2. At Aravind, At Last

Entrance at 3am

Seven months later, I found myself leaving Singapore’s ultramodern Changi Airport on my first-ever trip to India, to Chennai, in the state of Tamil Nadu.  At Chennai International Airport’s arrival section, from a throng of men holding signs of names, I was taken into a taxi, commandeered by a fearless driver, who navigated the next three hours of the trip, through unlit narrow coastal roads, dodging cows and stray dogs in the dark, to finally arrive at the gates of Aravind Eye Hospital in Pondicherry.  Saturday November 30, 2013, 3:00am we arrived at the guesthouse.  From the dark emerged two thin ladies who, without a word or a sound, glided toward me like fairies, took up my heavy luggage up the stairs of a two-story building, bringing us to our room.  The room was furnished with detailed English instructions on the door emphasizing “Do not give tip”.  It was sparsely furnished with foam pads on wood frames, a ceiling fan, an air conditioner, flush toilet with minimal toilet paper, shower, a candle and cream called “Odomos”, a phone, and numerous Type D outlets.  At 4am local time (3pm Pacific Time), I laid on the cot, with thoughts of anticipation for the coming month as I drifted into sleep.

Simple guest room

We awoke at mid-morning to a warm winter day of 30 degrees Celsius (86 F).  The sun poured into the courtyard of this building known as the guesthouse. Neatly decorated without extravagance, the square guesthouse was two stories high, with a central courtyard separated by a fine mesh screen to the sky above, and a small statue facing the central front door.  We seemed to be the only occupants of the guesthouse at the time.  No sooner had we walked downstairs, did a thin barefooted lady suddenly appear.  In polite but heavy-accented English, she introduced herself as a housekeeping “sister”, and a name which was too hard for me to pronounce.  She brought lunch, and politely gave us a verbal orientation of the guesthouse routines.  Turns out being barefooted indoors is the norm, a custom we adapted easily, since it is also a Chinese custom.  Soon after, I received a phone call from Dr. Venkatesh, welcoming us to Aravind.

The guesthouse at Aravind Pondicherry

Over the coming month, while this place became my home, I would come to realize that  “Aravind” is not merely an ophthalmology hospital.  It’s a belief system and a way of life.  I was not only at Aravind; I was within Aravind.  This month would profoundly alter my view of ophthalmology, and my view of life.

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