A select number of us from the Karavan decided to brave the Indian judicial system today not by unlawful means but by invitation from the controversial Minister of Jharkand(newest state in India as of 2000) We arrived by bus, about 17 in number, entered through the main gate that was some 25 ft high and wide, a metal bright blue door or should I say wall, that moved and sounded like thunder. Then we proceeded through the formalities in the white austere offices of all the big wigs in uniforms, gold stars, wood batons, hairy exposed chests, saluting inferiors and all. I was most fascinated by the cup rings on the edges of the desk of Mr Sinha. We were separated into men's and women's groups. After a short wait and the collection of all cell phones, our Art group was lead onto the guarded grounds past manicured lawns, flower beds, fountains and forboding 2 story buildings with window bars and storm shutters. We walked toward another not so tall metal gate and it was opened with ease. We were inside another more barren compound that had the feeling of a housing project. We were chaperoned shoeless by women in classic army colored fatigues and black berets into a open hall. There sitting on the floor were some 60 plus ladies in brightly hued saris and some 20 children all under the age of 6. We stayed for an hour and as we were 7 women from the Karavan we felt a bit overwhelmed at first by the numbers and silence that enshrouded the space as we entered. The officials turned to us and asked us what we planned to do. We were told not to bring anything so we were a bit stunned when they asked us this. So of course we made light of it all and quickly broke off into groups and soon had the whole place in a swoon over our presence: photos, journal sketching, yarn bracelets, songs and dance - we proposed cosmic play in this large empty space that hosted a few sewing machines in one corner. It wasn't long before every mother was begging me to photograph her child, and after every photo I had four more hands tugging on my dress. In the aftermath of each shot they stood staring at the light pictures on the small screen. It was at first a humble quiet reaction that turned into a riot of laughter and jest among the women. And then somehow I had an intuitive thought that there must not be one mirror inside this place. Already mirrors are quite under used in India. They are usually only above the sink, if that. I can't imagine they have the luxury of eyeing themselves every morning ...so looking at themselves on the tiny screen for some was perhaps like meeting themselves again after months even for some years.
As we were leaving the ladies were shouting for us to come again and there were "I love yous" exchanged with exuberant voices and it in this way that we all had such a difficult task of saying our last goodbye. As that gate finally closed, we all felt so close to women with whom we had only spent a few minutes but frankly the languageless exchange of eye contact and understanding was magnanimously a heartfull experience for all of us, even the guards, and not a drop of Bollywood inside. This is a prison that encourages Vipassana meditation of its prisoners and guards. The spirit inside seemed risen by our presence but I am sure their own faith in consciousness was the real key to the radiant beings inside.
