Word: tented
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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Last week, "Eating Disorder Awareness Week" was announced under the heading of "Wellness Matters" on the weekly three-sided table tent printed by Harvard University Dining Services (HUDS). However, judging from the comments of Dining Services Director Ted A. Mayer at a recent Undergraduate Council meeting, HUDS seems to be adopting a policy with which weight-watchers University-wide can live...
After a week working for a nongovernmental organization (NGO) in rural Saurashtra, I enlist as odd-job man in a kitchen tent on the outskirts of Bhuj. Not an instinctive volunteer-type, I have no idea why I'm here, just that those images on TV and in the papers demanded more than the routine cash-and-clothes donation. But there's not much time for introspection at the kitchen, run by Girishbhai, a small businessman. We serve two meals daily to quake survivors from nearby camps, anywhere between 150 and 450 people a day. After a couple of days...
...tent cities that have sprouted around Bhuj, Bachchau and Anjar, news of fabulous rivers and ponds is greeted with healthy skepticism. For the moment, though, most survivors are too busy grieving for their dead to be distracted by faux miracles. Many families remain in a state of suspended mourning, uncertain about the fate of missing relatives...
...frail in their mid-fifties, are trapped somewhere between hope and despair. Every morning, Karsanbhai heads out in search of Vinod, circulating among the NGO camps, government emergency centers and military information booths. He calls Surat to check if Vinod has arrived there. Sumati, meanwhile, busies herself in the tent she now calls home, emerging sometimes to help other women cook and clean. She doesn't speak to anybody, but is constantly muttering to herself. Only when I draw within a meter of her do I realize that she is chanting the name of a family deity: "Ma Sherawali...
...says, grinning broadly. "When God takes with one hand, he gives with the other." But as night falls, Malati grows quiet, edgy. After dinner, she is the last person to turn in. Then, just short of midnight, we are awakened by a piercing scream from the women's tent. It is Malati, shouting in her sleep: "Get me out! Get me out!" I learn that she has been doing this every night since the quake. In 10 years there will be no physical evidence of the great earthquake of 2001. But in the nightmares of Malati and a million others...