The Eunuchs

The group's dynamics has had a major impact on my experience in India. It might be interesting for you to hear about the kind of people I've been travelling with. Let me introduce them.

First there's Tom, my closest friend in the group. He's a tall, muscular, white, blue eyed, English, rugby player that has a creative aptitude for making something out of nothing. He once floated 8 people down a canal that ran through my university campus by building a raft out of a copious amount of 15litre water bottles and cling film. He seems to be the chosen representative for the group, the leader who voices the consensus to the charity. His stature gives him automatic respect, especially from the Indians, most of whom never saw anyone so big. We work like a tag team in a wrestling ring. We are in it together for the same reasons: to get the most out of this experience and to make the biggest difference we can, even if it is in the smallest way.

Then there’s Amrish and Nickil. Indian, by origin, from the state of Gujarat. Brought up in London, they’ve been best friends most of their lives. The two are inseparable, almost one and the same yet they differ in various ways. Amrish is a graduate in Maths from Kings College. He is fixated with his looks, protein powder and diet pills – an extreme case of vanity. At first you’d think that he’s pretty shallow until you find yourself laughing at him every other minute. You can catch him staring at himself every chance he gets: in a mirror, in a window reflection, in his photo, literally anywhere. It would make you sick if it wasn’t so amusing. He’s a selfless person who you can laugh at and he won’t take offence. The reason he’s so vain is because he has just lost 20 kilos of weight after intensive gym training and dieting. It’s as though he has found a new body. He loves it and he doesn’t care what anyone thinks. He was pretty arrogant before he found his new body. As he recalls, ‘he always felt sexy’. Unhealthy pride, high levels of testosterone and overconfidence from Amrish have caused quite a few clashes within the group. He is the life and soul of the party, yet too much of him gets to you eventually. This is where Nickil comes in. He neutralizes Amrish’s excessiveness. Nickil is a finance graduate from City University. He’s a quiet, pleasant guy with nothing to prove.

It takes 8 hours on the train from Mumbai to Solapur, a small city lying on the southern border of the Maharashtra state. Like Mumbai, it is cramped and full of people. 1 million live in a 25-mile radius, roughly the size of Malta. The roads are congested. The red stains of chewed tobacco lie everywhere. Unlike Mumbai, people walk slowly and look like they haven’t got a care in the world.  Two old women, dressed in colorful saris  share a story as they walk in the way of speeding motorbikes, auto rickshaws and trucks as though they are blind to their surroundings. I cringe as a truck almost hits them. They carry on regardless of the danger. Cows sleep all everywhere - in the middle of the road seems to be their preferred spot. 

Our accommodation is a step up from the relatively costly flat in Mumbai and comes equipped with bicycles, a drive through, 2 puppies, a playground and a big school right in our back garden.

Faces look different here in Solapur. It’s a different culture altogether within this huge sub-continent. The people are considered southern Indian. They stare at us everywhere we go, unlike in the metro city of Mumbai. They gaze at us in wonder - like a baby mesmerized by a twinkle song - especially when walking around with Tom. ‘Kider Se?’, an old cha-cha asks me. ‘Where are you from?’ I always begin by saying that I’m from Malta, followed by an explanation of where it is on the map. It’s time consuming when you consider how many people we meet. So to make things easier, I just say ‘Italy’.

Our first visit was to the school in our garden. We were introduced to the Principal, a stern lady who commands her way with intimidating confidence in her looks.  She heads 1,364 students divided into 20 different classes, all of them well-disciplined and well-mannered. This school in Solapur is an organized and efficient teaching centre compared to the slums. It was like moving job from a wandering, laid-back Sicilian supplier to a stringent, efficient, German manufacturer. Equipped with an art room, science lab, volley ball court, and a computer room with a photocopier, I wonder what how kids like Gulfam would perform in this well-oiled machine. To give you an idea, the kids in this school study a high-level computer programming course called C++. In Europe, students start this level of training at 18, whereas students here are mastering this program at 16. No wonder India has a comparative advantage in Information Technology, churning out the more computer scientists than anywhere else in the world.

Besides the school, we also visited a teaching centre in the rural slums. We visited hospitals, tree nurseries, HIV centres and water harvesting programmes to see the diverse charity work of the Hindustan Covenant Church, the local partner of the HOPE 4 Children charity.

Later, we had a meeting with 2 eunuchs, also known as castratos, or what the ancient Karma Sutra refers to as the third sex – men born with female features. A eunuch is a strange and eerie human being with a sad and lonely aura surrounding them - the feeling of not being loved – the saddest feeling in the world. We take love for granted. Stripped of it, we have little meaning in our lives. Eunuchs are known as Hijras in India. They have a proud and prominent history here. They were employed by princely rulers as servants for female royalty, enjoying a high status position in Indian society. Yet today they are thrown out of their families, shunned by society like a leaper or a retard in Nazi Germany. There were two of them. One looked like an ordinary old woman. It was the other one who struck me. His name is Zeenat. You could tell that he had been through a lot, battered and bruised with scars on his face, toughened up by the world like a rough foot after years of climbing. He had fire in his eyes and held his head high, like he had something to prove to us. He was out to take vengeance and do justice for his kind as though he was the King Eunuch. His build was manly but his features feminine. He had long black hair that was pulled back severely and tied in a long plait that reached down to his waist. He had no eyebrows but very thick eyelashes, high cheek bones, broad shoulders, red lipstick and a red matching sari which created a hellish look that brought out the fire in his eyes. Our guide translated his life story – one of hardship and hate. He was thrown out of his family at the age of 7. He was stoned and beaten for the way he looked. He was forced to hide and made a living on the black market in India, doing what I wasn’t sure, but I could only imagine that it wasn't your average evening job. He made energetic gestures with his hands and creepy, ultra long fingers that were synchronized with a passionate tone in the way he spoke. You could treat yourself by just imagining what he had been through. Every movement mesmerized and intrigued us; every word the translator spoke resonated in our minds, almost like Hitler speaking at one of his rallies. I honestly couldn't tell if he was acting or not. It all seemed so unreal somehow. All of a sudden, he ended the story and silence filled the room. He wanted to show us something. He got up quickly and, looked around the room, looking closely into our eyes. Without a word, you could tell what he was saying ‘this is how I made my livelihood, this is what I love’. He began to dance. He broke into soft twirling shapes with his henna-stained hands that hypnotized us. He danced with every inch of his body to the psychotic sound of the sitar. It was like being in a dream. He jumped through the air and landed swiftly on his feet, twisting and turning, showing off some spectacular moves. In those 3 minutes he won our hearts. Everyone wanted to join the eunuch’s projects. The lawyers and anthropologists of the group all jumped at the chance to be with this special person.

We visited a hospital in a remote area that took 1 hour by car. We met an inspirational doctor, educated at one of India's best medical schools. He spoke a precise well-rounded version of the English language, which reminded me of the type of English I used to hear at Ampleforth. You could tell that he came from a good Indian family, one that could afford to educate him at a top Indian post-colonial school, maybe the Indian equivalent to Eton. I wandered what this man could be doing here. He couldn’t be earning much - his resources only allow him to perform minor tasks. Why isn't he a plastic surgeon in LA??? He was one of the most honorable, modest men I have ever met, one whose happiness comes from an unselfish desire to help others. He has no need for recognition, no desire for money or the life of a rich cosmopolitan Indian doctor - just the well-being of his fellow Indians.  He made me think about self-righteousness and how pathetic it was. I pitied the poor. The more poverty I saw, the more I wanted to do something in my life that would help them. I just wanted to change things. The more I understand this country the more I realize that things will not change, or at least not just yet. Hopefully in the future India will have enough wealth and power to help its people. For now you just have to accept things could be worse and lend these people your hands, your heart and your mind. We saw people in their dorm rooms, suffering painfully on their beds. Skinny and blistered, most patients have been diagnosed with HIV. The doctor’s inspiration gave me the strength to break free of fear - a pathetic little fear in the back of my mind that these people could infect me. It was a powerful overriding feeling that drove me to approach them, touch them, hug them and give them my heart. Just a little smile can make a world of difference to these people.

India is a powerful place with such heart. Since I left Malta, India has changed me, or I feel it has. Little experiences like this all add up. They make me feel happy that, even in all this hardship, there is hope; a hope that stems from so little that you would believe it to be a false hope. But it is not a false hope. Or, at least, I don’t think it is. Because as long as that hope puts a smile on a dying person’s face and makes his life that little bit better, it is hope nevertheless. It has inspired me so much. I encourage you all to experience this and let it be the same for you.