I wish...

... Utahan skies looked like this sometimes.

Moot

I. love. Moot. I could easily say it's my favorite of the ten colonies we visit. It's full name is actually Mugalvadi, but to make it easier on all of us, we call this distant, in-the-middle-of-nowhere colony by it's shortened name of Moot. The patients here are truly incredible: there's no other word to describe them.

A German leprosy center in Villyvakam, Chennai, houses those affected with leprosy. In 1978, about sixty of it's newest patients were kicked out because it was too full. Unable to go anywhere else, the rejected patients traveled south, and ended up at the rural countryside where they continue to live today. Initially, they built a few rows of straw huts for shelter, but later, a Christian humanitarian organization built them some cement houses. Thus, Moot began.

Over the years, as it's residents have gradually died off, only seven leprosy-afflicted remain: three couples and one widowed man. Each has a completely different personality, equally contributing to the colony's unique character.

First, there's Jayaraj, who, after just stepping out of the van, you'll agree is the most hilarious jokester in the entire world... really. His sweet wife is named Jayamary. She's a patient woman, Jayamary. She probably doesn't particularly enjoy her husband stuffing an apple into her mouth as her photo is being taken, but regardless of whether she likes it or not, she smiles and acts like she does.

Then there's Krishnan, who has lost both his legs and hands and scoots around on a board with wheels, and his wife Sarojah, whose face has sunken in from leprosy, is blind in one eye from a cataract, has lost her hands, one leg, and the bottom half of her other leg. Every time we go, she complains of something new that's hurting her: first it was her hand, then it was her head, then her chest, etc etc. I don't doubt her entire body is in continual discomfort.

The relationship between Krishnan and Sarojah is much like that of two siblings. One moment, they completely detest one another, ready to rip their hair or whatever-else-they-can-get-a-hold-of out (hmm, you don't know what I'm talking about?); the next, they'd do anything in the world for them. Last year, when my family came, they were obviously on "no speaking" terms, as we couldn't even get them to sit close enough to have their picture taken together. Luckily, every time I've visited Moot this year, they've been in good-enough standards with one another that they're sitting by each other quite often. However, actually speaking to each other is a different story.

The next couple is, in all honesty, my favorite. The man, Paramasivan, is a skilled handicraftsman who builds all the wooden beds for those at Moot. He is often sitting by himself; not because he isn't liked, but because that's just his character. Contemplative, placid. I love it.

Paramasivan's wife, Godeshwari, is the most adoring, affectionate woman in the world. She actually doesn't have leprosy, but rather than deserting her husband and continuing on with her life, she abandoned the rest of her life and moved with him to Moot. She defines love.

The last man, Parayasami, is widowed. He's always sure to show us volunteers the pictures of his past life - his wife and daughters, his nieces, and his friends - the life he led before the grasp of leprosy selfishly took over.

Not that I didn't know this before, but after looking at Parayasami's pictures, it became strikingly apparent to me that these people actually had lives, careers, and families to look after. And then all-of-a-sudden: bam. Their whole life was taken from them; all because of a silly little disease.

Up until only a few years ago, there was a ridiculous law in India that if you killed someone, you were fined a certain amount depending on what caste the person you killed came from. For example, if you killed a Bhramin (priest), the fine would be much larger than if you killed someone from Sudra (peasant). Now get this: if you killed a dog on the street, the fine would be more than killing a person afflicted with leprosy. Can you believe that? And even though that law is now outlawed, the Indian mindset is much the same: leprosy-afflicted are worth nothing. What a twisted, corrupt way of thought. What does it matter if you're a peasant or a merchant or a king? We're all people. I'm just as good as the president, the president is just as good as my neighbor, and these people who just so happen to be affected with leprosy are as good as the rest of us. Please, India (and anyone else who thinks they're lesser or better than someone else), let's not get too ahead of ourselves.

Onto a better note, Moot. Yes. Here are some more pictures of the wonderful colony of Moot.

(Godeshwari always puts bindis on each of us volunteers. Even though her entire income consists of Rs. 300 ($6) a month, which comes from the government for all leprosy patients, she uses part of that money to buy us bindis.)