No One Puts Baby In A Corner

Baby is a woman about 35 years old that I see and work with daily at Shanti Dan, a home for mentally and physically handicapped women. She is active, an emotional whirlwind, and has an unstoppable sense of humor. She communicates well with hand signals and faces, frequently gesturing that she would gladly accept a neck massage. She is sensitive and very aware of her surroundings. Baby is both mentally and physically handicapped and can walk with a walker, but it's easier for her to pull herself along on the floor with one of her legs and both hands. Every day that I work in the physical therapy room in Shanti Dan, I find myself eagerly sneaking glances at the door for the moment that Baby will appear. 

She almost always makes her entrance long before it's her turn on the mat to stretch her muscles and do her exercises. She crawls into the room and immediately starts instigating. We are told to never take her seriously, for she only jokes about wanting to hit you.  The other residents are launched into fits of giggles at her antics and bouts of fake fighting with myself and the physical therapists. Even the mossis (nurses) tease her and let out a tender smile at her unfailing sass. Baby has the presence of a queen and is treated as such. One day, the men even lifted her up and placed her on a shelf about as tall as my chin, insisting that she sit up higher than everyone else in a throne-like position. Protesting ensues from Baby and always makes her trademark "I will hit you" motion. 

For a few days, she didn't appear at the door no matter how many glances I stole. I asked the physical therapists and they said she was sick. As Baby's presence dictates the tone of my day, I was really disappointed when she didn't show up. I work in the physical therapist room until noon, and then find other odd jobs to do before we walk back to catch our bus at 12:30. At noon, and still no sign of baby, I walked out disappointed. I look up and to my surprise, Baby comes shuffling towards me with her walker. I wave a big hello and sit down to talk with her. After explaining she has a stomach ache, she starts to dig her nails into my arm, but not out of teasing or an attempt to play fight. Finally the light clicks on, she wants her fingernails cut. She points me in the right direction to find the mossi with access to the clippers and once her hand was in mine, Baby and I sat quietly together side by side on the short cement barrier. I had tuned out the rest of the people moving around me to complete this important and intimate task. 

After the task was completed to the satisfaction of the queen, she released a beaming smile, pressed her hands together palm to palm and bowed her head in traditional Indian fashion meaning Namaskaar: the light in me recognizes the light in you. I returned the gesture graciously and as I lifted my head, the physical therapists walked out to head home for the day. All four men said her name loudly and gave her a hard time for not coming to therapy. She g                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         ave them her trademark hand and strode off with her walker for lunch. I was left by myself, stunned at how much this woman made me feel needed.

Peacefully,

Emily Sanderson

Farewell for now, Kolkata

A Buddhist would tell you that if you are capable of good and deep meditation, and that if you are truly able to quiet the mind, nothing can enter your mind unless you let it.

I am not good at quieting the mind. Negative thoughts enter all the time with their bullying voices, judging chants, and hopeless visions. Kolkata is a challenge for even the most devoted Buddhist. Blaring horns, incessant black crows, the screeching of the tin can tram, market hasslers, frivolous construction, the sound of the breaks on the ancient city busses, the constant movement of millions of people everyday- all bruit that constantly enters the mind.  

I can't wait for the day when I can quiet the mind. Only then will I be able to truly live the life I imagine. In service to others. A disciple of Christ. A channel of peace. 

I often think about why I come to Kolkata, why I walk the difficult path that Mother Teresa forged. You can't come to India with the belief that you will change India. You won't. You are, however, capable of being a drop in the bucket, a ripple in the ocean, and, if you are really fortunate, a wave that will bring change. 

It is an honor to live simply, even for just three short weeks, and it is a gift to work for the poor. I need the girls at Shanti Dan far more than they will ever need me. Kolkata will mean more to me than I will ever mean to Kolkata. That is how it is supposed to be. One does not serve for recognition or praise. One serves to find peace- peace in the world, peace in each other, and, perhaps most importantly, peace in ourselves. 

As I depart India today, I am overwhelmed with many emotions. I am sad to leave the group I have grown so close to. It has been my honor to be the student leader of such a remarkable group of individuals, who have chosen to begin their summer vacation serving the poorest of the poor. I am sad to leave the place where I feel the closest to my best self that I have ever been; the closest I have ever been to eliminating the negative thoughts. 

I am, however, eager to begin this next chapter of my life, obtaining my Doctorate as a Nurse Practitioner from Columbia University. I will be receiving an education and pursuing a career that will allow me to travel to the darkest corners of our world and try to bring light. It will also allow me to be exposed to more amazing individuals like the ones of our group. Perhaps, one day, it will even bring me back to Kolkata with some of these amazing individuals.

I am deeply grateful for all who have supported our journey, both now and long after we return. I will continue to pray and work for peace and I hope you will do the same. 

Namaskaar, 

Mary

Student Leader 2015

Belonging

"If there is no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other". -Mother Teresa 

A sense of belonging is one of the hardest feelings to establish and be at peace with. Where do we belong? Who do we belong to? Especially in our 20s a sense of belonging is ambiguous. People are constantly coming into and leaving our lives. We transition between school and our parents' houses. We don't know what the future holds or where we will "settle down". So how do we belong? 

So far in this journey, I have spent time wondering where I belong. I have settled into my work and am enjoying my time at Daya Dan but because of language barriers, cultural differences, and a relative lack of knowledge compared to the Mashis who run the homes, I still feel at times that I don't belong. 

Everyday at 10:30, we break for tea and crackers. This is our chance to talk with the other volunteers at Daya Dan. We talk about why we are here, what we have been doing, our struggles, our triumphs, our feelings. We talk about Mother Teresa. We talk about God. We are all so different, but we all belong. We are like a patchwork blanket. Individually we are each a little square and we are relatively insignificant, but we are all connected through threads of love, faith, and a sense of duty. This allows us to find peace within one another and create that mysterious sense of belonging. This allows us to bring in new volunteers and incorporate them in a way where they can be their own beautiful selves, while adding the the  overall beauty of our blanket. When somebody leaves, our blanket does not fall apart, it just changes in appearance a bit. 

Because we can draw strength from one another, we can start to belong to Daya Dan. We can start to belong to Mother Teresa's mission. We can start to belong to Kolkata. I am so thankful for the love and support that the other volunteers have offered me so far. They have allowed me to find peace and belonging. Without it, I would be one simple little square of cloth floating down the littered streets of Kolkata. 

-Bri Jones, '17

Reflection from Christine

She extended her arm to Stranger and pulled Stranger's hand close, squeezing and welcoming. With her other arm, She gestured to the stool to the right of Her wheelchair and Stranger sat. Eye contact stronger than the foundation below their feet.

Stranger sweat. "Hello, shundor."

She smiled.

So Stranger continued. "How are you today? Are you well?"

She stared mouth open and body still.

"I am well. I saw you in the corner. I saw you, and I came here to say hello to you!``

Stranger's hand was held tighter by Her's. She gently lifted Her free hand to Stranger's face. A brisk slap. Stranger giggled out of shock, not angry. Just observing. Stranger took the hand that slapped her and guided it back to her own face softly, keeping eye contact with Her. And She listened. And she listened.

This time, Stranger raised her arm, waiting for Her response. She met Stranger's hand in the air and their energies intertwined. Her mouth widened with a smile that spoke friendship. She laughed and Stranger mirrored Her.

Together,

Christine Bean Peloquin

Update from Sunny

To be able to be in this place again with eyes that have not seen the poverty, bodies that have not felt the heat and minds that haven't yet known how to ask the "big questions" about the world as it relates to India is refreshing, and exhausting. We have been on this journey together for only a week but so much has happened that it feels like longer. Our days are full - Missionaries of Charity work almost every morning, and eating, resting, touring, visiting other organizations and market hopping in the afternoons. We rest on flat beds and wake early, looking forward to our bread and jam at the morning breakfast at the Mission. 

Our group gets along well and enjoys each others company. Some of my favorite  moments aside from our service is when we are able to be in each others company laughing and sharing. This group knows and lives out real joy - they're able to effectively use humor to uplift and it has significantly buoyed all of us to burst out in the  most medicinal of laughter, especially after sometimes challenging service work. The group is also beautifully thoughtful. We have examined deeply many of the issues surrounding the structure of poverty we witness daily, and I'm proud to gain even more questions than I have answered after some of our very smart and compassionate discussions and reflections. 

We are healthy. We are drinking lots of water and electrolytes. We are eating rice, fruits, and sometimes pizza from Blue Sky Cafe. We wash our feet and take care of our blisters. We look both ways many times before crossing the street. We are safe where we stay and we are dutifully and lovingly taking care of each other. Most of all, we are happy here, and we already only have two weeks left. 

With thoughts and love for you all holding us close while at home, 

Shanti, 

Sunny

The Importance of Being an Auntie

 

Namaskaar friends and family of this Kolkata journey, 

   It has been an interesting first week in Kolkata. Upon arriving, I was instantly reminded about how much I missed everything- the spice and flower smells, the beautifully colored saris that wash over the streets, the bejeweled Indian newborns (symbols of how precious they are and a black dot in between the eyes to ward off evil spirits) and yes, to a certain extent, even the sweltering heat. I missed the Chai tea and biscuits twice a day, Blue Sky Cafe, and India's Lays Magic Masala. I missed doing service work with members of the Saint Mike's community. However, I was also reminded of the things I didn't miss- the fact that there are, at all times, at least 75% more men on the streets than women, the meat market smell that lingers until after every part, including intestines, liver, heart, and brain are sold, the abject poverty, and the guilt I feel of being a privileged white, blond hair, blue-eyed educated female. 
   It was not until I returned to Mother House and was placed in Shanti Dan, the Mother Teresa home for disabled young girls and older women that I remembered why I love this place so much, this chaotic and confusing place. To a special needs resident at Shanti Dan, you are not white nor black, brown, or blue. You are not tall, small, skinny or fat. You are simply "Auntie," a volunteer who is here to do whatever they need. You follow commands such as, "Auntie, Auntie! Laundry, laundry!," or "Auntie, Auntie! Feed, feed!" or "Auntie, Auntie! Bring to bed now." 
   That last one is my personal favorite. I wheel the girls to their respective beds. I put the bedside bar down, and, usually with the help of another volunteer, lift the girls into their beds. I love it because it is something my mother would do for me. She would lift me in my bed and put me down for a nap. She would kiss me and sing to me and I would sleep knowing she would be there when I woke up. However, for the girls of Shanti Dan, the ever changing Aunties are their mothers. They work alongside their other mothers, such as the Mashis (Indian women who are hired by the Sisters to work in the home) and they all work under the real mothers, the Sisters of Charity, who work 24/7, 365 to care for these women.
   I am looking forward to this week, getting to know the residents of Shanti Dan, learning their names, likes and dislikes, and, even, doing their laundry. It is an honor to be one of their many aunties, no matter the length of time I spend with them. 

Be well, 

Mary 
   

The Importance of Being an Auntie

 

Namaskaar friends and family of this Kolkata journey, 

   It has been an interesting first week in Kolkata. Upon arriving, I was instantly reminded about how much I missed everything- the spice and flower smells, the beautifully colored saris that wash over the streets, the bejeweled Indian newborns (symbols of how precious they are and a black dot in between the eyes to ward off evil spirits) and yes, to a certain extent, even the sweltering heat. I missed the Chai tea and biscuits twice a day, Blue Sky Cafe, and India's Lays Magic Masala. I missed doing service work with members of the Saint Mike's community. However, I was also reminded of the things I didn't miss- the fact that there are, at all times, at least 75% more men on the streets than women, the meat market smell that lingers until after every part, including intestines, liver, heart, and brain are sold, the abject poverty, and the guilt I feel of being a privileged white, blond hair, blue-eyed educated female. 
   It was not until I returned to Mother House and was placed in Shanti Dan, the Mother Teresa home for disabled young girls and older women that I remembered why I love this place so much, this chaotic and confusing place. To a special needs resident at Shanti Dan, you are not white nor black, brown, or blue. You are not tall, small, skinny or fat. You are simply "Auntie," a volunteer who is here to do whatever they need. You follow commands such as, "Auntie, Auntie! Laundry, laundry!," or "Auntie, Auntie! Feed, feed!" or "Auntie, Auntie! Bring to bed now." 
   That last one is my personal favorite. I wheel the girls to their respective beds. I put the bedside bar down, and, usually with the help of another volunteer, lift the girls into their beds. I love it because it is something my mother would do for me. She would lift me in my bed and put me down for a nap. She would kiss me and sing to me and I would sleep knowing she would be there when I woke up. However, for the girls of Shanti Dan, the ever changing Aunties are their mothers. They work alongside their other mothers, such as the Mashis (Indian women who are hired by the Sisters to work in the home) and they all work under the real mothers, the Sisters of Charity, who work 24/7, 365 to care for these women.
   I am looking forward to this week, getting to know the residents of Shanti Dan, learning their names, likes and dislikes, and, even, doing their laundry. It is an honor to be one of their many aunties, no matter the length of time I spend with them. 

Be well, 

Mary