Some catching up

A couple days ago we visited a hand embroidery shop called MLK Pvt. Ltd. here near Lucknow. Its run by a pair of brothers and each 100 percent cotton garment (mostly tops, dresses and skirts) is hand sewn, washed, died, embroidered in the fashion known as chikan, clipped, checked for quality, pressed, folded, packaged and shipped. It's a lot of work with a lot of people. There an even split of men and women, with all men doing the sewing and all women doing the chikan work, and a smattering for the other jobs. The shop was clean and seemed to be well run and all the employees were fully clothed adults. This probably should not need to be said, but I understand what the impression many in the U.S. and Europe have of garment factories in developing nations. The company is two years old. Last week they sent a shipment to the U.K. -- 30,000 pieces. When I returned to my host family in the evening, the grandfather here, Ramesh, told me he was the first person to take Chikan to the states in 1973. Today, we all know this type of garments. Many of my friends where it, particularly ladies on skirts or down the plackard of a light top. It's a delicate and intricate series of stiches, many times in loops and flowers, and also incorporates sequins and sometimes tiny mirrors. Yes, in 1973 Ramesh brought this form to the states. This type of export (along with handicrafts, including amazing camelbone carvings) remains the center of the business that supports six people in this beautiful home in the oldest section of Lucknow. Chikan apparently was commissioned by Aurangzeb, the militant son of Shah Jaha, who had the Taj Mahal built as a mausoleum and memorial for his deceased wife. Aurangzeb enjoyed having this stitchwork on this pill box caps, and before long it became a stylish decoration in the way we wear it today. It took but 400 years to make it to the states. Thanks Ramesh.

We also visited the Residency, a park with 300-plus year old buildings dating back to British occupation. It was the site of the 1857 mutiny. The cannons stood in place, as did the holes in walls from cannon balls and other, smaller ammunition. The experience, on a warm, sunny day, reminded me of all the trips my cousin and I used to take with his father Dick when he was doing hospice work on Arizona reservations. Ruins, ruins, ruins. Many marred walls with no ceilings. History lessons, stories of days passed that often ended with bloodshed.

We had a nice day yesterday (Friday) touring the Uttar Pradesh consulate building. The 406 person consulate is not in session. Virtually everything here is on holiday break. We sat in the office of the general secretary of the state Shri Hukmdeo Narayan Nadav and had tea. We sat in some uncomfortable silence for a little while, all of us expecting maybe we were awaiting someone, or to finish tea, or for some other reason the secretary wanted to wait before entering discussion about legislation, government, programs, funding, challenges, etc. Carly, our youth probation officer was the first impatient enough to begin asking questions. She asked about priorities -- Water, refuse cleanup, education, drought? We began a fine discourse and took a tour through the chambers, where this continued. I restricted myself to polite questions about procedure as to avoid being cuffed. At dinner that night, Carly told me our host had spoken with the Nadav before we departed. He apparently was suprised (maybe not delighted?) we had an interest in the actual workings of his government. I'm told there are only a limited number of westerners, particularly Americans who come to this state, the largest, most populated and most challenged in the country by nearly every social issue. When Americans come, they don't visit government. In fact, most foreigners are disallowed from entering the compound. This man has sat second to the unending stream of house speakers in this state for nearly my lifetime. He's retired, but continues to serve. And he assumed all we wanted was to have tea and see the building.

Yes, dinner last night was a treat, particularly for the ladies. We arrived at the home of C.P. Agrawal about 5:30 and had tea and many many appetizers in a sitting room off a beautiful terrace overlooking the hustling city street. C.P. and his family deal in construction materials. He does plywood. His sons do copper and concrete, for instance. His son-in-laws, other portions of the building materials trades. We listened to music, played with his grandchildren, took a tour, drank scotch and reveled in the female visitors being fussed over by the local ladies who adorned them with bangles, toe rings and henne art. By the time we sat for dinner, must have been 1 p.m., I was stuffed from appetizers and could barely eat. The food was great, but the ladies insisted I disliked their dishes. It's difficult to explain that I really can't eat that much. They don't understand. Oh yes, and I can also drink more. They don't understand that either. I'll keep at it.