July 1981

Hi.

Greetings in Jesus name from Nagpur.

The desire to travel here and there which dominated my earlier life has completely evaporated. In its place now is the dread of the known­ such as hours in planes that either could fall out of the sky, be hijacked or have head-on collisions with other planes filled with people who share my fears ... Part and parcel of the same dread are the multitudes of immigration and customs officers whose sole purpose in life seems to be to ask questions - and lots of them, to make you fill out forms and sign statements and generally leave your suitcase in a state that would fill the average tornado’s breast with pride ...

Yet all my fears proved to be baseless: the planes behaved the way they were meant to behave and the pilots were no “Red Barons­” who wanted to discover new frontiers of aerodynamics. And if there were any people aboard with a strong desire to go to Cuba or Libya etc. they must have decided upon more “conventional” ways rather than hi-jacking to get there. The path between the exit door of the plane and the big customs and immigration hall in Bombay was so greased with prayers that I was out before I even realized what had happened. Everybody there was exceptionally friendly and kind to me. The way I was jumping up and down for joy upon meeting Kurien, Lekharam and Rekya must have made a lot of people decide to fly Air India for whatever they “served­” there had some “interesting” results

However during the long ride into town - with a “reject Kamikaze” pilot - my joy sort of got put on a shelf­ ... The fellow took repeatedly careful aim at such targets as cyclists, bullock carts, double-decker busses and ten ton trucks which however - deflected by my guardian angel - he just missed ... I am sure that when we reached the hotel my guardian angel went to file a request for a transfer to a less hazardous job ... The good hotel which I had requested turned out to be a “flea farm”, its only boast was a lot of space - all dusty - and an old air conditioner that sounded as if it had spent the major part of its life in an asbestos mine ... In its defense I must however say that it did manage to cool the room down - just by the time we were about to leave.

The final blow came when, after half an hour on the railway platform, I realized that we would never get a first class reservation and from the looks of things not even a second class one. But the Lord undertook for us and got us berths in a second class compartment. And so, on Tuesday noon we entrusted our souls to God and our weary bodies to a wooden bench and started our 16 hour journey through the oppressive summer heat towards Nagpur.

That evening in the train I provided, unawares though, good entertainment for the occupants in our compartment. Due to the heat I wore instead of pants a Lungi (an ankle-length piece of cloth that is wrapped around the waist. And flopping on my belly I went to sleep. The erratic movement of the train and my own reaction to it worked the Lungi loose and the wind, taking advantage of the situation, gently blew it over my head ... The size of the cloth did not permit it to cover both “ends­” and so the startled travelers got the sight of their life ... Rekya, rushing to the defense of my dignity pulled the Lungi down to make it serve its intended purpose, only to be time after time defeated by the wind rushing through the open windows. Finally an old man, who thought that it was better than watching the late movie on TV, suggested to shut of the light and so solve the problem­ ... This done and the show being over, everybody turned the other cheek and sought oblivion from the heat and the noise of the train in sleep.

Sleeping however was no easy feat considering the noise and rocking motion of the train which bore no relationship to the gentle motion a mother can produce while rocking the cradle. But rather brought to my mind some faint recollection of the time when mother’s gentle hand on the cradle was replaced by that of an infuriated brother whom my yelling kept from playing football with his friends ... Yet in spite of all this we arrived safe and sound and I considered the discoloration of various parts of anatomy a small price to pay for the joy of meeting the kids again and to be back home.

The temps in Nagpur on the 10th of June were around 42° Celsius but climbed to a pleasant 44.4° Celsius on the 17th.

The long journey back, the excitement, the heat combined with the uncertainty of my stay here almost proved too much for me and I felt that, having seen the kids, it was time for a short and needed holiday. And so, taking Jiven (kitchen manager) along for company, went for five days to Delhi. There we had an air-conditioned room in a hotel, slept well, ate well, loafed a lot and went on several sightseeing trips. One of them was to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. The temps there, according to our guide, were 48° Celsius ... But we had a great time and it was just what I needed.

When we returned to Nagpur the rains had finally started and cooled things considerably down and I felt even more refreshed and got going with renewed vigor.

The people who wanted to sell us their farm changed their minds and now we are looking for a new place. A lawyer friend of ours promised to find us something within the next 2 weeks. We still haven’t all the money we need but we will go ahead and act as if ...

Well it is good to be back to the rice and the lentils, the beef that tastes like nothing you ever ate, the quarrels among the kids, the worries, the fears and frustrations and yes - the exhilarating sense of being involved in something great and wonderful and worthwhile.

Many of the kids did exceptionally well in school. One little fellow didn’t come back but in his place we got another kid ...

The Lord is certainly good to us and no doubt one of the evidences of His goodness uswards are all of you who have so faithfully supported us by prayer and giving.

Thanx ...

Love

Frank.