June, 2004: meeting of the humanitarian associations, place Bellecour in Lyon. For some months I was wondering about a commitment in service of the most underprivileged. The association "Un enfant par la main " awakens my curiosity. Sponsoring a child somewhere in the world, is to give him the material and human means to become an autonomous and responsible adult. Some weeks later I decide to help Vishalakshi, an 8-year-old little girl who lives in a distant village in India. With the passing days, the idea germinates to go and see her. Where and how does she live ? What is her family environment? How is the money of the donors used ? A visit to India, disconcerting and sometimes feared, became for me an absolute necessity.
April, 2007: Paris-Bangalore by direct flight. India with the numerous faces resounds as a challenge. Ten hours later, we are plunged in the midst of this Indian megapole where rickshaws, motorbikes, buses, cars, cows and pedestrians mingle in a cheerful cacophony. Bangalore, capital of Karnataka, nicknamed « the Silicon Valley » of India, became in some decades an agglomeration of 7 million inhabitants. The "Garden City" of the colonial epoch left place to a tentacular city. In unfinished buildings populations in search of a better future huddle together. The advertising panels extol the commercial values of a civilization with eyes fixed on the American model, following the example of this prefabricated cinema « made in Bollywood ». First shock with India going to modernity.
Near Mahatma Gandhi Road, the main street of the city, we negotiate the renting of a car with driver for a reasonable price. Driving in India is recklessness as we shall have the opportunity to check on numerous occasions. On board of our Hindicab, we zigzag between trucks and overcrowded buses, confident in our destiny. Ganesh, the son of Shiva and Parvati, the God with the body of a chubby-cheeked infant and the head of an elephant, is our bulwark against dangers and curses. Under the leadership of Nataraja, our Indian driver, we go to explore the eternal India.
Nataraja is a typical Hindu. He is dark-skinned, approaching fifty, he is part of a middle class which learnt to manage with the means at it’s disposal. His car serves as a house. His kindness has only its obstinacy of equal when he decides to please us. « It’ s a nice spot, I'll show you » ceaselessly repeats our guide in a confusing Hindis accent.
From the majestic palace of the Maharaja de Mysore to the relics of Somnathpur, from the small city of Ooty, stuck in the middle of Western Ghats in Tamil Nadu to the plantations of tea of Coonoor, from the seaside station of Calicut in the north of Kérala to Kappad Beach where the intrepid Vasco de Gama accosted in times past, we go to the meeting of the history, culture, style of life and psyche of these people distant by a million years from our habits and our western traditions. We are under the spell of these men and women of any condition, of any caste, of any religion, for whom a smile often serves as language.
In Mangalore, a small far western located port city of Karnataka, we contact Fr. Arun Loro, responsible for the Capuchin Krishik Seva Kendra, governed since 1976 by the Franciscan Fathers of the Province of Karnataka. Paul, one of the animators of the Project, accompanies us towards the small city of Ugire, near Dharmastala. We didn’t plan anything for the next few days. " Everything comes when it comes ".
« A warm welcome to Daniel, Bernadette and Hugo ». Vishalakshi, 11 years old, and the members of the team receive us with garlands of flowers in a language which joyfully mixes English and Kannada. We are overwhelmed with emotion by the festive atmosphere when we arrive at the office. Hugo, our 13-year-old son, is not the least surprised.
Arun Loro presents the Project. The voluntary organization under the authority of CCF India, was created in 2000 to develop activities in a rural environment. School, education, hygiene, health, nutrition, accessing to micro credit, promotion of trade, helping in the creation of business enterprises, studying in agriculture, control of irrigation, protection of the environment, pregnancy assistance, hospital reception and general help to the poorest families mobilizes about twenty social workers. Long-term programs concern 785 members from 17 villages.
With thin stature, the satchel over one shoulder, Arun Loro looks like St François d' Assise in modern times. His computer and mobile phone are as familiar to him as the motorbike he rides every morning to go to work. When he is not in meeting with his Muslim, Hindi and Christian team, he is combing the area to meet families, discussing with a group of children or checking the progress of a plan.
At School, They are waiting for us. « Nasmastee, we are very happy to meet you », children start singing together. The teachers prepared some local dances interpreted by a group of lively and gracious little girls. Bernadette, my wife, makes a short improvisation in contemporary dance in front of astounded children. « Here children are short of notebooks and pencils for their homework », the headmistress tells us later.
A short break at Vishalakshi’s home, where her father, a coolie, and his two brothers are waiting for us. A simple hovel in the middle of luxuriant nature. A gaping hole for the well, source of life. Two plastic chairs and a bench by way of furniture. An old radio, linked up with a hanging wire, shows a precarious electrical installation. These modest material conditions make us very humble. Vishalakshi and her mother come in the car which brings us back to the office.
A meal with rice is set on the table in our honour. Vishalakshi, has some difficulty swallowing the first mouthfuls. A banana is enough to satisfy her appetite. We propose to her to choose a dress in the private market. Her eyes are lighting up and she is smiling again. She also chooses a very nice sari for Monamma, her mother, some clothes for her father, Krishnappa and her two brothers, Diwakar and Prasad. She shows herself at this moment a lively, cheerful, attentive and bright child. In the Wikipedia encyclopaedia, the meaning of Vishalakshi is "the vast-eyed". We return home with gifts.
Vishalakshi’s father hastens, with a machete, to open some coconuts picked in the closest tree. We savour this precious nectar, synonymous with health and prosperity. We learn from Shakir, our interpreter, that the roof of the home needs to be repaired. We decide to entrust necessary money to plan for the job to be undertaken before the next monsoon. The small fairy in a salmon dress takes us away after her. The dog barks and the nourishing cow feigns indifference. But it’s time to go back to Mangalore. On the way, young teenagers are playing cricket.
It is the last day of school before summer vacation. The team of the Project organize a big meeting. More than 800 pupils, dressed in a blue uniform, march behind flags on the streets of the small city. We are received with honours. Bernadette is invited to speak amongst other local representatives. She participates with generosity and talent. Presents are distributed to the most deserving pupils. The ceremony ends, the young teenagers hurry around us. We are bombarded with questions in a good-natured atmosphere.
Beside Arun Loro who drives the jeep with confidence, we drive along at full speed, windows down on narrow and rough roads. "Very bad road" would say Maharaja. In the back of the jeep, five women accompany us with their bewitching singing. Two hours later, we stop near a river drained by the first hot season. At the end of the road, a hanging bridge leads to a small temple. The thousands of gold-fishes which proliferate in a pond are reminiscent of the biblical episode of the miraculous fishing. Far from our habitual reference marks, in the middle of wild and luxuriant nature, we enjoy the happiness of the present instant. We come back at nightfall rocked by the sound of klaxons and the jolting of the road.
In the peaceful monastery where Arun Loro lives, a simple room, equipped with mosquito nets and fans, is put at our disposal. Nataraja is treated with the same consideration. We share the dinner with the Fathers and the 40 young residents who attend theological studies here. The oldest Father of the community, 96-year-old, is nicknamed the guru. His kindly look radiates serenity and shows the spiritual energy of the place.
At daybreak, we visit the farm. The animals live in the open-air and everything is meticulously recycled. Flowers have the colour of the summer and birds invite us in their retreat. « For it is in giving that we receive », we can read on one of the small green panels which marks out the lawn to the chapel. Bernadette is dressed in the traditional sari, a red rosebud in her hair. It is a real symbol for the young women of the team who accompany us.
A big house in the middle of the palm grove. On the pediment, the portraits of Gandhi and mother Teresa. While the head of the place is away, his wife welcomes us to the psychiatric hospital of Seon. We walk up and down in the middle of the rows of beds. We are being watched by men, women and children with wild eyes. We are deeply touched. Sitting a corner, an old woman stretches her emaciated arms to us. Her look, craving for love, abates our hesitations. We hold her hand for a long time. After, a child, the forehead covered with scars, struggles with the thin cord which keeps him as a prisoner. Created by Fr. Paulus in 1999, the ashram brings medical care, food and clothes to more than 300 residents, the elderly, raped women, widows, orphans and other victims of the street. Fr. Paulus has had numerous rewards in return for his exceptional devotion. Back from Bangalore, he clasps me in his arms. I already know that we will come back.
Fr. Alwins, the Superior of the community, calls me on the phone. He’s in Paris at the present time, following a master of 3rd cycle in French language. He suggests to meet us on a visit to Lyon soon. "Incredible India".
Vishalakshi comes running when we arrive at her home. Krishnappa climbs with an amazing agility to the top of the coconut tree. A neighbour comes to join us. We are filled with pictures, feelings, looks and mutual, shared smiles. Vishalakshi prostrates herself before us as her benefactors. Emotion is real. We leave our Indian family with wrung hearts but filled with great joy.
During the morning prayer in the middle of the young people who chant, singing to the glory of God, I feel a deep gratitude for this generous India which came to us. In Shingeri, we mingle with the pilgrims for the meal served free of charge at the ashram. Some of the faithful seem to make fun of our embarrassment to grab the rice with the right hand, according to custom. In the middle of this cheerful crowd, we feel a real communion.
We still visit the temples of Belur and Halebid before going back to Bangalore. Some purchases in emporiums before leaving, a last sign of friendship to Nataraja, and the plane brings us back to the country of our birth. Gorgia Manganelli, in 1995, in a brilliant tale " Indian Route " asked this question: « Do you like India? » While unfolding the story of my memories, I have the feeling that I have lived an incomparable human experience. « This is India and I love it ».
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