The Chaos Within - The Team

On the 21st of February DISHA turned one year old.

We are, as previous entries have indicated, in our infancy.

An infant that dances... and the metaphorical cuts and scrapes from the constant tumbling - when you dance as frenziedly as us, you will fall - are often deep wounds, that hopefully will one day heal.

To mark this special occasion I took the team out to Le Meridian hotel, which happens to be situated on the border of the Tadiwala Road slum. This hotel sums up the paradox that so many speak of in context of this fascinating and frustrating nation.

The team had no idea that Le Meridian was their destination on Tuesday evening, and I enjoyed watching their reactions. The grandeur of this hotel had long been cause for wonderment with the team, and to finally walk up to it, to enter in to its opulent belly, was an experience that they never imagined they would have.

Obviously, the security guys at the gate were struck with a different kind of wonderment - where were 13 tired looking women, and 3 equally tired men think they were going? Just for a moment I thought that I had made a mistake. The last thing I had wanted was for us to be turned away, and for the team to think any less of themselves. They are a proud, hardworking, committed group and no one should be allowed to look down upon them and treat them with condescension. The bemused security guards let us through. The doorman faltered only momentarily before smiling us his welcome, and the Maitre 'd at the Coffee Shop didn't blink once when I requested a table for 20. He requested 5 minutes to set it up, and then led us to to the long table with deference that could only come with experience.

The team sat down in silence. Their heads bowed, staring at their obscured reflection in the shiny cutlery. The waiters buzzed around them and soon their tall glasses were full of clear water that 'tasted different.' They asked me to order for them, and I got an assortment: Pieces of pineapple, strawberry and blackforrest gateau, gooey chocolate truffles, fruit tarts... the silence ended. The arguing and jostling for the preferred choice brought with it laughter.

We sat there for just over an hour. You wouldn't think that a silver fork would be so interesting, until you see it through the eyes of Koli maushi, our nutrition centre cook, who relished using it on her fruit tart. Advice on using her fingers went unheeded. The fork was on the table next to her plate, and it must be used! I was also castigated by the team for not telling them about the venue. They were in their 'work' saris, and other than Koli maushi who nipped back to change en route, the others were feeling less that suitably attired. But as I drew their attention to my crushed shirt and rubber slippers their mock anger abated and the laughter returned.



It had been a hard year. A good year. They deserved a treat.

The next day we were back.

Ground control to major Tom. Ground control to Major Tom. Take your protein pills and put your engine on...