From The Gallery

Joshua M.K Goocey

A Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) minister, Joshua received his Masters of Divinity from Wake Forest University in 2003 and was ordained a minister in 2004.  Joshua first traveled to Bangalore, India to work for Provision Asia, which provides services to the physically challenged in the city.  Then, in 2004, Joshua returned to India with Alex J. Tuss, and their involvement began with REDS and the Play Schools of Lakshumanarav Nagar.  He and Alex will return to Bangalore in the summer of 2005.

An Indian Dhaba (India’s Interstate Citgo)

July 20, 2004

            India has a way of working into the soul, of wearing you out and building you up all at the same time.  At this point in the journey my body is becoming tired.  I am not sleeping well, because the mattress in my room is a breeding nest for dust mites.  My allergies have gone mad, and I wake up more tired than before I slept.  I have just gotten over the sickness of last week, and now something else is sneaking up.

            India is always like an endurance test for me: how long can you live without all the comforts you are accustomed to?  Alex and I are both missing the food from home.  We are fantasizing about BBQ and American breakfasts.  Nothing in the world would be better than a huge hickory smoked slab of chopped pork soaked in Piedmont style BBQ sauce, BBQ slaw and a big pile of hot, salty fries and a large coke.  Then I would lie down on the couch, watch a movie and drift off to sleep.  Beautiful . . .!

            But I would not leave this place before my time is up for anything in the world.  You come here to learn, to grow, to have your soul expanded, your sight sharpened, your wisdom deepened, and that is never done in comfort . . . it is never done without suffering.  It is the strangest thing, being in India, you feel like you are learning, like you are growing, but you cant quite figure out how.  You cant hold on to the things that are coming at you.  It is too quick, too overwhelming, too different.  You have to let India flow through you like a river, and just as the flowing river changes the shape of the earth, so does India change the shape of your soul.

July 8, 2004

            Right now I am watching 2 men talk on the telephone in Java City.  I assume they are not talking to each other, but for all I know they may be.  One is sitting on one side of the coffee shop taking into a land line.  The other is using his text messenger to send messages to some invisible server that mechanistically translates his words into speech.  The deconstruction of human relationship is in full swing . . . everywhere.  In Bangalore, in Dobson, in New York City, in Goa, in Winston-Salem.

            It seems to me that we have become so busy, so mobile, so un-rooted that we require these mechanical substitute to human contact.  Work has become more important than family, so we spend more hours at work than at home.  To fill that empty void we create cell phones that fix the artificially created need . . . the need to be in touch over prolonged absence.  We travel farther away from our primary social roots with cars and plans and trains, and again we have generated an artificial need . . . the need to be in touch over great distances.  But the need has been created and the taste has been developed and so we buy. 

            But, right now as I write these words I am in Bangalore, India, 25,000 miles away from home and family, and electronic mail is my salvation . . .  I can stay in touch!! Or can I?  And now I have a cell phone.  Here on the other side of the world, in the midst of all this maddening crowd, I have my very own cell phone.  Madhu gave it to me because she has 3.

            Sure, the phone keeps us “connected.”  Now she can call me any time she likes, and I can do the same.  But if she did not have to work all the time our dependence on these contraptions would be lessened.

            It seems to be a catch 22 . . . a rock and a hard place.  Without technology Madhu and I would never have met, and were it not for e mail we would most certainly would not have remained as close as we have.  There is snail mail, yes, but it lacks . . . . efficiency.  And so we are back to the beginning.  What was once no need at all became an artificial need, and now artificial need is becoming perceived absolute reality.

            If I had never met Madhu I would have no need to be in touch with her.  But now I have met her, and I am here again, and she has to work all the time, and we are washed up in this technological cycle . . . can we possibly extricate ourselves?

 It strikes me as odd how tangled we get in this web.  I just walked from Jave City to Three Quarters Chinese, a restaurant I have come to enjoy here in Bangalore, and I have noticed a flaw in my thinking patterns . . . I use this cell phone as a membership badge . . . to make it look as though I “belong” here, as though I am stitched into the web of life here because I am connected to the digital heart of the city.  I have people to call, and I have a means to call them.

            Part of that is fear . . . or perhaps that is not the right word . . . I don’t know the right word.  I am suspicious that someone is going to take advantage of me because I am a foreigner.  And so I use this cell phone to prove that I am a member here, I know the secret handshakes, the quiet customs, the sneaky little tricks and dirty secrets.

            In reality, though, I am not from this place.  I know some of the tricks, but certainly not all of them.  And so I ask myself. . .  Why would I want to be taken advantage of?  Perhaps I would learn something . . . something about myself . . . something about others . . . something about the world.  Yes, it is a shame that I must worry about being wronged by others, but is not this another consequence of technological propagation . . . increased consumerism . . . leads to increased greed . . . leads to increased abuse of others.  Perhaps they are connected.

            Oh year, and a Dixie Chicks song just came on the restaurant radio. . .  All the way over here.

July 4, 2004

            Well, the journey has begun.  Another great adventure to the other side of the world.  It has already been fruitful.  There was the serendipitous encounter with Dan in the Chicago O’Hare airport. We both came looking for information about how to reach the int’s terminal.  I started a conversation that lasted for two hours and quickly passed the time before my flight.

            Dan is a junior at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, and he was on his way to spend five weeks sailing with the Danish Navy.  The odd thing is that his girlfriend goes to Wake Forest, he knows Ben Worley, and he has actually been to Shelton Vineyards just around the corner from my house.  Our conversation was good, but it was primarily cordial and superficial.

            After he and I finished our conversation I left to board the plane and he went his way to fly to Copenhagen. 

            The Air India place is large.  As a matter of fact it is huge and it seems even bigger because there are so few people on the flight.  It is good to see women in Saris: red ones, green ones . . . all silky and flowing.  It is beautiful.  They are beautiful, and it is good to be in the company of so many Indians.

            The best part of the trip, though, thus far has been the two Muslim men who came and asked if they could say their evening prayers.  Because I was in the exit row there was enough room for them to kneel and say their prayers right there in front of me.  What a wonderful gift to watch people pray in mid-flight.  It is wonderful to be in the midst of such different surroundings.  I love being in the world . . . I love seeing the different people . . . the same people!  Their beards, their kind, dark faces, the flowing linen clothes . . . hmm . . . it is nice to travel again.

Dancing Demons