As we are all packing up and saying our goodbyes, here is a snap shot of something that Em and I witnessed the other day walking along the Park Circus train tracks. We see cows, crows and all other animals along our walk everyday but this moment stuck out more than the others and led to excellent conversation. The crow was perched on the cow's head. Em and I both see it,look away but then look back because something doesn't seem quite right. The crow was picking at the cow's eye while the cow was still alive yet the cow didn't even try to get up and fight it off. Em and I were disgusted that the cow wasn't trying to get the crow to stop and that the crow was doing it in the first place.
It is such an obvious microcosm for how things appear to be at times in Kolkata. People are literally asleep on the ground, completely vulnerable and continually being beaten down whether it is from sickness, poverty, corruption, cultural traditions or a number of other things. Our reaction also fit with the larger picture. Why didn't the cow simply get up? Why don't people we see living their lives on the streets or in the slums just get out of it, get treatment, get a job, work harder? It is so easy to fall into this cycle of victim blaming. Upon closer inspection, Em and I might have seen that the cow was tethered to the post so that it couldn't move or that it had no energy to move because all it eats is the trash that it was laying on. Granted, not all of the people who we see are free of blame for their situations but most are due to circumstances out of their control, especially the children. They are born into it and learn that life. Maybe the father that Anne and I see outside of Shanti Dan everyday isn't working because he cannot use his withered legs not because he is lazy or the boy who followed me and Kristy down Sudder Street the other day asking for money had to report to a beggar master and would get beaten if he didn't have money. There usually is a reason why a person is in the situation they are in but we are not likely to automatically think that such bad things could happen to someone who doesn't deserve it. Once I start to think about things like this, I realize how easily it could have been me in that situation. Instead of walking back from dancing late at night, I could be that person sleeping on the sidewalk. I am so lucky to have been born into the family that I was.
Em and I were players in this snapshot too. What responsibility did we have to this cow? Should we have chased the crow away? Untied the cow? Fed the cow better food? We didn't do anything- we kept on walking. On a more positive note, we don't ignore people in need while we are here, rather we are quite active. Whether it is at Premm Dan, Daya Dan, Shanti Dan, Shishu Bhavan, Kalighat, Brother Xavier's or Sabera we are taking the time to stop and be with those in need. After we saw the cow and the crow, Em and I continued to talk about it. Once we became aware of what is going on, we were deeply moved. Similarly, when we are done with working at all of these sites, we continue to talk about them at Blue Sky, our walks and nightly reflections. Do we move on? Do we keep talking about it? What action should we take? What do we do once we return to the US? There is no way we will ever forget what we have experienced in India but it is up to us to do something with those experiences.
We are here in Kolkata and are flooded with new images of poverty, illness and loneliness. There are tons of intense, fun, new and exciting experiences that have happened to us while we have been here. Certain things that were normal to us before, no longer are and things that were abnormal before are now normal. We have only been here 3 weeks but once you see, feel and experience Kolkata it will not go away. We cannot undo the things that we have seen and we are grown because of our experiences here. Although we might not realize that we are changed right away, our family and friends back home might notice that we have. We are so excited to return home and see you all but are sad to leave each other and our bondus here.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Proud Auntie!
Ani and Rachael decided to make a short detour and check out things at Prem Dan today. Em, Alicia, Sarah and I rushed passed the massis, ignoring the call for laundry duty and headed straight for the front room. As the SMC ladies of Prem Dan it was our mission to show Ani and Rachael the glorious women who are the constant topic of conversation.
We rushed around, messing up the normal morning flow, saying ‘Oh here’s my bondu!’ ‘Here’s the one we take to the bathroom all the time’ ‘Here’s the women who is always having the infamous skull operation.’ I wanted to show them everyone but most importantly, my special bondu Sunnita. As soon as I pointed her out, she called out and reached for me.
This moment was similar to the many I’ve had with my niece Sadie. Sadie is 3 years old and whenever I introduce her to someone new I always ask her to say hello or do something I taught her. I like to show her off. When Sadie actually performs for a new friend, my heart melts and I’m the proudest auntie in the world.
Like Sadie, I wanted to show Sunnita off. When she called out ‘Auntie! Auntie!’ and reached for me during Ani and Rachael’s walk through, my heart melted and in a new, different way I was the proudest auntie in the world.
Tomorrow is my last day with Sunnita, with my bondus at Prem Dan. They have become my current joy. Leaving them will be tremendously upsetting but the joy they inspire will forever remain in my heart.
Goodnight,
Susi
Tuesday, week 3
Today was our fourth and final day visiting Brother Xavier's fam. More games of free-for-all b-ball were played as well as volleyball, keep away, cricket, and arm wrestling. Saying good bye was challenging but knowing their future was safe and bright helped.
With two and a half days left, many are excited to return home and back to a world of luxuries that make living easy. However this raw living is something that will be missed. We've grown accustomed, learned to tolerate, enjoy, and love the people, sights, tortourous heat, and India in general. Going home will be nice but won't quite be the same.
With two and a half days left, many are excited to return home and back to a world of luxuries that make living easy. However this raw living is something that will be missed. We've grown accustomed, learned to tolerate, enjoy, and love the people, sights, tortourous heat, and India in general. Going home will be nice but won't quite be the same.
Please cry for him
Early yesterday morning, at Shishu Bhavan, the boy Caroline wrote about earlier died. I do not know his name, his birthdate, or really what was wrong with him...no one does. He was abandoned there about a month ago, he was taken in clothed and feed, but with so many other special needs children, it must have been hard to realize just how dire his situation was.
He was the first child I picked up when I first arrived at the special needs room upstairs at Shishu Bhavan about three weeks ago. It had been a hard day at Prem Dan, many of the women had needed their heads shaved due to lice, and were very upset about it. As a result I was upset and unsure as to whether I would go to Shishu Bhavan as planned. But, fate intervened, and Caroline and I headed out. I was ready to play with some toddlers and make the day better. We arrived and realized we had been sent to the special needs room. After spending 2.5 hours there we were upset, shocked, and concerned. There were language, cultural, and physical barriers and we were taken aback. When, I was there I met this nameless child. He was in so much obvious pain, he was stiffened in such an odd way, and when I picked him up he became apneic. Realizing this I quickly turned him over, but there was no way to hold him without hearing his extreme difficulty breathing. It was impossible for me to leave him in such a state on the mat on the floor, so I figured out a situation that was a little better. For, the past 2 weeks, I held him every single time I went looking for that perfect place where he could be truly comfortable.
On Saturday afternoon, I finally found it. When I was holding him, his muscles relaxed for the first time since i've seen him, he grabbed onto my fingers, and fell asleep. During this time, his breathing slowed and was not as noisy as before. Three of the Massi's were staring at me, and the sister came over to say that they had never seen him sleep before. I left happy and excited that I had finally been able to give him some relief, even if was only for a short time. Sunday, we went to Sabera Foundation, so I was not there, but I was excited to go back Monday to hold him and let him breath and sleep for awhile again.
Upon arrival Monday, I at first did not see him, but was distracted by one of the girls who so obviously wanted attention, I assumed he was just in one of the cribs as he often is when we get there. But, within a few minutes, one of the other volunteers (there are normally 5 of us there) came over to say that the "boy who couldn't breath died last night". I know from experience that he was not easy to hold, that his struggle to breath was heartbreaking so I know that he was very seldom, if ever, held, touched or loved. I know he is in a better place, away from his constant pain, I know that no one, much less a 2-3 year old baby wants to live like that. But, I can not accept that no one will ever acknowledge his death; that this will be the only testimony in life. I can not accept that there is no one to mourn the loss of an little boy's short and painful life.
A few months ago, one of SMFR's alumni's infant son died. I was asked by our captain to drive the ambulance at the head of the funeral procession, which consisted of over 15 cars. We arrived to find only standing room in the chapel at St. Mike's. People had come from hours away to mourn the loss of this baby that many had never met. This nameless boy could very well have died from a similar disease, yet, where is his funeral procession? He doesn't even have anyone to cry for him.
He was the first child I picked up when I first arrived at the special needs room upstairs at Shishu Bhavan about three weeks ago. It had been a hard day at Prem Dan, many of the women had needed their heads shaved due to lice, and were very upset about it. As a result I was upset and unsure as to whether I would go to Shishu Bhavan as planned. But, fate intervened, and Caroline and I headed out. I was ready to play with some toddlers and make the day better. We arrived and realized we had been sent to the special needs room. After spending 2.5 hours there we were upset, shocked, and concerned. There were language, cultural, and physical barriers and we were taken aback. When, I was there I met this nameless child. He was in so much obvious pain, he was stiffened in such an odd way, and when I picked him up he became apneic. Realizing this I quickly turned him over, but there was no way to hold him without hearing his extreme difficulty breathing. It was impossible for me to leave him in such a state on the mat on the floor, so I figured out a situation that was a little better. For, the past 2 weeks, I held him every single time I went looking for that perfect place where he could be truly comfortable.
On Saturday afternoon, I finally found it. When I was holding him, his muscles relaxed for the first time since i've seen him, he grabbed onto my fingers, and fell asleep. During this time, his breathing slowed and was not as noisy as before. Three of the Massi's were staring at me, and the sister came over to say that they had never seen him sleep before. I left happy and excited that I had finally been able to give him some relief, even if was only for a short time. Sunday, we went to Sabera Foundation, so I was not there, but I was excited to go back Monday to hold him and let him breath and sleep for awhile again.
Upon arrival Monday, I at first did not see him, but was distracted by one of the girls who so obviously wanted attention, I assumed he was just in one of the cribs as he often is when we get there. But, within a few minutes, one of the other volunteers (there are normally 5 of us there) came over to say that the "boy who couldn't breath died last night". I know from experience that he was not easy to hold, that his struggle to breath was heartbreaking so I know that he was very seldom, if ever, held, touched or loved. I know he is in a better place, away from his constant pain, I know that no one, much less a 2-3 year old baby wants to live like that. But, I can not accept that no one will ever acknowledge his death; that this will be the only testimony in life. I can not accept that there is no one to mourn the loss of an little boy's short and painful life.
A few months ago, one of SMFR's alumni's infant son died. I was asked by our captain to drive the ambulance at the head of the funeral procession, which consisted of over 15 cars. We arrived to find only standing room in the chapel at St. Mike's. People had come from hours away to mourn the loss of this baby that many had never met. This nameless boy could very well have died from a similar disease, yet, where is his funeral procession? He doesn't even have anyone to cry for him.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Pooja's Eyes.
Her wide syrupy brown eyes stare up at me, surrounded by impossibly long black lashes that spring up from all around her top and bottom eyelids. Her eyes are sundor, the Bengali word that means beautiful.
Her name is Pooja. And she is my bondhu. Bondhu is the Bengali word for friend. I do my service every morning in the female ward at Prem Dan, which is one of the Missionaries of Charity homes, and which is specifically for women who are sick, diseased, and dying, and/or mentally and/or physically disabled. Pooja is one of those women, and the one who I hold dearest to my heart. I am quite attached to many of the women, and especially fond of a few in particular, but all of us who work at Prem Dan have our own designated “Bondhus,” or friends, and my best Bondhu, my bff so to speak, is Pooja.
She’s probably about my age, 22. Maybe a year or two younger. She has beautiful brown skin, a round face, a buzz cut, and those beautiful brown eyes. She is completely immobile. She cannot move any of her limbs, and she can’t even sit up straight. She spends all day sitting upright in a chair, leaning slightly to her left side against the wall. Her head tilts, and rests on a large pillow. Pooja can’t speak. The only thing that she can really do on her own is chewing and swallowing her food.
Since my third day at Prem Dan I have fed Pooja her chai and bread at chai time, and her lunch at lunch time. Ever since that day, I make sure that no one else feeds my Pooja. I mush up her rice and potatoes, and feed it to her in careful spoonfuls, and watch her with pure adoration as she slowly but surely chews her food and swallows it. After she swallows, she eagerly opens her mouth up wide, like a baby bird waiting to be fed.
Pooja has stolen my heart. But she also breaks my heart. She is so young, and so clearly full of life-I see it all in her eyes when she looks at me. And boy, does she look at me; Pooja definitely knows the meaning of eye contact. When I feed her, when I talk to her, when I walk by her, Pooja stares deeply into my eyes, and holds her gaze.
Today, I was standing a few feet away from Pooja, and goofing around with one of my other favorite ladies at Prem Dan- one of my “home girls,” as we like to call them. We were laughing and smiling-she was speaking in Bengali, and I was speaking in English, but we were talking nonetheless. Then I looked up, and saw that another volunteer was sitting next to Pooja, and holding her hand. It was sweet, and warmed my heart to see my favorite girl getting attention from someone else. But I was also a little bit jealous, I will admit. We all tend to get a bit possessive of our bondhus at Prem Dan. So I looked at her, and dramatically acted out that I was jealous. “Are you flirting with another woman?” I asked. The tone and volume of my voice, and my body language made it obvious that I was being facetious, and I had a huge smile on my face, and Pooja totally got it. She got my joke, and she responded in the most beautiful way.
Her black pupils lock onto mine, hold, and didn’t let go. Pooja always blinks incessantly, but even with each blink she never loses that focus that she has on my eyes. There we were staring into each other’s eyes, and then, suddenly, a huge smile spread across her face; a smile full of crooked teeth that are definitely rotting, but in far better condition when compared to the teeth of the older women who surround her. Pooja could be the Crest model of Prem Dan-her teeth are still fairly white, and they are all there. The same can’t be said of the rest of the women; many of whom are toothless, or only have about half their teeth still intact. She smiled bigger than I have ever seen her smile before, (and the number of times that I have seen her smile previous to this time is a whopping one).
I stared back at her, not letting go of the eye contact, and smiled so hard that I thought my face would break. I swallowed hard and for a moment I didn’t breathe. Then I cracked. I took at a deep breath, and I could feel the tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. All of the blood in my body rushed to my heart in that moment, and I knew I was about to cry. I just couldn’t do it. So I broke eye contact. I looked away from those big brown eyes. But I felt warm, so warm. I couldn’t believe that she smiled at me like that. There was so much joy, so much love behind that smile. And that is why I am here in Kolkata.
Call me melodramatic; call me overly sensitive; call me far too attached to this young woman whom I’ve only known for 2 weeks. Call me crazy, but I love my bondhu Pooja, and I will always remember her. She has made a lasting impact on my heart, my soul, and my mind; looking into those wide brown eyes shook me to the core, and I will never be able to pretend that I didn’t see what I saw in Pooja’s eyes.
I know what other people may see when they look into Pooja’s eyes. They see emptiness; a blank stare, a deer in the headlights, someone with a mentally disability, a person who isn’t “all there.” But I see so much more. I see life, so much life! I see memories, pain, sadness, and hardship. But I also see joy. And that is what I cherish most; Pooja’s joy.
I’ve started singing to Pooja. I sing her my favorite songs from my favorite Neil Young album, “Harvest.” I hold her hands, and even though she can’t move them, and even though she is weak, I feel the slightest pressure coming from her skinny fingers, and I know that for Pooja, that slight pressure is really a sqeeze, it’s a grip, it’s the equivalent of a healthy person holding on for dear life and never letting go. She can't say it, but I know that Pooja loves me too. And I know that I make her just as happy as she makes me. I live for the moments when I can see Pooja’s happiness-like the time that I made her laugh last week-she smiled slightly, and the tiniest high pitched sound came out of her mouth-the first sound that she ever uttered to me other than when she chokes a little on her food, and coughs. But I knew that the funny high pitched sound that she was making was a laugh; Pooja’s laugh. And it was the equivalent to a healthy person absolutely cracking up, laughing hysterically. Pooja just expresses herself differently.
Kolkata makes me feel human in every sense of the word. Connecting to Pooja, and my other bondhus, and all of the women at Prem Dan has been an incredible experience that I never anticipated. I wasn’t prepared for how much love I was going to feel for all of these women, and there is nothing that could have prepared me for it even if I had been warned. My experience here has been a whirlwind; a beautiful experience that I will never forget.
Thanks for reading. Namaskaar,
Alicia
Her name is Pooja. And she is my bondhu. Bondhu is the Bengali word for friend. I do my service every morning in the female ward at Prem Dan, which is one of the Missionaries of Charity homes, and which is specifically for women who are sick, diseased, and dying, and/or mentally and/or physically disabled. Pooja is one of those women, and the one who I hold dearest to my heart. I am quite attached to many of the women, and especially fond of a few in particular, but all of us who work at Prem Dan have our own designated “Bondhus,” or friends, and my best Bondhu, my bff so to speak, is Pooja.
She’s probably about my age, 22. Maybe a year or two younger. She has beautiful brown skin, a round face, a buzz cut, and those beautiful brown eyes. She is completely immobile. She cannot move any of her limbs, and she can’t even sit up straight. She spends all day sitting upright in a chair, leaning slightly to her left side against the wall. Her head tilts, and rests on a large pillow. Pooja can’t speak. The only thing that she can really do on her own is chewing and swallowing her food.
Since my third day at Prem Dan I have fed Pooja her chai and bread at chai time, and her lunch at lunch time. Ever since that day, I make sure that no one else feeds my Pooja. I mush up her rice and potatoes, and feed it to her in careful spoonfuls, and watch her with pure adoration as she slowly but surely chews her food and swallows it. After she swallows, she eagerly opens her mouth up wide, like a baby bird waiting to be fed.
Pooja has stolen my heart. But she also breaks my heart. She is so young, and so clearly full of life-I see it all in her eyes when she looks at me. And boy, does she look at me; Pooja definitely knows the meaning of eye contact. When I feed her, when I talk to her, when I walk by her, Pooja stares deeply into my eyes, and holds her gaze.
Today, I was standing a few feet away from Pooja, and goofing around with one of my other favorite ladies at Prem Dan- one of my “home girls,” as we like to call them. We were laughing and smiling-she was speaking in Bengali, and I was speaking in English, but we were talking nonetheless. Then I looked up, and saw that another volunteer was sitting next to Pooja, and holding her hand. It was sweet, and warmed my heart to see my favorite girl getting attention from someone else. But I was also a little bit jealous, I will admit. We all tend to get a bit possessive of our bondhus at Prem Dan. So I looked at her, and dramatically acted out that I was jealous. “Are you flirting with another woman?” I asked. The tone and volume of my voice, and my body language made it obvious that I was being facetious, and I had a huge smile on my face, and Pooja totally got it. She got my joke, and she responded in the most beautiful way.
Her black pupils lock onto mine, hold, and didn’t let go. Pooja always blinks incessantly, but even with each blink she never loses that focus that she has on my eyes. There we were staring into each other’s eyes, and then, suddenly, a huge smile spread across her face; a smile full of crooked teeth that are definitely rotting, but in far better condition when compared to the teeth of the older women who surround her. Pooja could be the Crest model of Prem Dan-her teeth are still fairly white, and they are all there. The same can’t be said of the rest of the women; many of whom are toothless, or only have about half their teeth still intact. She smiled bigger than I have ever seen her smile before, (and the number of times that I have seen her smile previous to this time is a whopping one).
I stared back at her, not letting go of the eye contact, and smiled so hard that I thought my face would break. I swallowed hard and for a moment I didn’t breathe. Then I cracked. I took at a deep breath, and I could feel the tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. All of the blood in my body rushed to my heart in that moment, and I knew I was about to cry. I just couldn’t do it. So I broke eye contact. I looked away from those big brown eyes. But I felt warm, so warm. I couldn’t believe that she smiled at me like that. There was so much joy, so much love behind that smile. And that is why I am here in Kolkata.
Call me melodramatic; call me overly sensitive; call me far too attached to this young woman whom I’ve only known for 2 weeks. Call me crazy, but I love my bondhu Pooja, and I will always remember her. She has made a lasting impact on my heart, my soul, and my mind; looking into those wide brown eyes shook me to the core, and I will never be able to pretend that I didn’t see what I saw in Pooja’s eyes.
I know what other people may see when they look into Pooja’s eyes. They see emptiness; a blank stare, a deer in the headlights, someone with a mentally disability, a person who isn’t “all there.” But I see so much more. I see life, so much life! I see memories, pain, sadness, and hardship. But I also see joy. And that is what I cherish most; Pooja’s joy.
I’ve started singing to Pooja. I sing her my favorite songs from my favorite Neil Young album, “Harvest.” I hold her hands, and even though she can’t move them, and even though she is weak, I feel the slightest pressure coming from her skinny fingers, and I know that for Pooja, that slight pressure is really a sqeeze, it’s a grip, it’s the equivalent of a healthy person holding on for dear life and never letting go. She can't say it, but I know that Pooja loves me too. And I know that I make her just as happy as she makes me. I live for the moments when I can see Pooja’s happiness-like the time that I made her laugh last week-she smiled slightly, and the tiniest high pitched sound came out of her mouth-the first sound that she ever uttered to me other than when she chokes a little on her food, and coughs. But I knew that the funny high pitched sound that she was making was a laugh; Pooja’s laugh. And it was the equivalent to a healthy person absolutely cracking up, laughing hysterically. Pooja just expresses herself differently.
Kolkata makes me feel human in every sense of the word. Connecting to Pooja, and my other bondhus, and all of the women at Prem Dan has been an incredible experience that I never anticipated. I wasn’t prepared for how much love I was going to feel for all of these women, and there is nothing that could have prepared me for it even if I had been warned. My experience here has been a whirlwind; a beautiful experience that I will never forget.
Thanks for reading. Namaskaar,
Alicia
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Pay your taxes, Hold your head high.
As I think about what to write for this blog post, I feel completely and utterly scattered. As a Journalism minor, my now ex-professors would be less than pleased yet the heat has somehow clamped down some creative brain vibrations. So many wonderful things have happened since we have arrived (many of which have been blogged about) and so many other stories will undoubtedly be told once we all return home. Home, that's another topic that could be touched on as we have only five days left before we journey thousands of miles back to what we temporarily left behind. I think, though, what would be the best thing for me to do however is to take a lesson from Kolkata itself in order to help me through.
The city, the fourth largest in India with just over 5 million people, never ceases to bustle with activity yet, somehow, everything appears to run smoothly. The traffic flow contains every possible type of transportation you could imagine (and if you can't, picture auto-rickshaws, bicycle rickshaws, taxis, bicycles, motorcycles, people walking, people running, cows standing). Yet, without much traffic law like lane markings and speed limit signs the movement of people and things happens effortlessly and seamlessly. I was shocked when we first arrived. It seemed dangerous to even walk in the streets when a taxi would come roaring towards you while an rickshaw driver takes up the other half of the road, yet I haven't seen one accident, not even a fender bender. These people have practice, yes, but they also trust one another to navigate the sea of movement effectively. And the city runs because of it.
While driving through Park Street the other day I saw a sign that said, "Pay your taxes, Hold your head high." Instead of a law carried out by coercion like many in the United States (for example; don't pay your taxes and potentially go to jail) city officials felt that adding a moral appeal to its citizens may be more effective. I'm sure there are plenty of people still evading those good old taxes but the idea is still fascinating. The people here are expected to do the things that keep their city running smoothly. Faith is placed entirely in their hands.
And so, that is the lesson I choose to take today in this blog entry, but also one that I want to remember once I am back at home. With some faith the pieces will fit together and what needs to happen will. I feel that our group has been molded by this as well throughout our long, hot Kolkata days. We may not always know what our daily schedules will involve but we do know that at the end of the day we will all be reflecting with one another. During these times, the funny stories will be relived again and any hardships will be softened by others' fresh perspectives. We place faith in one another to ensure that our group runs placidly and without any large collisions or follies. Like Kolkata, the seamlessness is not perfect but it is functioning and I think that is all anyone can ask.
Kayleigh
The city, the fourth largest in India with just over 5 million people, never ceases to bustle with activity yet, somehow, everything appears to run smoothly. The traffic flow contains every possible type of transportation you could imagine (and if you can't, picture auto-rickshaws, bicycle rickshaws, taxis, bicycles, motorcycles, people walking, people running, cows standing). Yet, without much traffic law like lane markings and speed limit signs the movement of people and things happens effortlessly and seamlessly. I was shocked when we first arrived. It seemed dangerous to even walk in the streets when a taxi would come roaring towards you while an rickshaw driver takes up the other half of the road, yet I haven't seen one accident, not even a fender bender. These people have practice, yes, but they also trust one another to navigate the sea of movement effectively. And the city runs because of it.
While driving through Park Street the other day I saw a sign that said, "Pay your taxes, Hold your head high." Instead of a law carried out by coercion like many in the United States (for example; don't pay your taxes and potentially go to jail) city officials felt that adding a moral appeal to its citizens may be more effective. I'm sure there are plenty of people still evading those good old taxes but the idea is still fascinating. The people here are expected to do the things that keep their city running smoothly. Faith is placed entirely in their hands.
And so, that is the lesson I choose to take today in this blog entry, but also one that I want to remember once I am back at home. With some faith the pieces will fit together and what needs to happen will. I feel that our group has been molded by this as well throughout our long, hot Kolkata days. We may not always know what our daily schedules will involve but we do know that at the end of the day we will all be reflecting with one another. During these times, the funny stories will be relived again and any hardships will be softened by others' fresh perspectives. We place faith in one another to ensure that our group runs placidly and without any large collisions or follies. Like Kolkata, the seamlessness is not perfect but it is functioning and I think that is all anyone can ask.
Kayleigh
Friday, June 3, 2011
We All Just Want to Smile and Laugh
Post By Joel Smus
As anyone who knows me or in the case of the eleven other members of this wonderful group, I am one who smiles and laughs a lot. Either through my mannerisms, jokes, sayings, comments, stories or any other sort of conversational piece. Before arriving here, I was very nervous that I would not find to many ways to smile or laugh. Not knowing how many people would be in the homes, what sort of illnesses they might have, what I would see in the streets, or how I would perceive everything. Working in the homes though has been a wonderful blessing as to how in the face of great adversity and pain, anyone can still smile and laugh. The men I have encountered at Prem Dan have become friends to me. Sharing stories, exchanging words in both English and Bengali, washing dishes or hanging laundry; it has all been smiles and laughter. Today a man beckoned me over to take him into the home to sit on a bed. I led the way by him holding onto my shoulders and me walking towards the bed slowly. He motioned towards one bed and jokingly I pointed at another. In perfect English, he told me not that bed but the other and that if I wanted to joke, he would play along. I was shocked at his English. I asked him how he learned and he explained that his grandfather had been a soldier in the British army and had fought in World War I, in France and Germany. I was so shocked that I sat on the bed with him for the next half hour and through good English he told me his grandfathers story and parts of his. I learned of his life and what encompassed it. I believe that from the expression on his face, he was truly happy to be chatting, had a genuine smile. For the first time, I felt like I had become friends with someone at Prem Dan.
Yesterday we went to Titigar, the Leprosy Colony. We learned so much about leprosy and all of its history and treatments. While walking through I chatted with a few of the workers who were working on cloth production. It was nice to know that I could chat with them and it not be like I was looking at them through a window. I got to see the homes and the people and gave them that smile letting them know that I was truly appreciative to them for letting me into there home. Later in the day we visited Kali's Temple. Although it was a bit on the aggressive side to see the image of Kali, after I walked out a man asked me where I was from. I said America and he asked how I enjoyed seeing Kali. I asked why so many people are pushy and he laughed explaining it is because people want there gifts excepted, in order to appease Kali. He also said its for dramatic effect, which I laughed at...he smiled. We ended our evening by going to see a Bengali film. Although we were all excited to see the film, it had been a long day and I know personally that I would have struggled a bit to have to read sub-titles the entire time. So when Pirates of the Caribbean came on, we were all a bit confused. Not till a few minutes in did we all understand that we had entered the wrong theater and were now seeing the wrong film...which was alright by us. We smiled, laughed at our mistake and watched Jack Sparrow once again improvise his way out of trouble.
Calcutta has truly been an eye opening adventure thus far. What I have come to realize in this city of idioms and oxymoron's is that now matter how much you might want to plan for something, this city has a life of its own and will spin its own tale for you to follow. Following what I told Ann some days ago, "Yesterday is history, Tomorrow is Mystery, Today is a Gift." Let us all start every morning as if it is Christmas morning and we are opening that first gift.
As anyone who knows me or in the case of the eleven other members of this wonderful group, I am one who smiles and laughs a lot. Either through my mannerisms, jokes, sayings, comments, stories or any other sort of conversational piece. Before arriving here, I was very nervous that I would not find to many ways to smile or laugh. Not knowing how many people would be in the homes, what sort of illnesses they might have, what I would see in the streets, or how I would perceive everything. Working in the homes though has been a wonderful blessing as to how in the face of great adversity and pain, anyone can still smile and laugh. The men I have encountered at Prem Dan have become friends to me. Sharing stories, exchanging words in both English and Bengali, washing dishes or hanging laundry; it has all been smiles and laughter. Today a man beckoned me over to take him into the home to sit on a bed. I led the way by him holding onto my shoulders and me walking towards the bed slowly. He motioned towards one bed and jokingly I pointed at another. In perfect English, he told me not that bed but the other and that if I wanted to joke, he would play along. I was shocked at his English. I asked him how he learned and he explained that his grandfather had been a soldier in the British army and had fought in World War I, in France and Germany. I was so shocked that I sat on the bed with him for the next half hour and through good English he told me his grandfathers story and parts of his. I learned of his life and what encompassed it. I believe that from the expression on his face, he was truly happy to be chatting, had a genuine smile. For the first time, I felt like I had become friends with someone at Prem Dan.
Yesterday we went to Titigar, the Leprosy Colony. We learned so much about leprosy and all of its history and treatments. While walking through I chatted with a few of the workers who were working on cloth production. It was nice to know that I could chat with them and it not be like I was looking at them through a window. I got to see the homes and the people and gave them that smile letting them know that I was truly appreciative to them for letting me into there home. Later in the day we visited Kali's Temple. Although it was a bit on the aggressive side to see the image of Kali, after I walked out a man asked me where I was from. I said America and he asked how I enjoyed seeing Kali. I asked why so many people are pushy and he laughed explaining it is because people want there gifts excepted, in order to appease Kali. He also said its for dramatic effect, which I laughed at...he smiled. We ended our evening by going to see a Bengali film. Although we were all excited to see the film, it had been a long day and I know personally that I would have struggled a bit to have to read sub-titles the entire time. So when Pirates of the Caribbean came on, we were all a bit confused. Not till a few minutes in did we all understand that we had entered the wrong theater and were now seeing the wrong film...which was alright by us. We smiled, laughed at our mistake and watched Jack Sparrow once again improvise his way out of trouble.
Calcutta has truly been an eye opening adventure thus far. What I have come to realize in this city of idioms and oxymoron's is that now matter how much you might want to plan for something, this city has a life of its own and will spin its own tale for you to follow. Following what I told Ann some days ago, "Yesterday is history, Tomorrow is Mystery, Today is a Gift." Let us all start every morning as if it is Christmas morning and we are opening that first gift.
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