Welcome to the City of Joy

We are in Calcutta

Our second night, I found a phone booth while Rachel headed for the room. 20 minutes later I enter our hallway to find half of our stuff piled outside the door. I ask what’s going on. “We’re moving.” Why? She deadpans me. “Go Look.” I walk in: every surface is covered in tiny bugs. They cover the bed, rim the sink, clog the toilet, nestle in our luggage. (The bathroom window was left open.) In our new room I arm myself with a book, and take to killing bugs that rode in our bags. We call down for water. Five minutes later a 15 year old boy walks into the middle of our room and sets bottled water on the table, looks around as if he has no intention of leaving, continues to ask if we need anything. Rachel finally pushes him physically from the room.

Today we visited Mother Teresa’s Mother House. We got out of a cab and a little boy ran up to us and pointed down a wide alley, said “Mother House!” We thanked him and walked past several nuns wearing the white, blue-trimmed saris into a stone courtyard. A room off to the side held photographs and gave a chronological explanation of her life. It struck me how ungaurded she looked, even at 18. I think most people try to come across a certain way. She looked pretty okay being where she was. Until I saw that in her face, I didn’t realize what a big thing honesty can be. Overall, reading and seeing what I did (which wasn’t much), she seems to have been very, very human. Which I love.

Walking out, the sound of nuns singing slowly filled the courtyard. I couldn’t tell what direction it was coming from, and the sounds of Alleluia Alleluia Alleluia began echoing against the high stone walls into me. I had a hard time speaking for the next half hour (anyone who knows me can understand the significance of this.)

I didn’t come out with any real head knowledge I can say, but my eyes feel a little wider.
Dealing with street children has been a fun/hard/interesting/heart-wrenching thing. We buy them food, smile at them, hold their hands. It feels very trite, seeing what they deal with. But apart from all the stigma and bigger-picture stuff, they’re just kids, and we are treating them as such.