their ends of lives as human beings.&lt;br /&gt;I had a small hope to be Station worker. I had met Japanese guy who was a one in Tokyo. Station workers are chosen people from people who are working for Mother Teresa’s hospice for special work. Station Workers have to go to Howrah station, the biggest station in Kolkata. There is lot of poor people making a living in the station, so Station Workers have to check them every morning. Station workers are used to encounter injured or sick people, and then Station workers have to treat them or take them to Mother Teresa’s hospice. I knew it must be too difficult for me. It’s almost miracle that to be Station Worker. There’re always 100 to 300 volunteers, and some of them were doctors or nurses. Many people want to be Station worker. I even couldn’t speak English. “But I can wash dishes or cloths of patients in the hospice” I thought.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23012734-114347217893373361?l=gangariver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/114347217893373361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23012734&amp;postID=114347217893373361&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114347217893373361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114347217893373361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/2006/03/kali-ghat.html' title='Kali Ghat'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734.post-114227371115120553</id><published>2006-03-13T12:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-13T12:29:00.530-06:00</updated><title type='text'>We have everything But we have nothing</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0088.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/320/CIMG0088.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't used to Indian culture yet. Specially food stuff was serious problem. Varanasi is sacred city. That's why I took much trouble to find a restaurant which serve a meat. You guys are misunderstanding about Japanese culture. Japanese people take a meat more often than western people. There's almost no vegetarian. I walked around the city. And I found the guy shouting "we have everything!" in the front of restaurant. "Do you have meat?" I said. "Yes, we have, come in" He replied. I entered the restaurant and ordered chicken curry. The waiter said "one minute" and disappered. I was waiting and waiting and waiting. Finally I got upset after an hour. I went to the kitchen. They were taking a chai. "Chicken curry! chicken curry!" I said. They replied "we don't have meat". The restaurant's name was Ganga Fuji.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23012734-114227371115120553?l=gangariver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/114227371115120553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23012734&amp;postID=114227371115120553&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114227371115120553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114227371115120553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/2006/03/we-have-everything-but-we-have-nothing.html' title='We have everything But we have nothing'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734.post-114201949127925015</id><published>2006-03-10T13:09:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-11T09:16:27.083-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Mother</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/24[1].jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/320/24%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/04[1].jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/320/04%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/09[2].1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/320/09%5B2%5D.1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dirty" foreigners always say. "Why can you take a bath in such terrible water?" Stupid question. Nobody understands India and me for real. Who cares? I was not tourist in India. Even though there are many people don't understand its spirituality, Ganga is always ready to accept all lives. I went to watch sunrise and take a bath early morning. I sat down by the river. The sun appeared... Even now I can remember it so clear. It was the one most beautiful and spiritual in the world. I wept by the river. People began to get into the river and prayed. They called me from the river. I followed them. I felt everyone in the river's thoughts when I got into the river. I'm not sure, but... I think it was first time to feel something spiritual. I felt Ganga held me in her arms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ganga is my mother&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23012734-114201949127925015?l=gangariver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/114201949127925015/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23012734&amp;postID=114201949127925015&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114201949127925015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114201949127925015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/2006/03/mother.html' title='Mother'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734.post-114183745310296683</id><published>2006-03-08T10:45:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-08T15:06:41.236-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Manikalnika Ghat</title><content type='html'>I can't put a picture on this post. Because it's about crematory Ghat. There're too many fucking stupid foreigners take a pictures of the Ghat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I HATE THEM&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do not come again to this blog if you have taken a picture of crematory Ghat or you have seen it and liked it. Imagine if the body in the fire is your family or friend, and tourists took a pictures of this. They are same human beings. They have a right to be respected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stationed guest house nearlby Manikalnika Ghat, a crematory Ghat. Ghat means sacred place. I watched the Ghat from distance. A lives ended, got burnd and floated into Ganga in my view. I asked God to get them free from the pain of lives.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23012734-114183745310296683?l=gangariver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/114183745310296683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23012734&amp;postID=114183745310296683&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114183745310296683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114183745310296683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/2006/03/manikalnika-ghat.html' title='Manikalnika Ghat'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734.post-114168626083750491</id><published>2006-03-06T16:45:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-08T09:52:53.170-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Deep River</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/01[2].jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/320/01%5B2%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; "Ganga" the dying old woman who was carried on Ohtsu's back was repeating same word as if child. "Paanii chahie? (do you want water?)" Ohtsu replied. How many people and their sadness have been carried on his back and brought to Ganga river? Ohtsu had no idea for how they lived. He knew only that those people are called outkaste and rejected from human society.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It 's a paragraph of my favorite book. It's sad and impressing story. I was always dreaming to come to this place since I read the book. But now, It wasn't dream any more, but real.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23012734-114168626083750491?l=gangariver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/114168626083750491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23012734&amp;postID=114168626083750491&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114168626083750491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114168626083750491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/2006/03/deep-river.html' title='Deep River'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734.post-114148750901653631</id><published>2006-03-04T08:54:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-05T17:59:56.683-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Chai is stronger than any rule</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/boy_and_man[1].0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/320/boy_and_man%5B1%5D.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; There was a my favorite book. The book was written about people visited Varanasi, the most sacred city of India. It's fiction, But it was big impression for me. Varanasi is the place many Hindus come to an end their lives. specially poor people want to end their lives there, and get floated into Ganga (Gandis) river. Then they'll be free from the pain of their lives. I thought I need to know Indian people's sense before start volunteer working. That's why I took a train to Varanasi. It was long long long and long journey. You shouldn't believe time schedule in India. The train stoped anywhere during the journey. It was too slow. I went to check what drivers doing. They were taking chai(Indian traditional milk tea). "Move! Move!" I said. "Chai time" they replied. Then they gave me cup of chai. What a country... I was really shocked.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23012734-114148750901653631?l=gangariver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/114148750901653631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23012734&amp;postID=114148750901653631&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114148750901653631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114148750901653631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/2006/03/chai-is-stronger-than-any-rule.html' title='Chai is stronger than any rule'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734.post-114132944906769211</id><published>2006-03-02T13:41:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-03T18:47:33.426-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Mother House</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Picture of Mother House&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/matt18[1].jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/400/matt18%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I couldn't sleep... Anyhow, I took a taxi to mother house, the mother centre of MC (Missionaries of Charity). It was 150 rupees. Even now, I can say it's cheap price for such beginner. It was 4AM. Still too early. But sister opened the front door for me. I had another plan before start volunteer work. But I wanted to visit Mother Teresa's grave. It's stationed in the building. I sat down by the grave. I felt her presence. Volunteers came to the house one by one. They were from all over the world. What a great woman. She had a power to call people even after passed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23012734-114132944906769211?l=gangariver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/114132944906769211/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23012734&amp;postID=114132944906769211&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114132944906769211'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114132944906769211'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/2006/03/mother-house.html' title='Mother House'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734.post-114119570952739180</id><published>2006-03-01T00:11:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-10T15:26:44.773-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Debut</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0014.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/200/CIMG0014.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0013.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/320/CIMG0013.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/flag02[1].gif"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/320/flag02%5B1%5D.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/1009093.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/320/1009093.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me start the story from the beginning. It was middle of April 1999. I arrived Dum Dum airport, the airport of Kolkata by Singapore airlines. It was midnight. I was very scared to go out from the airport. As I wrote before, I didn't speak English very well, It was first time to travel alone. I decided to stay in the airport until morning. I thought it's safer.&lt;br /&gt;Wrong, There was no common sense. Taxi drivers came into the airport where they were not allowed to enter. They held me and tried to get me in their taxi. I knew it's not safe even I was beginner. I attacked them with my heavy Backpack (there were so many unnecessary things in the bag). But they didn't give up. Airport staff came to me. And took me to the other building much safer. "He is really nice guy" I thought.&lt;br /&gt;Too sweet, the other staff began to spray an insecticide in the building. But there was nowhere to runaway for me. I tried to sleep in the mist of insecticide with holding my backpack in my arms.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23012734-114119570952739180?l=gangariver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/114119570952739180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23012734&amp;postID=114119570952739180&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114119570952739180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114119570952739180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/2006/03/debut.html' title='Debut'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734.post-114118006897936137</id><published>2006-02-28T20:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-01T19:37:24.096-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Who I was</title><content type='html'>I think all you visiters are misunderstanding about me.&lt;br /&gt;Am I doctor? No. Am I high educated? No. Am I intelligent? No. Did I have strange power before Volunteering in India? No. Did I speak any second language before Volunteering in India? No. Was I stronger than the others? No. Was I stronger than the others in spirit? No. Did I have ability to get used to different situation so easy? No. Was I able to take spicy foods? No. Was I strong for hot weather? No. I was just simple and stupid man.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23012734-114118006897936137?l=gangariver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/114118006897936137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23012734&amp;postID=114118006897936137&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114118006897936137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114118006897936137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/2006/02/who-i-was.html' title='Who I was'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734.post-114098746908741674</id><published>2006-02-26T14:51:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-04T10:36:52.793-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Each day was same with the other days</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/dgr-howrah[1].jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/320/dgr-howrah%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was feeling so bad with what I was sensing. I sensed that someone is calling from far in the platform. You better don't ask me why I can sense it. I myself don't know why. But it wasn't first time.&lt;br /&gt;I was always sick during volunteering in India. I had 2 kinds of work. One is social work in the hospice of Mother Teresa. Another one is searching for patients in Howrah station, the largest station of Kolkata. There are lot of poor people gathering. Sometime they were sick or injured. I kept walking ahead. Then my foot stoped by the woman siting on the platform. She smiled on me and acted as she is hungry. And she begged for money. She did look totally same with the other poor people living in the station. But I knew there is a reason my step stoped in the front of her from experience. My eyes began to check her body. It was already my custom. I found brown stain on her saree around her leg. "Apuka pa dekie (show me your leg)" I said. She got upset and tried to runaway. But she couldn't stand up. I held her and opened cloth from her leg. A small white things spilled from the clothing. There were 100 maggots on her leg. It was nasty, her leg has been eaten with maggots. An alarm whistle of the train drowned out her shout. The train got stationed beside the platform. Great number of people rushed into the platform as if snow slide. I bended forward to protect her. We got disappeared in the river of the people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the ordinary life means? If ordinary life does mean each day is same with the other days, it was my ordinary life in India.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23012734-114098746908741674?l=gangariver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/114098746908741674/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23012734&amp;postID=114098746908741674&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114098746908741674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114098746908741674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/2006/02/each-day-was-same-with-other-days.html' title='Each day was same with the other days'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23012734.post-114088387083558252</id><published>2006-02-25T10:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-27T01:44:53.773-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It begins</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;Oh God&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;Let me cross the river&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;I wanna get to the place of the promise&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0097.5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/400/CIMG0097.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;First of all,I need to explain the reason why I have been to India. Main reason was volunteering for Mother Teresa's hospice. There are so many volunteers from all over the world. Mostly they are volunteering from their kindness. But I wasn't that kindful man. I've been ill-treated with my father until he get divorced to my mother. I haven't been educated in childhood, so I even couldn't speak or exercise good enough until get grew up. It's passed. I didn't have any hatred against my father. But I wanted to know why it happened on me. I thought I'll know the reason if I volunteered for poor people. Because they are spending their lives in trouble as well. It was first time to travel alone. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23012734-114088387083558252?l=gangariver.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/feeds/114088387083558252/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23012734&amp;postID=114088387083558252&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114088387083558252'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23012734/posts/default/114088387083558252'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gangariver.blogspot.com/2006/02/it-begins.html' title='It begins'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16598891660894043112</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6635/2129/1600/CIMG0044.1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
