We were so grateful for a great trip with no problems at all: schedules, visas, customs or anything--we even found western toilets in Dubai. Our only question mark moment, was why the exit signs showed a person running?! Once Brent had haggled with the taxi drivers who fought to get our business, the long, slow drive from the airport was everything we expected (yet we didn't scream). We couldn't look right or left quickly enough to take it all in, except when the traffic backed up and all the cars and buses turned their motors off. Schools had dismissed early for another religious holiday, so we scooped up the girls, then chugged off in our big yellow taxi with the two little pixies on our laps.
Melinda would arrive to meet us later. At the Snader's flat, we couldn't believe that we still hadn't cratered. We loved looking at all the little touches that made their apartment so dear, and as we peeked out of every door and window and balcony, we could see and hear (and smell) the funeral feast cooking in the courtyard over an open fire--and also viewed the laundry of every last neighbor! We had heard how unbearably hot Kolkata can be, but this was wintertime, so it felt great compared to Nashville's January--what lucky timing!
We laughed and cried and hugged when Melinda finally came in the door, realizing that a home is a home is a home wherever old friends are reunited. After a little nap, we started to unpack and organize a little. The only thing MIA was one of the three flat-rate boxes I mailed six weeks earlier. When we unpacked the other two, we were glad to find the inflatable body roller for the children's retreat, but the box with children's bibles and storybooks hadn't arrived (they had not been confiscated as we suspected and arrived couple of weeks after we returned to the States). After an evening walk through the neighborhood to a quaint hotel restaurant, we went to bed early and slept in late . . . surprisingly, we felt wonderful with virtually no jet lag.
Melinda would arrive to meet us later. At the Snader's flat, we couldn't believe that we still hadn't cratered. We loved looking at all the little touches that made their apartment so dear, and as we peeked out of every door and window and balcony, we could see and hear (and smell) the funeral feast cooking in the courtyard over an open fire--and also viewed the laundry of every last neighbor! We had heard how unbearably hot Kolkata can be, but this was wintertime, so it felt great compared to Nashville's January--what lucky timing!
We laughed and cried and hugged when Melinda finally came in the door, realizing that a home is a home is a home wherever old friends are reunited. After a little nap, we started to unpack and organize a little. The only thing MIA was one of the three flat-rate boxes I mailed six weeks earlier. When we unpacked the other two, we were glad to find the inflatable body roller for the children's retreat, but the box with children's bibles and storybooks hadn't arrived (they had not been confiscated as we suspected and arrived couple of weeks after we returned to the States). After an evening walk through the neighborhood to a quaint hotel restaurant, we went to bed early and slept in late . . . surprisingly, we felt wonderful with virtually no jet lag.
20 January 2010. The second morning, we celebrated Brent and Melinda's 9th anniversary (precious to me, since I was a bridesmaid in their wedding). Brent made delicious crepe-like pancakes and we decorated them with western delicacies that had been Christmas presents--M and M and Nutella eyes, noses and mouths. Later, we took a taxi to the "nice" side of town, to shop at a beautiful mall decorated like Christmas for its 2nd anniversary. We had to pass through a metal detector and check our bags to get in (all shop owners have the right to decide who's good enough to shop in their stores). Of course, big white westerners are always welcome. Everyone in town was dressed in their very best for the religious holiday (puja) . . . this one was not as scary as some, honoring only the goddess of education. Like Christmas trees, there were whole lots filled with the goddess' image in paper mache`.
Within the mall, we went grocery shopping at a very upscale place with labels in many languages, but few in English. It was so much fun to see all the interesting things they sell in their version of a Walmart.
We bought some supplies and snacks for our Chennai trip, then met the Nepal team for lunch at a Domino's Pizza. They had traveled about 35 hours by train and bus to fly with us to Chennai for the retreat. This was the first time we were introduced to the Nepali, North American and Bengali staffers. U* immediately won me over (*names protected).
"Hello! Your heart is so sweet to come to us!" he beamed.
We also met one of the girls who would be in our children's group, adorable, but painfully shy. After we ate our pizza and Coke, I started cleaning up the box and napkins, like I would at any fast food place, but one of the helpers who had been hovering nearby stopped me as if it was shocking that I would clean my own table.
We bought some supplies and snacks for our Chennai trip, then met the Nepal team for lunch at a Domino's Pizza. They had traveled about 35 hours by train and bus to fly with us to Chennai for the retreat. This was the first time we were introduced to the Nepali, North American and Bengali staffers. U* immediately won me over (*names protected).
"Hello! Your heart is so sweet to come to us!" he beamed.
We also met one of the girls who would be in our children's group, adorable, but painfully shy. After we ate our pizza and Coke, I started cleaning up the box and napkins, like I would at any fast food place, but one of the helpers who had been hovering nearby stopped me as if it was shocking that I would clean my own table.
Then it happened for the first of many times. As we left the restaurant, we were followed and tugged on by women holding babies and young children in rags, who knew enough English to cry out "Food, money, please madam"! We were told that most of these poor souls were actually controlled by "handlers", who send out random women with a fake baby and child. . . but they get little if any of the money given. It was very difficult to follow our instructions to firmly answer "Namaskar, donebah" (Hello, I will not give). Only the first disturbing revelation of many about the real Kolkata.
After lunch we took a cab to the Mother House, where our friends' mail is delivered. The Mother House is the convent where Mother Teresa once lived. We got to tour it, even the tiny room where she slept from 1953 until her death in 1997 . . . her TOMB was placed in a sunny room with benches and people come there to sit and meditate and pray. On top of the stone area above her resting place, dried marigold petals spell out "Our ideal is Jesus alone. The rest is bordered by fresh red rose petals. Standing by her tomb, we sensed that we were in a special place . . . all of the rush and poverty outside was subdued by the peaceful hush of respectful Christian, Muslim and Hindu visitors.
The Sisters of Charity, in distinctive blue and white habits, still live and work and worship there. Volunteers from all over the world meet there every morning except Thursdays, to receive their piece of bread and a banana before dispersing all over the city to volunteer at hospitals for the dying, lepers colonies or homes for the disabled. Some days they actually turn away volunteers because so many people pilgrimage to work there. Unfortunately, our schedule didn't allow us to join in that week.
A group of Asian high school students from another part of India were touring the Mother House when Melinda and the girls and I were resting on a courtyard bench and Lynn Marie was browsing through a museum room with Mother Teresa's writings and tools.
"Photo with you please?" the kids smiled.
Guess we were a spectacle they wanted to show their friends back home . . . but wait, they didn't want Melinda and her Indian and Chinese daughters in the frame . . . only the older white lady.
A group of Asian high school students from another part of India were touring the Mother House when Melinda and the girls and I were resting on a courtyard bench and Lynn Marie was browsing through a museum room with Mother Teresa's writings and tools.
"Photo with you please?" the kids smiled.
Guess we were a spectacle they wanted to show their friends back home . . . but wait, they didn't want Melinda and her Indian and Chinese daughters in the frame . . . only the older white lady.
That afternoon, we started packing (well re-packing) for our week in Chennai. Once again, we had bag and weight limits for the flight, so we had to figure out how to get all our retreat supplies and four days of clothing into one big bag each. K*, the mother of a Bengali staffer, came over to cook a wonderful meal of chicken, vegetables, rice and dahl (thick broth). She was so tiny and cute, and it was fun to watch her chopping vegetables on the kitchen floor with a miniature machete, then balancing on an orange "bucket" to reach the stove. She insisted that we take a break from our packing to enjoy some Chai and biscuits with her. The dinner was lovely . . . even eaten with our hands, Indian style.
Most educational of all was our first bath, a unique cultural experience. The bathroom floor is cement with a faucet set low on the wall. A big silver bucket sat under it. First you fill the bucket with water, then place a special heating coil down in it for about ten minutes (counter-intuitive, huh). Now that's really hot water! I want one for my home. Nearby are two 5-gallon plastic buckets you might use in a garden, a little step stool and two large plastic measuring cups for however you want to get clean . . .
I wish we had a demo of how you pour the hot water into one bucket, then refill the silver bucket part way with cold water to make it just the right temperature. Then you stand in the other blue bucket and use the cups and a washcloth to pour water over yourself . . . or sit on the little stool and put your feet in the warm water to wash the lower part of your body. I laughed at myself when I thought about how much I'd like to soak in that warm bucket of water, but it would have been embarrassing to get stuck and have to have someone come pull me out.
When I was done, I had to empty the buckets of soapy water in the corner of the room with a drain for the water; then "squeegie" the floor so the next person wouldn't kill themselves when they used the toilet (western style thankfully) or brushed their teeth (only with bottled water). It was exhausting! Some nights we just heated a little water if a sponge bath would do.
I wish we had a demo of how you pour the hot water into one bucket, then refill the silver bucket part way with cold water to make it just the right temperature. Then you stand in the other blue bucket and use the cups and a washcloth to pour water over yourself . . . or sit on the little stool and put your feet in the warm water to wash the lower part of your body. I laughed at myself when I thought about how much I'd like to soak in that warm bucket of water, but it would have been embarrassing to get stuck and have to have someone come pull me out.
When I was done, I had to empty the buckets of soapy water in the corner of the room with a drain for the water; then "squeegie" the floor so the next person wouldn't kill themselves when they used the toilet (western style thankfully) or brushed their teeth (only with bottled water). It was exhausting! Some nights we just heated a little water if a sponge bath would do.
As we dropped into bed before our 4:45 departure for the airport, I couldn't believe all that we had packed into our first two days. My first impressions were full of paradox. Looking back, our pictures make it look like our friends live on a quaint quiet street from a different era; but they don't fully capture what is going on inside the courtyard gates and outside on the street. What happens every day in one square block square of their building is wonderful, disgusting and shocking all at once . . . That will be the subject of another post. First, some tales from our visit to the fourth largest city in India (Chennai in the south).
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