IV - Hakuna Matata
Our second Indian train to Jaipur was only one hour late leaving and arriving. I’m wrestling with how distasteful I found the enforced constant suspicion required in Delhi and Agra. There are good and logical reasons for not trusting anyone who offers help as we discovered time and again, but expecting the worst in people doesn’t come naturally to me. I was very much influenced by reading Martin Buber in my twenties and continue to try to never approach anyone as an ‘it’ to be negotiated with or brushed aside. Our trip so far makes that difficult. Having people try to exploit you is wearying. Having people overrun the reasonable wishes of your children to not be continually photographed for their exoticism is upsetting. And, from the other side, the scale of poverty, as in many parts of the world, is hard to engage with personally. There’s a lot that makes you want to withdraw from personal interaction. And yet the trains are also lovely places to meet and get to know people. We rarely see Oberon on trains as he’s quick to make friends with a pack of cards or facts about Harry Potter. As we pulled out of Agra poverty and refuse was very apparent – though it has to be said many urban areas in Britain running behind train lines can be pretty grim. High above, all the way out the city we saw people standing on roofs watching, reminiscent of Anthony Gormley’s statue on the Southbank.
As soon as we arrived at Jaipur there was plenty of friendliness, which in my grumpiness – and who isn’t grumpy travelling with two children, a massive rucksack and case, in an unknown city at dusk? – I took to be more manipulation and coercion. A young man reassured me though, “you’re not in Delhi or Agra now!” which at least made me smile. He turned out to be very reasonable and not extortionate and he sent us off to our first homestay which is absolutely delightful in a very well kept flat, by a charming older Indian man.
Travelling is kind of boring. We haven’t really achieved anything today apart from getting from Agra to Jaipur. We did a little homeschooling with Oberon’s journal, we packed up, got a little fleeced by an annoying Agra taxi driver, and then got on and off a train. But it’s exhausting! All the stress, the people, our children! I think a lot of it is the stress of not wanting to make a mistake, to lose something or miss the stop, or anything that might create more difficulty. I really hope that over time I can develop a little more “hakuna matata”. I mean – I don’t have to be at work tomorrow so what’s the worst that could happen? Please don’t list them – they circle round my mind like sharks.
But for me there is something in this Sabbatical about letting go. I feel like my brain went wrong during the pandemic. I even tried to see a counsellor about it but they just talked about what they wanted to talk about, which wasn’t really helpful. But while others found a new freedom in the gorgeous summer of 2020, I went into overdrive in trying to be helpful. I was arranging up to 25 food and medicine drops a day at one point, signing up volunteers and trying to put in place some safeguarding measures, gathering donations and dropping them off at people who had nothing, setting up our weekly soup and cake run, taking 45 terribly difficult funerals that year, while constantly revising what we could and couldn’t do. All this brought about a huge amount of engagement with many people who’d no idea about the church. I saw some dark corners of South-West London I’d never otherwise know about and even years later took funerals for people who we’d helped and remembered the church who’d been there for them. Facing guidance and regulation that had separate sections for weddings and funerals, religious services, community centres, children’s activities and visiting (amongst others), it was a constant battle to stay on top of what should and could happen. The central church was disorganised and was too little and too late in setting itself up to give helpful specific advice to parishes.
But it meant that I got locked on to a pattern of work that was damaging and hard to let go of. I take responsibility for that, but in a job which constantly presses upon your boundaries (and in certain situations – especially regarding end-of-life issues – is matters of life and death at short notice) there are I’m sure many of us who become locked on to a harmful habits. I love my job but if you’re not careful it can become all-encompassing, and that may end up being more about who you think you are or need to be, than what is asked of a parish priest.
So if I want one thing from this Sabbatical it’s to have time to let go a little – to come back at Holy Week with reasonable expectations of myself. Part of that is trusting people, which I already am. The poor curate has found herself in the cockpit, which she probably didn’t expect a year ago. I have a great team and I think it’s very likely they won’t know what to do with me when I return! (which would be a great thing!)
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