Day 78, Oct. 27
I got up early (actually I have arisen before 6 am every day on this trip) anticipating the thrill of an actual safari. However, I was sure it could not surpass yesterday’s elephant encounter. The jeep driver arrived on time and we were off to the forest. Once there, we had to sign in, show poof of ownership and insurance to the officer as well as driver’s license, pay a fee, and employ a registered guide. We must have looked like a scene out of a real jungle movie. I now knew that some of the animals were not friendly in this forest and respected the environment I was in.
Right off the bat, we spotted to herds of elephants and some single males. Then, we saw a variety of game and tapirs, boars, peacocks (the national bird) and deer. We searched for tigers which were there. The closest we got was to see a fresh track in mud on the side of the road. That was it for the next two hours. Yet, every moment of careful searching while driving on a rocky, muddy track in an exotic forest was breathtaking and worth doing again. (How about Africa, anyone?) I enjoyed the experience thoroughly.
We returned for breakfast. It was superb - the best of my trip. We talked more about local culture, received a tour of the estate, and prepared to leave paradise. Our hostess refused to accept payment. We were like family.
It didn’t take long for us to make our first stop. We pulled into the parking lot of a Hindu Temple only to go to a park entrance and pay to walk to Irpu Falls. We climbed bit and soon heard water. The trail did not go to the bottom or top of the falls/cascades but to the middle where children and adults indulged themselves in rock climbing/bathing. The feeling was enlivening to feel cool even in hot weather. In fact, the ancient Hindu understanding of the place had to do with the presence of the living God. There is a mystic presence there. But my thoughts hearkened back to two previous trips which ended on a similar note. In Thailand, I visited and bathed in a waterfall. So too, while in Colombia, the whole group there for Fr. Miguel’s ordination wee taken to a thermal waterfall where I had a special trip and experience which included a dip under the falls.
When we approached another ‘Home Stay,’ Father recognized the name and decided to stop there to see if they remembered him. Of course they did. We had coffee with them and they reminisced. On leaving we discovered we had a flat. They hustled some men over to change the tire. Good thing. Father did not have the proper tools to make the change. They, fortunately did. Then we left for the town to fix the flat. The garage was across the street from a shop owned by the family we just visited. The brother was running it at the time. Father visited while the job was done. To fix and change the tire was 30 rupees (60 cents). Next to the garage was what looked like a nice liquor store. On closer view they sold their product by the glass and the small place was crowded with drunks. That was the second time I saw the problem up front and personal. Indian men have a propensity for alcoholism. We spent the next several kilometers of our tip discussing the reasons for this.
Father Anthappa is certainly a man who needs company. He had made plans (only revealed to me only during this leg of our trip) for us to have lunch at the rectory of a priest friend. We were already two hours late and I had to get back to Bangalore. Nevertheless, we arrived at this ramshackle church and rectory. It was rough. But the food was very tasty. I ate a whole lot more than I planned or thought I could consume. In the process I abandoned my expressed but ignored plan to take him out to a good dinner before hopping on a bus for Bangalore.
Unfortunately, the time did not allow even stopping for a drink. It was past six and the trip takes three hours to the city and two more (in rush hour) to St. Anthony’s. With that in mind, I was rushed to the bus station where, on the run, and got on an express to Bangalore which Father had hailed down as it was leaving. We said our good-byes by cell phone.
I also had to inform the people in Bangalore of the situation. They appreciated it; but told me they could not meet me at the station. I told them I could handle the problem. I already made the trip accompanied. I could do it now alone. Accordingly, I left my intercity express at one station. Determined the location of the city’s central bus station across that same thoroughfare I negotiated two days ago (doing ole`s with a herd of buses). At the station the hardest thing was to find the unnamed platform of bus 318. Each of the score of uniformed transit workers I asked gave me a different direction. I narrowed it down, asked a passenger, and found out he was waiting for the same bus. He cautioned me to be patient and smiled. It seemed thousands of buses passed by. After a total of about 30 minutes our bus came. It had no markings. Without that man, I’d still be there. I got on and within seconds a crowd of sixty or so follow me on until the whole bus is filled beyond crowded. It was like NY. The girl who sat next to me in the front of the bus (where I hoped to figure out where to get off or to ask the driver) was reading book in English. I struck up a conversation hoping he s getting off after me. She wasn’t. But it was good as it helped the time go by faster and let me endure of the pain of having both my big toes stepped on simultaneously by students. The riders were even more inconsiderate of others than the drivers are. Indians have the bad characteristic of not being aware of others. In some cases that helps. There is a selective blindness to people of other castes, religions, socio-economic status and many other divisions (such as where you are going in traffic).
Well, I got to my stop. Actually, the crowd had filtered out to the point where I could ask when my stop a coming up. Three people immediately told me this was it and I better get out before the doors close. In my one second scan from inside the bus this did not look like the place. One glance from the outside convinced me they were right. An auto-taxi was right there. Although he charged an outrageous price for the short trip, I took the deal and arrived at St. Anthony’ shortly before midnight.
No one was up to greet me until I put on the light to my room and probably made some noise by dropping my bag. One after another I was scolded o not calling them up or answering my phone to their calls. They were worried if I had gotten lost.
And so ended my last day in India before packing day and departure
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Day 77, Oct. 26
This morning started with Mass. There were six sisters from the school and two lay women. It went well; but the nice conversation after Mass ended with us accepting an invitation for coffee at the convent after we ate the breakfast the rectory housekeeper was making. All was congenial and tasty; but the time for my dream trip was ticking away.
Then we learned the place we were planning to stay the night had become unavailable. We said a little prayer, Father called a young lady we both met at the lunch we had after he picked me up t the Ashram. He had to leave a message for her to call us.
Little did I know my host, who loves his native Mysore, just had to take me to at least two of the town’s attractions. We went to the bird sanctuary and Brindavan Gardens which rival the best in Europe. Both were very quieting to the soul and a good (if time consuming) way to prepare to go into the forest. Somewhere in the middle of these side trips the lady called and was happy to be our hostess at her “home stay” (the Indian version of B&B). We were set and on our way.
We crossed though seal country towns making our way though several animal herds until no getting close to 4 o’clock we reached the boundary of the National Park. It felt like it. The thick teak forest (it was too dry to be a jungle but the ambiance was just the same to me.) We had to sign in twice at guard posts and give our destination. I uses they lose people there. That idea merely added to my excitement.
The big question was, ‘would we find any wild animals?’ That question was answered two minutes past the second gate. A single male elephant appeared at the side of the road. I excitedly got my camera out and took some pictures. It was done. The trip was a success! That is until a few minutes later e come across a small family of elephants. I got out and was getting my camera ready when the male (a giant of a creature) started roaring at me and got up on his hind legs and made a move tht my companion considered to be the start of a charge at his car. He yelled for me to get in as he got the engine running. I hesitated a long nanosecond regretting the loss of this outstanding picture. I fumbled with the camera on the hood of the car and jumped in. I cared for his car and our lives more than that shot. I’ll think about that for a long time to come. Already it is a good memory.
Soon afterward a more tame family came into close view and I took my photos as a consolation prize. Then we went of to the house. It was in the park. (Like England, National Parks here include in their boundaries some private land including entire towns. This home had a 50 acre coffee plantation. It was a splendid home and immaculately clean. Guest rooms were above the rear stairway. We were close but pleasantly isolated. Actually, we were treated a personal guests and not as customers. That meant lots o conversation about the past and common friends. Fr. Anthappa was her principal in school. They reminisced though the delightful dinner which was in the local cuisine, and through the night. They only paused to make arrangements for a safari early the next morning.
This morning started with Mass. There were six sisters from the school and two lay women. It went well; but the nice conversation after Mass ended with us accepting an invitation for coffee at the convent after we ate the breakfast the rectory housekeeper was making. All was congenial and tasty; but the time for my dream trip was ticking away.
Then we learned the place we were planning to stay the night had become unavailable. We said a little prayer, Father called a young lady we both met at the lunch we had after he picked me up t the Ashram. He had to leave a message for her to call us.
Little did I know my host, who loves his native Mysore, just had to take me to at least two of the town’s attractions. We went to the bird sanctuary and Brindavan Gardens which rival the best in Europe. Both were very quieting to the soul and a good (if time consuming) way to prepare to go into the forest. Somewhere in the middle of these side trips the lady called and was happy to be our hostess at her “home stay” (the Indian version of B&B). We were set and on our way.
We crossed though seal country towns making our way though several animal herds until no getting close to 4 o’clock we reached the boundary of the National Park. It felt like it. The thick teak forest (it was too dry to be a jungle but the ambiance was just the same to me.) We had to sign in twice at guard posts and give our destination. I uses they lose people there. That idea merely added to my excitement.
The big question was, ‘would we find any wild animals?’ That question was answered two minutes past the second gate. A single male elephant appeared at the side of the road. I excitedly got my camera out and took some pictures. It was done. The trip was a success! That is until a few minutes later e come across a small family of elephants. I got out and was getting my camera ready when the male (a giant of a creature) started roaring at me and got up on his hind legs and made a move tht my companion considered to be the start of a charge at his car. He yelled for me to get in as he got the engine running. I hesitated a long nanosecond regretting the loss of this outstanding picture. I fumbled with the camera on the hood of the car and jumped in. I cared for his car and our lives more than that shot. I’ll think about that for a long time to come. Already it is a good memory.
Soon afterward a more tame family came into close view and I took my photos as a consolation prize. Then we went of to the house. It was in the park. (Like England, National Parks here include in their boundaries some private land including entire towns. This home had a 50 acre coffee plantation. It was a splendid home and immaculately clean. Guest rooms were above the rear stairway. We were close but pleasantly isolated. Actually, we were treated a personal guests and not as customers. That meant lots o conversation about the past and common friends. Fr. Anthappa was her principal in school. They reminisced though the delightful dinner which was in the local cuisine, and through the night. They only paused to make arrangements for a safari early the next morning.
Day 76, Oct. 25
Today I begin the last phase of my journey to India. All the goals I had set for the trip ha more or less been accomplished. I still had to analyze it all and put it all together in my mind so I could make some difficult decisions. In the very near future, I also had to work for those priests and seminarians who wanted to work in the United States. I will be contacting bishops in that regard. But now, I had a few last days to relax.
I did a lot and have loads of memories and experiences. Yet, among the few places I failed to visit was a jungle. I wanted to see some wild animals. That opportunity came in the person of Fr. Anthappa who is the priest I met on my second day in county. He took me to and from Anjeli Ashram in Mysore. I reconnected with him and planned a trip.
Sunday morning began with Mass at 8:30. It is the most crowded Mass of the day. It was in Kannada (the State language of Karnataka). Fr. Mariappa told me I was to preach. I spoke in English and he translated. It went very well. I was supposed to say the evening Mass in English but negotiations were been held telephonically about the trip to see wild elephants. Fr. Anthappa wanted me at his rectory Sunday night and that made sense. That’s what we decided that morning. These conversations had been further complicated by the suggestion (agreed to by the V.G. of the archdiocese) the night before that I visit the archbishop on Monday morning. That was scrapped at the last minute when we looked t his schedule and learned he was on retreat that week. So the rest of the morning would be spent catching up on my blogs (you could have figured that out when you saw I combined days) going down to the Bloggers’ Spot (which is the only connection to the internet available to the public here), and pack.
Now the problem was getting from the church to the bus station. Our pastor does not drive (a good choice with all the craziness that takes place on the streets here. He does have a car. Today being Sunday, his driver was off. But there were some young men working on the last details of the church building who volunteered to take me in the pastor’s car. He foolishly allowed it and, even more foolishly, put my bag in the back nod we left. The mad hatter’s wild ride with Alice was sane compared to a 20-something male driving on Bangalore streets. The CD was blaring on full mps (would you believe) music or Mass. The engine’s RPM’s were at the red line and the near misses were reaching the triple digit level. But, we reached the station and found nowhere to park. No problem or these guys. They found a dead end alley off a side street, park at a construction site and asked the workers to mind the car. We dashed across about ten lanes of two way criss-crossing traffic hopping median fences to get to the station where they found a bus pulling out. The conductor was still hawking for more customers. I became one of them. In two hours I arrived at Maddur, a town on the route to Mysore nearest Fr. Anthappa’s rectory. He arrived five minutes later and we were off to spend the night there before departing for adventure the next morning.
Today I begin the last phase of my journey to India. All the goals I had set for the trip ha more or less been accomplished. I still had to analyze it all and put it all together in my mind so I could make some difficult decisions. In the very near future, I also had to work for those priests and seminarians who wanted to work in the United States. I will be contacting bishops in that regard. But now, I had a few last days to relax.
I did a lot and have loads of memories and experiences. Yet, among the few places I failed to visit was a jungle. I wanted to see some wild animals. That opportunity came in the person of Fr. Anthappa who is the priest I met on my second day in county. He took me to and from Anjeli Ashram in Mysore. I reconnected with him and planned a trip.
Sunday morning began with Mass at 8:30. It is the most crowded Mass of the day. It was in Kannada (the State language of Karnataka). Fr. Mariappa told me I was to preach. I spoke in English and he translated. It went very well. I was supposed to say the evening Mass in English but negotiations were been held telephonically about the trip to see wild elephants. Fr. Anthappa wanted me at his rectory Sunday night and that made sense. That’s what we decided that morning. These conversations had been further complicated by the suggestion (agreed to by the V.G. of the archdiocese) the night before that I visit the archbishop on Monday morning. That was scrapped at the last minute when we looked t his schedule and learned he was on retreat that week. So the rest of the morning would be spent catching up on my blogs (you could have figured that out when you saw I combined days) going down to the Bloggers’ Spot (which is the only connection to the internet available to the public here), and pack.
Now the problem was getting from the church to the bus station. Our pastor does not drive (a good choice with all the craziness that takes place on the streets here. He does have a car. Today being Sunday, his driver was off. But there were some young men working on the last details of the church building who volunteered to take me in the pastor’s car. He foolishly allowed it and, even more foolishly, put my bag in the back nod we left. The mad hatter’s wild ride with Alice was sane compared to a 20-something male driving on Bangalore streets. The CD was blaring on full mps (would you believe) music or Mass. The engine’s RPM’s were at the red line and the near misses were reaching the triple digit level. But, we reached the station and found nowhere to park. No problem or these guys. They found a dead end alley off a side street, park at a construction site and asked the workers to mind the car. We dashed across about ten lanes of two way criss-crossing traffic hopping median fences to get to the station where they found a bus pulling out. The conductor was still hawking for more customers. I became one of them. In two hours I arrived at Maddur, a town on the route to Mysore nearest Fr. Anthappa’s rectory. He arrived five minutes later and we were off to spend the night there before departing for adventure the next morning.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Day 75, Oct. 24
We arrived back in Bengalore early in the morning ready for another big day. This, I thought was the day of reckoning when I would talk with Sunder Raj about Love & Care and my involvement in it. I had replayed this conversation in my mind over and over for weeks. But first, I had to get off the train. We did that in the dark of the morning. The sun rises about 6am. It must he been 5:40 or so. This train came directly downtown. Devukumar lived there. I insisted that he go straight home after making sure I was on the right bus for St. Anthony’s. It happened to be the same bus. For 13 rupees I got to within walking distance of the parish. Not knowing how close, I stuck to the game plan and took an auto-rickshaw. It was less than two minutes.
Now, very light but still early, I found no one awake but the door unlocked and my room the same. My first order of business was to take a shower and get ready for the meeting I thought would take all day.
Sunder Raj did call. He just arrived from France and needed sleep. We left it he would call me when he started to come to the parish. The pastor advised me he would not all before 1:00pm. He proved to be correct. Fortunately, I followed Fr. Mariappa’s advice and used the time to get a hair cut and go down to the Cyber Cafe to check a week’s e-mail and, most importantly confirm my flight back to the U.S. All was well.
After lunch, with no news from Sunder Raj, a young man was presented to me who would like to become a candidate for the seminary in my diocese. He had already finished I Theology. H did have a problem which seemed easily solvable. I was interviewing him when suddenly Devukumar comes bursting into the room saying I needed immediately to come with him to see Sunder Raj. I ushered him out of the room; but curtailed our interview. It might be promising.
Devukumar had a car waiting to take us downtown. I was dressed or the occasion which would include a family party to which I was invited. The car took us to a small office where Lo & Care has a home (or rather an address). We still had to wait.
When Sunder arrived he was very gracious and apologized for his travel problems. We talked. He mostly listened. I said most, if not all, of what I planned to say. He actively listened, nodding his head in agreement at a few critical times. He never committed to anything nor did he rule anything out. He played his role well. I thought it best not to try to close any deal. And that was that. The meeting was underwhelming with a tacit agreement that we would continue this conversation later.
There was still time before the party. I went with his son to buy some stuff for the meal at the city market. It was a treat to check out the seemingly chaotic market for a decent price on commodities. I was observing a master. We got everything we wanted at a fair price in a decent time.
We reconnected with the ever-present Devukumar. He took me gift shopping. All we did is go to a government store where they sold craft items from various parts of India. I bought some trinkets I hope people will like and we left to find a taxi to the party.
We arrived back in Bengalore early in the morning ready for another big day. This, I thought was the day of reckoning when I would talk with Sunder Raj about Love & Care and my involvement in it. I had replayed this conversation in my mind over and over for weeks. But first, I had to get off the train. We did that in the dark of the morning. The sun rises about 6am. It must he been 5:40 or so. This train came directly downtown. Devukumar lived there. I insisted that he go straight home after making sure I was on the right bus for St. Anthony’s. It happened to be the same bus. For 13 rupees I got to within walking distance of the parish. Not knowing how close, I stuck to the game plan and took an auto-rickshaw. It was less than two minutes.
Now, very light but still early, I found no one awake but the door unlocked and my room the same. My first order of business was to take a shower and get ready for the meeting I thought would take all day.
Sunder Raj did call. He just arrived from France and needed sleep. We left it he would call me when he started to come to the parish. The pastor advised me he would not all before 1:00pm. He proved to be correct. Fortunately, I followed Fr. Mariappa’s advice and used the time to get a hair cut and go down to the Cyber Cafe to check a week’s e-mail and, most importantly confirm my flight back to the U.S. All was well.
After lunch, with no news from Sunder Raj, a young man was presented to me who would like to become a candidate for the seminary in my diocese. He had already finished I Theology. H did have a problem which seemed easily solvable. I was interviewing him when suddenly Devukumar comes bursting into the room saying I needed immediately to come with him to see Sunder Raj. I ushered him out of the room; but curtailed our interview. It might be promising.
Devukumar had a car waiting to take us downtown. I was dressed or the occasion which would include a family party to which I was invited. The car took us to a small office where Lo & Care has a home (or rather an address). We still had to wait.
When Sunder arrived he was very gracious and apologized for his travel problems. We talked. He mostly listened. I said most, if not all, of what I planned to say. He actively listened, nodding his head in agreement at a few critical times. He never committed to anything nor did he rule anything out. He played his role well. I thought it best not to try to close any deal. And that was that. The meeting was underwhelming with a tacit agreement that we would continue this conversation later.
There was still time before the party. I went with his son to buy some stuff for the meal at the city market. It was a treat to check out the seemingly chaotic market for a decent price on commodities. I was observing a master. We got everything we wanted at a fair price in a decent time.
We reconnected with the ever-present Devukumar. He took me gift shopping. All we did is go to a government store where they sold craft items from various parts of India. I bought some trinkets I hope people will like and we left to find a taxi to the party.
Day 72-74, Oct. 21-23
The day began with me in a rectory half way between Mysore and Bangalore. The three of us returned to the latter. No sooner did we get back to St. Anthony’s than I had to start packing for another trip that night. I was to take the night train to Vailankanni.
Vailankanni is a pilgrimage city. It houses the site o apparitions of Our Lady in 1550. The number of people there rival the European shrines. Soon after the Portuguese arrived in India Mary appeared to buttermilk salesman and a rash of miracles ensued. It seems, from the many testimonies, they still do. People come looking for cures and wellness and babies.
The church tried hard but unsuccessfully t limit commercialism. For that reason they established a series of hotels with one main reservation shed. We waited our turn and, finally, obtained the keys to a room. It was large and marble, had a twin and a double bed and a lot of ants as well as flying insects. I didn’t like it. Devukumar didn’t either. He had thought he had a key to a better hotel. We would do our best. Then we went out to get me oriented and aware of the importance of the place. In the center is a large, Fatima-like church. Out from the main lines were the locations of visions and a Eucharistic chapel. With French gothic spires, the place is impressive.
Devukumar told me there was a priests’ residence; but it was dirty and wouldn’t be good. In the vicinity of the hostel, I went to see for myself if it were worse than what we had. In fact it was far superior. True, it was small; but it was very clean. It was also next to the main church. I took it instantly.
I concelebrated the 10:00 Mass with an Indian priest. It turned out well. However, the highlight cm eater Mass when hundreds of people come to the priest to ask a blessing. I ate it up. The Faith of those people seemed to enter me the more I blessed them.
We had lunch, roamed the commercial area, went to the beach where I body surfed for a minute or two, prayed, had supper, bought snacks and relaxed in the larger room or the evening. I returned to my room, prayed and fell asleep.
The day began with me in a rectory half way between Mysore and Bangalore. The three of us returned to the latter. No sooner did we get back to St. Anthony’s than I had to start packing for another trip that night. I was to take the night train to Vailankanni.
Vailankanni is a pilgrimage city. It houses the site o apparitions of Our Lady in 1550. The number of people there rival the European shrines. Soon after the Portuguese arrived in India Mary appeared to buttermilk salesman and a rash of miracles ensued. It seems, from the many testimonies, they still do. People come looking for cures and wellness and babies.
The church tried hard but unsuccessfully t limit commercialism. For that reason they established a series of hotels with one main reservation shed. We waited our turn and, finally, obtained the keys to a room. It was large and marble, had a twin and a double bed and a lot of ants as well as flying insects. I didn’t like it. Devukumar didn’t either. He had thought he had a key to a better hotel. We would do our best. Then we went out to get me oriented and aware of the importance of the place. In the center is a large, Fatima-like church. Out from the main lines were the locations of visions and a Eucharistic chapel. With French gothic spires, the place is impressive.
Devukumar told me there was a priests’ residence; but it was dirty and wouldn’t be good. In the vicinity of the hostel, I went to see for myself if it were worse than what we had. In fact it was far superior. True, it was small; but it was very clean. It was also next to the main church. I took it instantly.
I concelebrated the 10:00 Mass with an Indian priest. It turned out well. However, the highlight cm eater Mass when hundreds of people come to the priest to ask a blessing. I ate it up. The Faith of those people seemed to enter me the more I blessed them.
We had lunch, roamed the commercial area, went to the beach where I body surfed for a minute or two, prayed, had supper, bought snacks and relaxed in the larger room or the evening. I returned to my room, prayed and fell asleep.
Day 71, Oct. 20
Today turned out to be a double moving day. In the morning I closed out accounts at the Jesuit Residence at Loyola of Chennai. Dr. Anthony picked me up and drove me to the Central Train Station where it was too crowded to do anything but let me out in front as fast as the traffic would allow. By now, I knew the routine well. Only now, I had a regular seat. I got right into the carriage (train car) and found that my ticket was wrong. The sets were three across and I had a window seat. But my seat number was on the aisle. As the seats all filled up, mine was the only one with one person for the three seats. So, as the train started moving, I moved over to the window. At the first station the other two passengers boarded. They didn’t mind a bit. India is like that. The people don’t sweat the small stuff. Fr. Mariappa had told me to take the next to last stop. It would leave me much closer to his parish. (Actually, it saved over n hour.) This forced me to ask the ticket taker for help and my two companions to help. One of them had been keeping his sizable luggage between his legs.
After an enjoyable ride, I arrived in Bengalore (there are many permutations of this city’s name, including Bangalore, Bengaluru, and Bangaluru of which all and more are correct. That comes from translating from different languages and alphabets.). My train was so long that I had to exit down to the tracks and then climb up to the platform. The intrepid Devukumar, who managed the itinerary, was in contact by cell phone. So, we met easily, left the station and found a three-wheeled taxi (auto-taxi, or auto-rickshaw are alternative terms) and, very soon, arrived back at St. Anthony’s where this Odyssey began.
It was amazing. The church was about finished. The dedication had been set for November 1st. The site was cleaned up, the neighborhood had its sidewalks finished, and the storefronts were in place. The area looked very good. I couldn’t believe all this was done in nine weeks. Tht gave me a different tool to measure the time I took to take virtually a lap around India.
Fr. Joseph Menizes greeted me with Fr. Mariapppa, the pastor. They announced that we could go to Fr. Ariappa’s parish for the night. I heartily agreed. The three of us, then rode down the road to visit our fellow priest for a friendly visit. We met an, instantly, our rapport came back and we conversed amid sips of Kingfisher and chips. Ecce quam bonum…
Today turned out to be a double moving day. In the morning I closed out accounts at the Jesuit Residence at Loyola of Chennai. Dr. Anthony picked me up and drove me to the Central Train Station where it was too crowded to do anything but let me out in front as fast as the traffic would allow. By now, I knew the routine well. Only now, I had a regular seat. I got right into the carriage (train car) and found that my ticket was wrong. The sets were three across and I had a window seat. But my seat number was on the aisle. As the seats all filled up, mine was the only one with one person for the three seats. So, as the train started moving, I moved over to the window. At the first station the other two passengers boarded. They didn’t mind a bit. India is like that. The people don’t sweat the small stuff. Fr. Mariappa had told me to take the next to last stop. It would leave me much closer to his parish. (Actually, it saved over n hour.) This forced me to ask the ticket taker for help and my two companions to help. One of them had been keeping his sizable luggage between his legs.
After an enjoyable ride, I arrived in Bengalore (there are many permutations of this city’s name, including Bangalore, Bengaluru, and Bangaluru of which all and more are correct. That comes from translating from different languages and alphabets.). My train was so long that I had to exit down to the tracks and then climb up to the platform. The intrepid Devukumar, who managed the itinerary, was in contact by cell phone. So, we met easily, left the station and found a three-wheeled taxi (auto-taxi, or auto-rickshaw are alternative terms) and, very soon, arrived back at St. Anthony’s where this Odyssey began.
It was amazing. The church was about finished. The dedication had been set for November 1st. The site was cleaned up, the neighborhood had its sidewalks finished, and the storefronts were in place. The area looked very good. I couldn’t believe all this was done in nine weeks. Tht gave me a different tool to measure the time I took to take virtually a lap around India.
Fr. Joseph Menizes greeted me with Fr. Mariapppa, the pastor. They announced that we could go to Fr. Ariappa’s parish for the night. I heartily agreed. The three of us, then rode down the road to visit our fellow priest for a friendly visit. We met an, instantly, our rapport came back and we conversed amid sips of Kingfisher and chips. Ecce quam bonum…
Day 70, Oct. 19
Today was a day I long awaited. Fr. Xavier, the professor of Sociology had promised me a meeting with the principles of an outreach program the University developed for the poor. I had hoped that this academic piece could be sewn on to the cloth that would be a comprehensive solution to a perennial problem. I had spent several weeks witnessing the Catholic Church of India grapple with the ever present scourge of poverty. Most bishops recognized the solution centered on education. Now, I had a chance to listen to what Catholic educators, whose field includes poverty, are doing. From what I heard that morning, they were doing exactly what the bishops thought had to be done. Houston, we have a fit.
Actually, the day began badly. I was supposed to have concelebrated a 6:30 Mass at a convent with Fr. Xavier. He did not show. Only later did I realize that the head o the College’s father passed away on Saturday and was being buried today. Father Xavier, as vice-principal, needed to be at the funeral and not at my meeting. His absence was felt.
The meeting started out with a language problem. I couldn’t understand anyone. They all had doctorates and therefore were fluent in English (the language of higher education in India). Their accents made their words unintelligible to me. After a while, I stopped the session, confessed my difficulty and, taking out a notebook, began to put the input of the group into a logical order. I’m glad I did this. We had more than a problem of accents. They weren’t following each other. I was being bombarded with each professor’s full load which may or may not have related to the others’. My intervention focused us. Everyone there was already enthusiastic. Now, as I showed them my developing chart of what I was hearing, they seemed delighted. I was tracking them. And, it came out that they did want to play a part in a grander scheme to attack the problems that result in continued poverty. That was the final (almost) result of the meeting. The College could call together a meeting of representatives from all the fields involved. This, we hoped, would inspire those attending to see the problem from several points of view and, perhaps, start to develop a comprehensive plan. We’ll see if that goes any farther.
Then, we went out into the field, visiting what they call a slum. This is one of seven to which Loyola sends its students. It was by a river. Having seen slums before, it wasn’t a whole lot different from every other one. It was just a bit more intense. We saw the horrible effects of alcohol causing strife, division and physical abuse to the point of murder. Of course, there were a multitude of medical problems. The problem is certainly multi-dimensional and calls for an inter-disciplinary response.
As the meeting ended, I was handed a proposal that Love & Care grant Loyola funds for a very good project. I said I would hand it on.
With the meeting filling my head with all sorts o possibilities of what could be done, I went gift shopping with Dr. Anthony and ending the day with supper again with he and Jenny. It would be our last time together until he comes to the U.S. for internship.
Today was a day I long awaited. Fr. Xavier, the professor of Sociology had promised me a meeting with the principles of an outreach program the University developed for the poor. I had hoped that this academic piece could be sewn on to the cloth that would be a comprehensive solution to a perennial problem. I had spent several weeks witnessing the Catholic Church of India grapple with the ever present scourge of poverty. Most bishops recognized the solution centered on education. Now, I had a chance to listen to what Catholic educators, whose field includes poverty, are doing. From what I heard that morning, they were doing exactly what the bishops thought had to be done. Houston, we have a fit.
Actually, the day began badly. I was supposed to have concelebrated a 6:30 Mass at a convent with Fr. Xavier. He did not show. Only later did I realize that the head o the College’s father passed away on Saturday and was being buried today. Father Xavier, as vice-principal, needed to be at the funeral and not at my meeting. His absence was felt.
The meeting started out with a language problem. I couldn’t understand anyone. They all had doctorates and therefore were fluent in English (the language of higher education in India). Their accents made their words unintelligible to me. After a while, I stopped the session, confessed my difficulty and, taking out a notebook, began to put the input of the group into a logical order. I’m glad I did this. We had more than a problem of accents. They weren’t following each other. I was being bombarded with each professor’s full load which may or may not have related to the others’. My intervention focused us. Everyone there was already enthusiastic. Now, as I showed them my developing chart of what I was hearing, they seemed delighted. I was tracking them. And, it came out that they did want to play a part in a grander scheme to attack the problems that result in continued poverty. That was the final (almost) result of the meeting. The College could call together a meeting of representatives from all the fields involved. This, we hoped, would inspire those attending to see the problem from several points of view and, perhaps, start to develop a comprehensive plan. We’ll see if that goes any farther.
Then, we went out into the field, visiting what they call a slum. This is one of seven to which Loyola sends its students. It was by a river. Having seen slums before, it wasn’t a whole lot different from every other one. It was just a bit more intense. We saw the horrible effects of alcohol causing strife, division and physical abuse to the point of murder. Of course, there were a multitude of medical problems. The problem is certainly multi-dimensional and calls for an inter-disciplinary response.
As the meeting ended, I was handed a proposal that Love & Care grant Loyola funds for a very good project. I said I would hand it on.
With the meeting filling my head with all sorts o possibilities of what could be done, I went gift shopping with Dr. Anthony and ending the day with supper again with he and Jenny. It would be our last time together until he comes to the U.S. for internship.
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