the detour - part 1 (KTM -> Paris)

Many of you may already know that part of our December and January were not actually spent in Nepal.  In fact we were in Europe.  Admittedly it was a fair detour (watch this space for the full 'how on earth did we end up in Europe' low-down).  But before I forget let me share our adventures:

Something to with the chaos leading up to our 'detour' and the fact that our airline was called 'Spice Jet' caused uncontrollable laughter as we bounded up the steps aboard the plane.  I'm pretty sure we were laughing well into our flight until the fatigue of the preceding months finally caught up. When we arrived in Delhi O Delhi, though braced for all the India-ness of India, we were shortly over it after encountering a couple of power hungry officials.  So we decided to leave our visa issues til Paris and press on out of the airport into Delhi...

First impressions of India:  Cool taxis!

what the???

Having become the lazy travellors we are, we only ventured as far as our hotel room for our first night in Delhi.  Awed by the television (the first proper sitting for several months) we dined in bed on daal makni, korma paneer and naan, eventually fell asleep watching 'Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade'.  The next morning, we had enough time to notice a few interesting things, such as 'Aayran Fruit Juice...'

Next leg: Riyadh (the sandy capital of Saudi Arabia, whose name ironically means 'gardens' - two things I recently learned), we looked out the window and saw...sand...and then a grid system...and then an airport...

We were only in Riyadh for 9 hours and didn't leave the terminal, yet still managed to locate a Nepali and leave him with some 'good news'.  I won't lie to you though, I was relieved to be out of there.  It felt like the twilight zone.  

When we arrived in Paris, we were excited!  I felt in a way that I was a naughty child who had run away from home and as soon as my parents would find out, would be whisked back to the third world.

But in any case we were there...

And after a customary luggage haul we arrived at Guy Moquet. We asked for directions and ashamedly answered 'no' when asked if we spoke French.  Interestingly we were not eye-balled or rudely dismissed, rather very nicely shown the way...And so unscathed we arrived at Margaret's apartment building.  At this point we (or perhaps I) stared in wonder at the possibilities of breaking in as Margaret had already left for the morning...We heard some unintelligible noise from behind us and realised it was Margaret's lovely neighbour trying to convey a message...in French...

Side point:  Why did I never learn this language again?  It is a million times easier to learn than Nepali...We had so many conversations about how much French there is in English...or is it the opposite way around?!

Back to story:  So after another nice French lady helped translate, we were in and luxuriating in Margaret's unbelievably visually pleasing apartment (red toilet seat included).

Our first day we spent 'oooing' and 'aaahhhing' as we passed by gorgeous patisseries (cake shops), boulangeries (bread shops), fromageries (cheese shops), even their butcheries are beautiful!  Believe me, after holding our breathe as we walked passed our local goat butcher in Nepal everyday and swearing never to eat meat again, French butcheries seem out of this world!

Palais Garnier
(a couple of English words the French have stolen...perhaps)

La `Seine

La Piramide Inversee

some trees I liked

Alana playing our dinner

 We made our way slowly down to the Seine, and after stopping for a glu-vein (warm spiced wine), then warmed ourselves in Shakespeare & Co. bookshop.  Deciding whether to buy the Ethan Hawk (since when is he a writer?!) novel, or Onegin took longer than anticipated, and when we emerged night had fallen.  We slept early that night and so did not meet Margaret till the following morning.

I emerged in my colour-stained pjs as she was sitting demurely sipping her coffee, reading her daily text and generally looking beautiful. Nothing has changed there.

Margaret

Margaret is a tall, beautiful, vivacious, English sister, who after falling in love with Paris 15? years ago, picked up her life and moved there.  She now serves as a wonderful pioneer in a Tagalog congregation where she towers in her gorgeous heels above the Filipinos brothers and sisters. Yes, truly unforgettable.  Years ago she and her family were neighbours with mine in PNG.  Mum tells me how she never lost her style witnessing around Port Moresby in her high-heels and beautiful self-made threads - > She's my inspiration to serve where the need is great, and look great whilst doing it!

After a quick 'what's happened in the last two year and half years' debrief, Margaret was out the door, off to her English classes and then to her Bible studies.

We then set out (via the boulangerie) to Musee D'Orsay to dwell for a moment among the Impressionists and savour the Noveauness of the Art Noveau...

At this moment I have to say that I completely identify with the idealist in Woody Allen's 'Midnight in Paris'.  You cannot help but romanticise these passed eras shaped by Paris and wish in a way that you had lived in such a time too...

That afternoon we met up with a blast from the past in the form of a Frenchmen I had met in NYC a few years ago.  Damien is serving where the need is great in Paris centre.  He assures me if you see a map of France's territory there is a huge (ok, I don't know if he said 'huge' but a noticeable) red dot on Paris indicating a huge need...His territory (we found out later that evening) includes: Notre Dame, St Germain, the Latin Quarter and other popular tourist destinations.  After sight-seeing, I mean, witnessing, we headed back for blue champagne and salmon with hollandaise sauce at Margaret's -> you remember details like this when you have been living on the 'Daniel and the Three Hebrews' Diet' for 10 months...

Day 3:  Montmartre & Sacre Coeur

I love this statue

Day 4 we were somewhere near a famous arc when bumped into Damien and another crazy American (crazy in a good way -> the crazier, the better, right?...unless it's really crazy), Jamin.  Jamin is serving where the need is great in: Lyon (why didn't I learn French again???).  He has to leave the country every 3 months and so is forced to frequently spend weekends in a places like Morocco...

We bumped into them again at Damien's that night and met some other lovely French brothers and sisters...and even a nice Japanese brother...He was shocked at our Japanese (which consists of the words: 'scissor! paper! rock!', 'cute', 'cool', 'I don't understand', 'would you like something to drink?', 'what's the word again?', 'really' and 'yummy', oh and, 'soybean!' - special thanks to Misa-ji, Ai-chan and Ritz!

me and Prabina

The next day Margaret's Nepali Bible study Prabina came over which was lovely to have some Nepali 'kura kanne' (conversation) again.  Margaret met her one morning thinking she was Filipino and witnessed to her in Tagalog.  The poor thing had had one bad thing after another happen to her resulting in her having to abandon her nursing studies in England and move to Paris.  We had a nice chat, the highlight of which was asking how she enjoyed hell ('nadak')? - I meant to say the drama ('natak')...still room for improvement it seems!

 After Prabina left, we put on some heels and went to the ballet...And I am a changed woman!

Onegin

Before the idea of men in tights -> not appealing.  Now, (and I have to be careful how I say this) I would almost say that the men are the more amazing dancers to watch.  Let me clarify:  perhaps because they are physically stronger and their dancing is not inhibited by a tutu, it is pretty captivating (ok, too strong a word...but you know what I mean -> it's like mens' tennis vs womens')...I had to buy the book to understand the ballet though...

sky outside Le Palais Garnier 

That night I met some more cool Parisiennes, and the first person from Moldovia I have ever met...They played French techno, drove me to the Eiffel Tower and taught me the expression 'n'importe quois' ('whatever...')...

left to right: the Eiffel Tower, 'Radika-the-Moldovian',
random tourist, me, Camille, Clement and Jamin

Sunday we got up early and met Margaret's Nepali friend Maden for witnessing.  He is in a Hindi congregation, which means the common language they speak is Hindi, but they are witnessing to Punjabis, Pakistanis, Bengalis, Nepalis and I guess some Hindis too.  One of the French brothers carries three Bibles in the ministry: one in French, one in Hindi and one in Urdu - what's high-5 in French?!

with Maden (right) somewhere in Paris

Maden, having been in Paris over 20 years knows his topography and gave us a guided tour passed Victor Hugo's old quarters, through Place de Bastille (once home to 'La Guillotine') down to the beautiful Jewish quarter Les Marais.  It was only a couple of days until Hanukkah so everyone was buzzing and merry.  I really liked this area.

That night we earned our stripes as amateur plumbers and rewarded ourselves with French onion soup, foie gras and jazz...

The last day in Paris was technically spent in the Republic of India, ie. the Indian Embassy.  Many hours and Euros later we had our passports stamped, and re-entered 'Paris' shaking our heads and fists at the day's disappointment...Somewhere in the middle of the injustice I made my way to Canal St Martin...this was a consoling sight:

where's a stone to skim when you need one?

Next stop: Copenhagen...

*  'Daniel and the Three Hebrews' Diet' - Daal-bhat

the long way home

The morning I left KTM, as those of you who were there can attest, I was still sorting out 'my life', stuffing 'stuff' into my endless bags and running around in my pjs* minutes before the taxi arrived.  But I did make it to the airport bathed (albeit out of a bucket - thank you Ritsu for boiling the water!) and on time.  In fact, owing to my flight being cancelled, I was early (insert high 5 here^).  I had a choice at this point to:

a) check in, and sit in the departure lounge for another 3 hours drinking expensive coffee whilst gazing out the window onto a depressingly rainy KTM, reminiscing about 'the good times' and probably perturbing those around me as I did 'the ugly cry'**; or
b) finish writing my unfinished farewells, dropping them back at my apartment and giving Ritsu one last squeeze...

So I took option b).  Ritz was pretty surprised when the door bell rang and she saw me standing there (possibly because the bell rang, meaning we had power?!)...'wow that 6 months went quickly!' she said as she opened the door!  And then we said goodbye, again!...And then I was in the taxi, again.  And then I realised I had misread the boarding time, again! And then I was running with my thongs (flip-flops) falling out of my bag, again!  And then I was thongless, again! And then the plane was delayed, again!

And then I left Nepal and could not see the Himal through clouds.  I was happy but sad, excited but tired, relieved but anxious. 

Enter: Krung Thep Mahanakhon Amon Rattanakosin Mahinthara Ayuthaya Mahadilok Phop Noppharat Ratchathani Burirom Udomratchaniwet Mahasathan Amon Piman Awatan Sathit Sakkathattiya Witsanukam Prasit (aka Bangkok - Guinness book of records holder for the longest place name...)

Stepping out onto the tube in Bangkok the temperature change hit me...suddenly the jeans, boots, hat, scarf and coat seemed perhaps overdoing it?!  At 9:00 pm it was 30 something degrees and I was cooking!...Those lost thongs were missed. 

Things I love about this city in no particular order:

• 24 hour power
• 7-11s on every corner
• late night thai massages
• air-conditioning and wi-fi
• good coffee
• better cocktails
• the smell of chili in the air
• street food

After I had unburdened myself at my hostel I set out in search of Day 1's massage...returning 2 hours later I slept too well and the next morning forgot I'd left a valuable item above my bed the night before...

Day 2...I considered the floating markets, the cooking safari, Bangkok by bicycle, the reclining Buddha, the emerald Buddha even, but opted to 'chill' over a long slow breakfast and a skype session with my Nepali auntie.  Not wanting to squander my time completely I made the pilgrimage to Khao San Road, and underwent another ceremonial massage...

And then I was in a taxi, again!  And then...blank...

And then I was reenacting the entire movie 'The Terminal' and funnily enough there were Uzbekistanis.  And then I did 'the ugly cry'.

And then it was Day 3.  And then it was 4:00 pm.  And then I was in the air.  I was happy but sad, excited but exhausted, relieved but anxious.

And then I was in Australia!  And then I was in my family's arms.  And then I was drinking beautiful coffee and enjoying beautiful conversation and lots of time with my beautiful family.  I was happy, exhausted and relieved. 

So we have started a little tradition in Sydney called the 'attempted airport terminal welcome home dance'.  It was inaugurated when my didi Sarah returned from Italy. A few of us crazy ladies endeavoured to perform a surprise dance in the terminal, owing, however, to a 'boom-box' malfunction we were relocated to the carpark. 

Due to my 'delayed arrival', the 'attempted airport terminal welcome home dance', was relocated to outside our apartment building early the next morning...

This is why I love my friends.

* 'pjs' - abbreviated form of pyjama (from the Persian word meaning, 'leg garment')
^ 'high-5' - a gesture of celebration...aka 'chos' (Nepali), 'high-touch' (Japanese), 'dai-pi-ont-ke' (Polish), 'hoch fünf' (German)
** 'the ugly cry' - the action of crying so hard that you look really ugly...

college days

Way back in July 2011...

big bucks

Bank of Kathmandu -

hopefully no affiliation with Iceland...

After a gruelling couple of weeks working our way through the Nepali bureaucracy (not so transparent to the bideshi*),  we had finally opened a bank account, enrolled into college and secured the visas!!!   Hooray to staying in Nepal for another 6 months!!!

the picture of happiness...

The prospect of adding another dimension to our life here in Nepal was also vaguely exciting.  Going to 'university' and learning Nepali (should come in handy...).

back to school

My first experience at 'university' was not exactly like the movies...or maybe it was:  'Dangerous Minds' (minus the gang fighting) came to mind as we first walked on campus.  Walking passed the 'cool kids' loitering between classes in the sunlight, up the steps, passed the shabby classrooms, our anticipation grew...

Finally we met our guru for the next few months, Mukendra-ji.  He had shorn his entire head save a little tuff bam, smack at the back^ and wore a huge smile and medium-sized 'bhat-gut' (a gut produced after the consumption of a LOT of rice). 

During our first lesson, Bishwa Bhasa Campus ('kyampas') seemed promising.  Mukendra-ji sounded like he knew his stuff and could turn out to be a good guru.

However, the next two weeks re-learning Devanagari script were, in a word: painful, and as a consequence several class-mates were never to be seen again.  

Upon seeing my 'chha' character, with a slightly raised pitch Mukundra-ji habitually gasped, 'no monkey tail!', and proceeded to copy out for me yet again the dreaded, 'chha', with it's truncated tail...In retrospect though I really enjoyed seeing him enact the different pronounciations of the 't's'...forgetting we could not actually see where his tongue was inside of his mouth he would stick his tongue out to different lengths attempting to illustrate - good times!  

devanagari

'yo ke ho?
yo bottle ho!'...

We had several Japanese class-mates to whom Mukundra-ji used to hammer the different pronounciation of 'la' and 'ra'...One memorable occasion, our quirky class-mate Yamamoto-son got his own back correcting Mukundra-ji on his pronouncation of the name of his city in Japan.  He grew more and more boisterous each time he repeated 'Shi-ju-koa' back to Mukundra-ji, who interestingly, never got it right...

Yamamoto-son, was, as it appears 'old friends' with Mukundra-ji, having re-sat the same 1st semester for the passed two years. They habitually re-enacted the same skit when Yamamoto-son attended.  

Mukundra-ji:  'Yamamoto-son, what did you eat this morning?  Cigarettes?  How many packets?' 

Yamamotoson: 'hi!' (riffling through his backpack he brings out 5 packets of cigarettes)

Yamamoto-son

Mukundra-ji: '1, 2, 3, 4, 5!  packets!' 

(bursts out high-pitched cackle, then turning to the class) 'You see, Yamamotoson loves cigarettes! 

(turning back to Yamamotoson)  And, to drink?  Did you drink roxi** this morning?  How much did you drink?  

Yamamotoson: 'hi!  lots'

Mukundra-ji:  (cackles again and completes his object lesson on smoking and drinking)

I could go on for hours with Mukundra-ji related anecdotes but that's best done person, with the right intonation and accompanying gestures.  In a word, our time with Mukundra-ji was 'ramailo' ('enjoyable', or as he would say, 'it used to** be interesting'), and I left class in happy spirits, though perhaps not any further advanced Nepali-wise.  

In October Nepal's most important Hindu festivals, Dashain and Teehar are celebrated, and so we together with the rest of the country had one months vacation from college.  

When we returned, Mukundra-ji had skipped the country and we were merged with another class.  This time our guru was Sushmita-ji.  

Our new class had a really nice camaraderie to it and felt much more interactive.  Several of the students were involved with NGOs and Human Rights organisations, while others were pursuing their personal 'odysseys' including traversing 'the Great Himalaya Trail'.  

'tumba' - stolen

After our last official 'class' a couple of us went to nearby Katipath bus park and had our taste-buds introduced to the best buff-chili I have had to date in Nepal.   Along with the buff-chili I had my first 'tumba' (traditional beverage of fermented millet.  It is infused in boiled water for a few minutes and then sipped through a special straw). 

Over buff-chili and tumba our class-mates asked how we could speak Nepali.  We told them that we were Bible students ourselves, but also go from house-to house teaching those interested, so in order to be effective, we have to learn the language.  They were all very surprised, and Robyn, a middle-aged itinerant Pole, immediately guessed that we were JWs.  He then asked if I had any magazines on me, and took the issues on Natural Disasters and The Bible...

The motley crew consisted of a Swede, a Slovakian, a Nepali (just along for the chili buff and tumba I believe), a Japanese-man (what's the politically correct term these days?), and the aforementioned Pole.   They had all met JWs previously.  Some at school, others having evidently been street witnessed to, but, save Robyn, had never openly discussed our beliefs before.  

They all seemed to have a spiritual interest, and though I declined their invitation to accompany them on their pilgrimage to a nearby Buddhist retreat, they all promised to read the magazines and give me their opinions.  Unfortunately, admid the chaos of the following week I did not get another opportunity to hear their feedback, but I pray at least that the next time they meet a JW they will feel open to another discussion.  

EXAMINATION WEEK

Classes post-Dashain and Teehar mostly consisted of preparation for our final exams.  We were to be examined on:  grammar (insert head-ache here), reading, writing, aural dictation, comprehension and speaking.  It is amazing what a little rote learning can do to the brain.  Although, I think we may have been subjected to some Nepali propaganda in the process.  They (whoever 'they' are) would have you believe that every town in Nepal (including Naya Baneshwor^^) is 'shanti', 'ramailo' and 'saphaa' (peaceful, interesting/enjoyable and...clean - hmmm).  I do, however, have to thank Bishwa Bhasa Kyampas for some new phrases to use out in the territory.  (NB I've inserted 'paradise' in place of 'Naya Baneshwor')  

Our first exam on grammar was interesting.  Mid-exam a random guy came in and inspected my paper and examination admit card, and then smiled. Noting an error on my paper, he gave me the correct answer and then commended me on my Nepali!

The rest of the exams were non-events.  For my reading exam, I was in all seriousness asked to read one sentence?!  

Our guru-ji, for our final exam (speaking) was a 'no-show' - ke garne???...My suggestion:  'Give us all 100% and let us go home'.  The remaining teachers on campus finally reached a solution and 2 hours later we were in the first 'line' I have witnessed in Nepal, waiting to be examined.  All that fuss only to be asked:  'What is your name?  Where are you from?  Where do you live?  How long have you lived in Nepal? Do you like Nepali food? (important question?!)  Name the Nepali pronouns...'.  Two minutes later and we were done.  

We had a celebratory chow-mein at the London Eye (our post-class haunt for the previous 6 months), and thus ended our Nepali college experience.

last exam elation

EPILOGUE

One serious perk to college was the 'student card'.  On our recent sojourn to the EU we were stoked to find these little suckers (even my torn examination admit card/paper sufficed) were our key to endless 'student discounts' in museums and even Top Shop - woohoo!

Museo Thyssen Bornemisza, Madrid, Spain - (saved 5 euros!)

* 'bideshi' - Nepali for foreigner

^ 'roxi' - Nepali for alcohol

** 'used to be' - 2011s most frustrating mis-translation of the habitual present tense. 

Eg. If there is always a traffic jam in Kathmandu then why say, 'there used to be a traffic jam in Kathmandu'?!  It gives people false hope that come 4 pm they will get anywhere on time!

^^ 'Naya Baneshwor' - New Baneshwor -> Times Square of KTM, often invoking the antoymns of the above-mentioned adjectives

campaign and the DC

Ritsu and Ai-chan

Pre-convention


The beginning of this month all were busily involved in distributing the invitations to our 'adiivashan' (DC). 

Ritsu and I were able to experience some village witnessing as we joined up with Tahachal mandali for a day in the foothills NW of KTM. I really enjoyed the opportunity of getting to know brothers and sisters from another congregation who as per usual were very welcoming and interested (I was excited to recognise many of their faces later in the dramas too).  We were also blessed that day with a surprisingly clear view of the himal.  For the first time I was able to see Manaslu, Ganesh, Langtang and one of the Annapurnas from KTM itself.  

not just clouds!
ps...yes, that's a spider...

Tahachal-ites

a nice change from the city

mustard fields

The most memorable experience during the campaign, however, happened right here in Baneshwor's territory. 

The week before the 'adiivashan' Ai-chan and I were working one morning in a poorer neighbourhood called Til Ganga (where the ghettos meet Kathmandu - seriously, I felt like I had walked onto a Bollywood set for Dangerous Minds there was so much rap pouring out of these buildings...).  


We turned a corner uncertain exactly where we should start next, when as we started approaching this little shop, we saw an old man standing in its doorframe reading a book.  My first reaction was that the book looked serious, like perhaps a bible.  I asked him what he was reading but he was so engrossed he did not answer.  I peered over and saw he was reading from, get this, 'Galati' (Galations), and heard him read under his breathe something about 'su-samacha' (good news).  Seizing the chance, I started from there and said 'buwa, we are here to talk to you about some good news...'.  


I gave him the invitation, explaining we were not from the church, rather that we are two of JWs.  I asked if he had heard the name 'Yehova' before.  He replied he had, not from the Bible, but from another book.  He then took out a small book with a makeshift black paper cover.  As he flipped through the pages I did a double-take, recognising some of the pictures.  I asked him if I could see the book, and sure enough, the images burnt into my childhood memory were once again set before me, 'My Book of Bible Stories'!  He had salvaged most, but not all, of the stories from some neighbourhood kids, collated them together and covered it.  I COULD NOT believe it!!!!! 


In his version of the bible God's personal name is only found in the preface to the book of Joel.  Thus, having shown him 'Yehova' in his personal bible, we then promised to bring back the complete 'My Book of Bible Stories'.
  
The next day Ritsu and I returned in the afternoon and met his daughter who was manning the shop.  I asked her if her father was in but reluctantly she replied that he was sleeping.  I explained that we had spoken the previous day and promised to bring him 'the book'.  On recognising the book, she immediately called out to him and quickly went and woke him up.  


The father stumbled out sleepily to meet us.  When his daughter handed him the book, he took it with a smile, went out into the light to examine it, and asked her in Newari, 'how much?'  At this moment I felt honoured to be a 'fellow worker', replying, 'you cannot pay for it; it's free...' 


Ram, the father, Maya, the mother, Puspa, the daughter, and her younger sister, Mayasanti all are regular church-goers and have an honest love for the bible.  The mother is illiterate but started attending 13 years ago.  From what I grasped, Ram, Puspa and Mayasanti only started in the last couple of years, but their Bibles are well read.  Puspa loves the Psalms and Proverbs especially.  


I also gave them a copy of the BT book (although Ram was still transfixed on his new 'My Book').  Puspa picked out the question on page 6 about 'how we can we be sure that God will fulfill his promises for the future?', and so we discussed for a while how our faith needs to be based on evidence.  


After giving us tea, Puspa wanted to introduce us to her little girl and her younger sister, Mayasanti.  At Mayasanti's, the girls asked us to stay to meet Mayasanti's husband.  And so we were waiting and waiting for her husband to come, and finally, when he did arrive, his mother and another man also came in and sat down with us.  Seconds later I was startled to learn that the mystery man was their church deacon!!!  


I was really nervous at this point.  My Nepali is still very limited and I was not sure what kind of reception we would meet, but was relieved to find that the deacon was not confrontational at all.  He was a really nice man.  We spoke for about half an hour explaining we had not been sent but came to Nepal out of our own desire, with our own money, and he seemed impressed.  Ritsu, my little side-kick, whipped out an invitation to the DC, and he said he would try to come, and, I genuinely believe he meant what he said...


Thus we left our new friends eager to see if they would show the next weekend.  


The convention was a memorable experience for loads of reasons, several of which are: 

• Over 1,600 attended the Saturday session (combined total of over 3,000 attended in Nepal - 500 more than this years memorial attendance)
• I understood much more than the previous assembly in Nepali (woo-hoo something's going in!);
• 31 were baptised (including a bhai and bahini from Baneshwor);
• the new brochures were released in both Nepali AND Newari;
• the dramas - Potiphar's wife would make a great Bollywood actress, dancing around the stage one second, ripping his clothes off the next...
• afternoon chiya with Lynn
• bumping into bhais and bahinis I had not seen for months  
• um, new saris...

afternoon chiya

Roji's family

me, Sayara, Ritz and Chasty

Sister Laxmi and her daughter

my little pen-pal, 'Swarmi'

Post-convention


Today I returned to Til Ganga with a Nepali brother, Niranjan.  Ram as it turns out attended two of the three days of the DC!!!  


Much of the conversation between Niranjan and Ram I did not understand well, but what I did understand was that Ram had observed that there needs to be unity more between Christians.  There are several churches in Nepal teaching rather different doctrines, some of which Ram personally had noted, are not biblical.  At one point I thought he was giving Niranjan the 'fob-off'*, saying that he had come to the DC because we had invited him, but that he would not come to the meeting.  Niranjan persevered, and somehow in the conversation that followed, gently offered him a bible study.  Ram accepted, and they have arranged to start studying next Thursday!!!


Niranjan and I then parted ways, and I walked with Ram to where he had been resting earlier in the sun.  He was wearing the same shy smile he wore when we returned with his 'My Book'...I am praying that at least if I cannot understand his spoken language, I can read his body language...


Yet another testament to how valuable 'My Book of Bible Stories' is...


* 'fob-off' - to indirectly 'brush-off'^
^ 'brush-off' - dismiss or reject someone or something which is viewed as unimportant