Calcutta Cab
The metal workings of the doors are exposed. The plastic red seat covering is tightly stretched across the length of the back seat; dirty foam pokes out from burst slits. There are no seatbelts. There is no radio - the noise of Calcutta blaring in through the windows is music enough though. Klara (one of the crew) and I, clutching flowers for Mother Theresa’s grave, are in the backseat of a yellow sticky-hot taxi; a taxi, so ancient looking, I’m sure has been making its coin since the colonial era.
Sights and Sounds of the City
We are mostly quiet during the cab ride through Calcutta. The sights, sounds and smells of the city have me spellbound and speechless. Dogs are fornicating on the sidewalk. Children are showering from street pipes. I saw one man shampoo his hair from a water hydrant; the foamy water spilling into the street, streaming through mounds of mottled garbage on the sidewalk. Men are sleeping with their livelihoods by their side. A mix of modern buildings and makeshift shacks line the roads. Live chickens ride the streets in the baskets of bicycles. Some cows merely mill around and get hooted at, while others are hard at work bearing large loads and getting jabbed with sticks by their owners. Smartly dressed men and women on tuk-tuks weave through the chaos, as do cars, bicycles, cattle, dogs, buses, street hawkers, beggars, and children in pressed uniforms on their way to school.
Money for Milk Formula
When we find the Mother Theresa Center and leave the taxi we are instantly accosted by a woman with a baby slung on her side. ‘Milk for my baby,’ she pleads.
We follow her for a good 15 minutes, passing many places we were could’ve bought milk formula. When we protest saying it is too far in the wrong direction, she becomes very dramatic, gesturing with choice words like ‘husband’, ‘hungry’ and ‘milk’. So we follow her to her preferred street stall. There the stall owner, who I’m now certain was in cahoots with her, produces a large can of expensive milk formula. Klara and I work out the price in dirhams and are shocked. Obviously inflated, the price was too much and we start to walk away. Protesting loudly, she conveniently produces a smaller and more reasonably priced can of baby formula. We purchase it for her.
A little boy appears from nowhere and seems to be the woman’s other child. We give him one of the children’s books we have. (We brought some gifts with us for the orphanage.) He takes it, but with more enthusiasm points to the sweets in the stall. We end up buying the milk for the mother, giving the child books, pencils and buying him sweets, crisps and coke.
We eventually assert that we have to leave and set off to try and navigate our way back to the orphanage. I have no doubt that the stall man placed the formula back on the shelf and split the money with the woman. The woman too probably trailed behind us back to the orphanage, ready to scout for another set tourists to trick.
Mother Theresa’s Grave
At the Mother Theresa Center we are welcomed by the nuns. We take of our shoes at the humble entrance and walk through the courtyard to the museum. Mother Theresa’s meticulous diaries and log books, photos and other memorabilia are on display in glass cabinets and pinned to boards. Only a few tourists are there with us in the small museum. We walk upstairs to see the where the woman - well-known throughout the world and a hero and saint in history – slept. Her room is basic and belongings sparse. The small room is barred and left exactly as it was when she died. There is a small mass in service which we are careful not to interupt. We put flowers on her grave and statue. The diminutive statue further impresses upon me how remarkable it is that one humble woman can change the lives of so many and create such following for humanity. She truly is an example of human potential at its greatness and most generous.
For such a humanitarian icon, and treasured figure, I suppose I expected a glorified, elaborate tribute to her life. The Mother Theresa Center though - the museum, the tomb, the chapel and orphanage is very basic. Perhaps, just as Mother Theresa was so self-less, the nuns that succeed her now, too, use the donations self-lessly - serving the people rather than upkept or extravagance.
The Orphanage
At the center's orphange we are led to a room that, though not particularly large, is filled with cots and sleeping and crying babies. Sisters are dotted around the nursery attending to them. We are left to walk around and I worry this is to the displeasure of the sisters, who already have a lot on their hands. We later find out though, from two British volunteers here, that the orphanage relies heavily on donations of money and goods from tourists like us. I hoped our gifts of books and pencils would be adequate. Soap, linen and towels though may have been more helpful.
At one cot I am struck rigid by a sight that has haunted me ever since. Lying in the cot was a little Indian baby that could only have been a few weeks old. With a pink beanie on its head it lay sleeping; so peaceful, completely unaffected by the noise around. I struggle to digest the sad truth that confronts me. Both the baby’s arms are in casts. And the baby’s legs, both broken too, also lie stretched out in little casts. How does a baby break all its limbs?
It takes me a while to move from the crib, and still now the memory of that baby shakes my emotions. What a start to life for such a little soul; parentless, with a broken body.
We give the books and colouring pencils we had brought with us to the older children. We sit, and play with them for some time. They are bubbly, loud and pass around our books inquisitively. This gives me hope for the little baby in the crib.
We meet a mother and her daughter from the UK who are volunteering at the orphanage and have rented an apartment nearby. They tell us about the volunteering program and how people come from all over the world to help out.This trip was both humbling and inspiring. I feel very lucky to have had the opportunity to see where Mother Theresa lived and worked. It was also moving to see ordinary people like the pair from the UK choosing to work in the slums of Calcutta to better the lives of the most needy.
(Trip from Aug 08)
