Playing God

Playing God

Playing God 150 150 Comfort Aid International
After an exhausting nine-day trip in
Afghanistan, I am in India. Although my body yearns for some downtime after the
drubbing from the Afghan trip, I find no respite. Aliakberbhai, who was with me
in Afghanistan seems fine; the man can work like a horse and still be able to
operate on less than three hours of sleep a day.
Sabira and Hameed Pirbhai from London join us
in Delhi for the five-hour trip to Sirsi where CAI has a 1,400 students school,
girls and boys orphanages each and two housing projects for the poor. Sabira is
here as a volunteer to offer her expertise in training the teachers of Sirsi
School in effective methods of teaching. After a day of inspections of ongoing
projects in the vicinity of Sirsi, Phendheri, Kunderkey and Naghau Sadaat,
Aliakberbhai and I depart for New Delhi for a flight to Lucknow and on to Hallour.
It’s six hours to ND airport, an hour’s flight to Lucknow and another five
hours to Hallour. I am to do due diligence for yet another school in this poor
community, CAI’s sixth in India.  
Thankfully, the road from Lucknow to Hallour,
very close to the border with Nepal, is surprisingly very good, if noisy. My
body aches for sleep and my eyelids feel so heavy, they shut close
involuntarily every so often. But vaapi, slumber is elusive. Indians,
generally, love to lean on their vehicle horns; be it a car, truck, motorbikes
or even bicycles for that matter. Any major Indian city will drive me bananas
with the hooting pollution. Drive through rural India and speeding trucks will
come barging down, front or rear, bellowing modified horns of loudest decibels,
jerking me through to my toenails.
Hallour is a typical midsize city in UP; drab,
dirty, congested and yes, the mayhem of horns rule the traffic. The only
nameless hotel in town is not rated, but I have no hesitation of giving it a
zero star rating. I have apprehensions as soon as I enter the ‘room’ where masquerading
mosquitos gleefully set upon every open skin of my body. So I wear a long
sleeve hoodie and a pair of socks, never mind the ninety-degree heat and cook
myself. The ‘bathroom’ has no hot water, no shower but a tired looking plastic
bucket and a leaky container. The toilet is standard squat issue without a
flush so bucketfuls of water must follow a dump and you hope it all disappears
somewhere. We are supposed to sleep here two nights but I make a snap decision
and inform Aliakberbhai we will complete all the work the next day and leave
for more civilized Lucknow; I am having heart palpitations just looking at the
dubious ‘bed’; it is a long, long night of praying I don’t get slaughtered by the
ecstatic mosquitos.
I am in a hurry to get the project due
diligence done real quick next morning. The land donated by the local community
is very good and the need for a quality school, especially for girls, very
urgent so I approve the project; work will begin immediately after Aashoora
insha’Allah. A modern, quality school, CAI’s sixth in India, for 1,000 plus
children, double storied, with scope to expand if all goes well, insha’Allah.
If we are able to educate even 10% of these children to their full potential,
it is worth the investment insha’Allah.
A six-hour drive back to Lucknow and a night stay
at a three-star hotel does wonders to restore some of my vigor. I sleep in a
mosquito / insect free air-conditioned room, poop in a sparkling white commode,
use a toilet paper and take a hot bath in a glass enclosed free flowing shower;
what blessings, yaar! It is back to Mumbai the next day.
On my return back to Mumbai from Sri Lanka a
few days later, Wasi Mohammediyan and Basheer Razaee, CAI senior staff from
Kabul arrive for a three day intensive course on US statutory compliance
matters. They have been confined to Afghanistan and Iran all their lives so a
visit to Mumbai is like travelling into extraterrestrial territory, both
exhilarating and fearful. The crowds of Mumbai, the honking traffic, the noise,
the smell, the perpetual movement of a city that never sleeps overwhelms them.
But they seem to be falling in love with the spicy Indian food, especially one
at the Bohri Muhalla in Dongri where we devour barbecue delicacies right off
the grill.
After the training, I take them to see some of
CAI’s India projects in Mumbai; our school, SGH orphanage, Al Zahra Boys Home
in Mumbra and several houses for the very poor under construction at the
Govendhi slums. It is here, in the slums, where both Wasi and Basheer seem
shell-shocked at the extreme degrading poverty and squalor of the place that
the enormity of what CAI does hits me, again. We have just inspected three poor
sadaat homes under construction, walking in dim alleys, not wide enough for an
overweight person to walk straight, where the sun never shines and open sewer
takes six inches of the lane. They are impressed with the modern tiled home in
midst of filth but are happy to be out of the slum proper. I can see them
shudder as we pass piled up garbage where children openly defecate and then
casually walk away, the mounds of shit immediately covered by swarms of flies.
Aliakbarbhai, as usual, is unaffected by all
this; its not even a distraction for him. He is busy, attentively addressing
poor people wants for houses, mostly women, beseeching Aliakbarbhai to add them
to the ever-growing list of eligible applicants. I can only envy him, his
patience. This scene is repeated everywhere we go, throngs of people in need,
begging, wanting, demanding…  I can
take it so much before loosing patience. CAI has funds for 81 homes for this
particular area; the needs and demands are in the thousands. Aliakberbhai
extracts himself from the milling crowds after promising more homes when
funding is possible.
This is the most frustrating and difficult role
I play within CAI, playing God, literally. The need for worldwide humanitarian
work in immense, our resources limited. Who am I to decide who gets what? Sure,
I can do all the due diligence I want, implement all the safeguards and
transparency possible. However, I am human after all. Feed a computer credible
data and it will spit out a plausible result. What about a heart? Emotions?
Perceptions? How do I handle these? I feel terrible when it is I that has to
decline a distraught widow and her children shelter just because she is born
non-sadaat. When she is more deserving than an equally deserving sadaat. How
can I play God? These choices despair and leave me in a dour mood for days

do I share this with you? As stated earlier, many times, I seek no sympathy. I
declare I am bountifully blessed to serve in this role, would not trade for
anything material in this world. This narration is for you to understand and
appreciate how we at CAI spend your money. It is not the case of sitting in an
air-conditioned office and directing funds to far flung projects; rather, to be
physically there, in the midst of bewildering challenges, to feel the need and
pain of being poor and destitute. I pray these Blogs accomplish that

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