I looked love right in the eyes. The love of the most vulnerable. The love of the abandoned. The love of the old and the sick. The love of the poor. The love of Jesus.
It was a love I had never experienced before and I wasn’t prepared for it. I knew the journey to Kolkata would be challenging. I wanted to be stretched physically, emotionally and spiritually. My prayer was to be rung out like a wet towel and then soaked again every day while serving God and His people. I knew from reading about other people’s experiences that there would be long days filled with physical labor and many moments of overwhelming emotions. I knew I would be surrounded by the poorest of the poor, in an old and dirty city. I prepared myself to see homelessness and hunger. I expected to see despair and hopelessness, but instead I saw joy and love.
At the home of the dying, Nirmal Hriday (Kalighat), where women and men go to live out their earthly lives, the women I met taught me a lesson in love. Love is a universal language. They did not speak English and I did not speak Hindi, but we clearly understood each other. They appreciated my kindness and patience. I appreciated their wisdom and patience. Together, we made a great team. One woman captured my heart from the first day with her radiant smile and broken teeth. She sat in the corner on her plastic chair near two metal poles that looked like they were meant to be used for sliding trays in a lunch line. She would often pull herself up so that she could walk between them to exercise. Indian names can be hard to pronounce, so we called her “the pole lady.” We never even had a full conversation due to the language barrier. I knew only the words “sundari” meaning “beautiful” in Hindi and “paani” meaning “water”, and she knew the words “water” and “bed pan” in English, but she knew that I loved her and I knew that she loved me. She cried thick endless tears, asking us not to leave, when my mom and I told her it was our last day. It broke my heart. Still now tears will fill my eyes as I remember every detail of her beautiful crying face. I have expectant faith that we will meet again soon.
I was also blessed to be at Kalighat when Shumeta passed away. I had never encountered death face to face. She was the first person we met our first morning working with the ladies at Kalighat. We were thrown into the exciting chaos of helping serve breakfast. I remember my mom and I sitting on each side of this fragile woman, spoon-feeding her. I looked at my mom and recognized this was something so special, something I knew I would never forget. One of our last days, we were right by Shumeta’s side again as she laid without movement on her little cot. My mom and I held her hands and prayed with her during her final hours. One of the Sisters from Motherhouse was there praying her rosary over and over again, knowing that Shumeta’s time of suffering was coming to an end. We prayed the rosary and Divine Mercy Chaplet with her. Several hours later the Sister left to return to Motherhouse. Sitting alone with Shumeta again, just as we had that first day, tears started flowing down my face as every breath became harder for her. I continued to pray over her as thoughts exploded in my head: I had no idea if she even believed in God, she had no idea what I was saying and she had no family by her side, just me and my mom. I loved harder than I ever had that day, and a stranger became my family. It was an experience I will never forget.
There is no easy way to explain the experiences and emotions we felt during our journey to Kolkata, India. I was beyond excited to finally leave the fast-paced North American lifestyle that had been consuming my life. My heart had been longing for mission and the poor. I had some anxieties about being on the other side of the world, immersed in a completely different culture for the first time, but God put many of those anxieties to rest and granted me peace because I had trust in His purpose and His promises.
Arriving in India at three in the morning, nine and a half hours ahead of our time zone was a bit crazy, but man, there is no place like India. I knew that from the second I stepped foot outside the airport, inhaling every scent.
The poverty of Kolkata is never-ending. Having previously been to Paraguay and Haiti, I knew poverty, but India is more than just poverty. As my mom said many times while we were there, "It's poverty on steroids." Street after street is filthy, smelly and overpopulated. It seems as if the city never sleeps. There are people bathing along the sidewalks while piles of trash overflow on every corner. There are shoeless children playing in streets and stray dogs napping in the sun, all under exposed, hanging electricity wires. And there is the constant, and I mean constant, sound of vehicles honking.
We set out to India on our own, without a mission group. We met many amazing people while we were there. Some of the volunteers came solo, while others came as a group from their home churches. Almost all of them were from Europe, mostly Spain. Very few Americans make the trip, but we were blessed to meet four American seminarians that were studying in Rome, who took us under their wings and helped us get around. Brendan, William, Jon and Marvin guided us through the streets and navigated the buses, tuk-tuks and subway trains as if they were from Kolkata. We spent our mornings at Kalighat and our afternoons at Daya Dan with the older girls in the orphanage. Daya Dan was a bright and joyful home, where the girls felt loved and were well taken care of by the Missionaries of Charity (MOC) Sisters. As volunteers at the homes, we were all called “Auntie” and the men called “Uncle”, yet many of the children still called the men “Auntie”. My second day at Daya Dan, I met a beautiful and brilliant girl, Pompa, who suffers from cerebral palsy. She didn’t say much, but communicated with a spelling board attached to her wheel chair. She was always joking and laughing and had a joy like no one I had ever met before. I wish I could have brought her back with me. She captured my heart with her immeasurable love and taught me so much about life’s simple joys.
My mom and I chose to visit the slums on our last Sunday morning in Kolkata. We set out with the American seminarians and one MOC Brother. We encountered lots of beautiful families who were excited to have visitors. We stopped at one of the slums along the railroad and a man who lived there with his family told us, "We have ten children and we are poor, but we are happy." And they were happy. His children all stood shyly right by him, but with big smiles hugging one another. All the houses in that slum were like parking spots, except half the size. A concrete spot for a family of five to twelve, with a tarp as their roof, held up by sticks. They were so excited to show us their homes. No beds, no pillows, no blankets. Clothes hung over lines from stick to stick with all their pots and pans piled in the corner of their floor of concrete. Every slum was different. Some had walls and doors, but no bathrooms. Some had community bathrooms, but no floors and never any lights. The people loved being photographed even though they would never see the photo again and they loved touching my skin. We laughed and we loved and we taught them how to wave.
I am awestruck when I think back to the Missionaries of Charity. Wow. They are super-human. I stared at them every day during mass and Adoration. The Adorations were some of the hardest Adorations of my life. To focus in and hear God speak, with your mind going a hundred miles per hour about the experiences you’ve had that day and your exhausted body craving rest, is even harder than you would think. So, most days, I would just stare at the Sisters all Adoration long. Their sacrifice is enormous. Their routine is arduous and monotonous, yet they do it with love and joy each day. They embody humility, perseverance and patience. They live out Christ’s message by taking care of the sick, abandoned, destitute and dying. I pray for each one of them, especially Sister Evangelista who touched my heart in such a deep way. She was one of the head Sisters who lived at Kalighat. My mom and I gravitated towards her and she took us under her wing during the morning shifts. The Sisters love the volunteers and you can feel it, but they don’t get too close because they have a mission to help these people who are suffering—the unloved and the poorest of the poor. It’s hard to explain, but it is not meant to be a bad thing. There is so much to do and not much time to just sit with and get to know each Sister. For us, Sister Evangelista was special. We often worked through our breaks and chatted with Sister Evangelista. She got to know us and us her. We talked about our journeys, the faith and much more. She was so humble. My mom and I both cried the day we hugged her goodbye as she had forever changed both of our lives. She is now our friend, our inspiration. You can feel that Mother Teresa still lives on in her Sisters today and we most definitely got to experience that through Sister Evangelista.
I must admit that the first few days were overwhelming and we questioned our decision to come to India. Did we do the right thing? Is this what God wanted for us? Time put our minds at ease as we quickly learned the routine and worked hard to be a blessing and not a burden. My favorite part of India was definitely the people. The locals were curious about us and always willing to talk or take pictures, while the Sisters patiently taught us how to get the job done quickly and efficiently. The elderly and the orphans taught us to love. They may lack basic necessities and modern medicines, but they most definitely do not lack love.
When people ask me what was the hardest part, I quickly answer, “leaving.” I was not prepared to leave. I desperately wanted to stay longer. These ladies became my friends and I didn’t want to say goodbye, except to the masis (if you have been to India, you will understand what I am talking about- haha.) I said my goodbyes to my new friends, the Sisters, the patients, and the other volunteers before stopping by Saint Mother Teresa’s tomb one last time. Her tomb was always beautifully decorated every day with fresh flowers on top of it. She was truly an amazing woman. She sacrificed her life to help the poor. She left her own family to provide for God’s family. She did not give up. She persevered, even through years of desolation. Her faith and humility are admirable and I hope that I can be half as bold as she was during her lifetime.
I hope to go back to Kolkata, India next summer to reunite with my friends in the MOC homes, the Sisters and volunteers I met from around the world that will be back as well. There is so much I could put in this blog, but I think it is long enough and the rest will remain in my heart forever. The world has great needs and Jesus encourages us to give of our time and talents. Kolkata is a beautiful and incredible place. It has captivated my heart and maybe it will one day captivate yours, so to you I say- come and see.
