Going on the YAV/YAGM Tour - Don't Hate

Honestly, I had been dreading Easter. Most churches here hold early morning, day-long Good Friday services, which are supposed to include fasting. Hours of chanting in a language I can't understand, on an empty stomach, did not exactly sound pleasant. Easter, I was sure, could hold nothing better. But I got lucky. Instead of the usual 5 A.M. to 1 P.M. Good Friday service, I was treated to a speedy 9 A.M. to 11 A.M. service - the length of a normal church service here! Easter service was equally short. During Good Friday service, I was prodded out of my day-dream state when I heard the priest say my name. "Nothing bad, Cammy, don't worry," he apologized from the pulpit. He was describing a conversation I had had with him the week before. We had talked broadly about how I felt at Mandiram - I had said that I loved being here and loved the people here. "We are all family," one priest had said. "This is your home for this year, and this is your family." The priest was recounting this conversation, reminding all of us that we were all brothers and sisters; that even me, a woman from halfway across the world, could count the Mandiram residents as my family. I felt very loved (and slightly sheepish for having dreaded the whole church service in the first place).

This Saturday, I am leaving with my fellow volunteers to go on a tour of India. We'll be hitting up Varanasi, Delhi, Rajastan, spending some time in the Himalayas, and lounging on the beaches of Goa. I'm not telling you this to make you jealous (hehe) but to explain my upcoming month-long absence.

See you in May!

Lights out in Sydney

Things are heating up here in Kerala. And when I say things, I really only mean the weather. The low is around 80F, the high is slowly creeping up to 100F. Everyone reassures me, "Now, even for us, this is really hot!" I just wipe the sweat off my face with my sweaty shawl, and try to smile.

A few nights ago, while coloring with the girls, the power went off. This is a common occurance, and by now, I've gotten somewhat used to the drill. We lit some candles, and within a few minutes, a light flickered on. Then off. Then on. The usually bright light was only emitting a small, orangish light. "Low voltage," one of the girls told me. So we played in the eerie orange light, and ate by the low light of the dining hall. When I made it back to my room after dinner, there was still low voltage. I could only have one light on at a time, and my fan was turning so slowly that I could actually watch individual blades circle around and around. I sat on my bed and read the paper. And this is what I read.

http://www.cantonrep.com/index.php?ID=345502&Category=24&subCategoryID=
Businesses and homes in Sydney, Australia, were planning to turn off their lights for an hour "to protest excessive greenhouse gas emissions." As I sat there, in my low-voltage lighting under my slow-moving fan, I suddenly felt a little bitter towards those Australians. They think they're making a difference by turning off their lights for one, measly hour? What about their a/c? McDonald's turned off its golden arches - would they still be cooking food inside? Of course, I applaud Sydney for their efforts. But at the time, I felt like something was missing. Like their sacrifice wasn't enough.

The next morning, I woke up. The power was completely gone. I ate my breakfast and read the paper. I read this: http://www.cosmosmagazine.com/node/1136. Sydney's blackout had been declared a success. Emissions were lowered by 10%. And still, I was bitter. For Indians, an hour without light is nothing. Try over 12 hours without any power. Then see how much your emissions will drop!

I wonder how much our town's emissions had dropped during our non-voluntary blackout.