October, 1969, the SS Green Valley, a C-41 Victory cargo ship carries a young apprentice engineer into Bombay Harbor. In December 1987, I returned to Bombay, on my way to Pune, India.
Bombay had changed. The population doubled to eight Million people. Not as many people sleep on the street;they've moved into huts made of black plastic, cardboard,canvas and whatever can be found. Of course, not everyone lives this way, but thousands do.
India is like stepping onto another planet. It's a reflective place; it makes you wonder at this phenomenon we call life. It remains a mystical place to me. It is a strange dreamscape, a mixture of people, sights and smells emitting such varied impressions that is almost impossible to capture. A traveler senses the spiritual power of the place; the poverty is plain to see.
My adventure began when I mentioned to a friend, Susan Cox, who worked for Holt International Children's Services, an international adoption agency that I had been to India a number of years ago and would love to return someday. She looked at me a little strangely and said, “Really?”
A few weeks later I received a call asking whether I'd be willing to travel to India on behalf of Holt and escort an infant to new parents here in the United States. I had adopted my first two children, Jeff and Christine, from South Korea through Holt. I knew the emotions involved in receiving those gifts we call our children. Playing stork, however,would be a new experience.
On short notice, a week before Christmas, I was on a 6 a.m. flight bound for India. After a 39-hour trip, I arrived in Bangkok, Thailand, where I spent a day and a half. I arrived in Bombay late Saturday and spent the night at the Bombay YMCA.
In order to see some of the country, I took the train to Pune. It took five hours to travel the 115 miles up into the mountains through what seemed like an incredible number of tunnels. The countryside was dotted with tiny plots of ground growing rice, corn and potatoes. The meal served on the train was delicious. I was feeling pretty well, until someone pointed out how they clean the trays by the side of the track. This trip my stomach stood the test, no ill effects, that wasn’t always to be the case.
As the train pulled into Pune Station near sunset, I was exhausted hot and dirty. I was easy prey for the ravenous cab drivers. The next morning I set out by rickshaw to find the Bharatiya Samaj Seva Kendra (BSSK), an orphanage and social service organization partially supported by Holt. There I was to meet the child with whom I was to return. What I found on the way was the Rajneeshdham Neo Sannyas Commune, home of the Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, the infamous guru who had for a time made his home in my home state of Oregon.
We drove past what seemed like hundreds of motor scooters and the main gate to the Rajneesh grounds. Stopping the driver, I jumped out and began taking pictures. A burly Rajneeshi guard yelled at me to stop. He rushed over and assaulted me with a flurry of questions. "Are you a reporter?" "Where are you from?" "Where in the US? "Where in Oregon?" "What are you doing here?" He suggested that in the future I should seek permission before taking pictures - presumably so that my request could be denied by the proper authorities. I was relieved when he didn't try to grab my camera.
My destination, the children's home, was housed in an old Colonial mansion, in great disrepair, surrounded by a large field bordered by high-rises and black plastic hovels. It was less than a mile from the Rajneesh ashram. Wandering around inside, I watched as diapers were washed (by hand), babies were fed and children got dressed for play.
I had never been in an orphanage before and was unprepared for the open and raw displays of affection the children made toward me. I was awed when one little girl grabbed my hand, stared in my eyes and called me "Dada," over and over again.
Lata Joshi, the Director, said her organization's aim was to place children for adoption, not permanent foster care. About a third are placed in India, a third in Europe, and a third in the United States, she said. However, she continued, there were attitudes in India that made adoption difficult. Some Indian people believe that adoptive children will be used as servants in other countries. There are also concerns about religion, heredity and culture.
In my experience, inter-country adoption tends to bring cultures and people together. These forgotten children need those families and there are plenty of families who desperately want a child to love.
That afternoon I visited several foster homes, where small infants are well cared for by loving foster families. Visiting those families gave me an opportunity to see how a typical Indian family lived.
Part of what fascinates me about India, is the appearance that these people, as a people, are happy, joyful and lighthearted. Much more so than people in this country. I wish I knew why.
Lata Joshi insisted on my having dinner in her home that evening. She and her husband are strict vegetarians, as are many Indian people. We had a delightful meal. Lata's husband returned me to my hotel on his motor scooter.
Early the next morning, I left Pune with 11-month-old Jason. He was on his way to his new home and family. When he had been found 11 months earlier abandoned in an oil drum near the train station, the Pune police had taken him to the orphanage. Now he was healthy, playful and, best of all, no longer an orphan.
Jason was good company. He slept most of the time we were in the air. After a long flight with a nine-hour layover in Tokyo, we arrived in Portland on December 23, 1987. Jason's new family and other well wishers met us at the gate. It's quite an experience to deliver a baby. It's got to be more fun than being a Pediatrician. You see people overwhelmed with joy, the light in their eyes tells you something wonderful is happening. A child has just received something every child deserves, but doesn't always get, a home and family of his own. My return to India, and the gift I brought back, turned out to make that Christmas one of the best I've ever had.
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