Day 48, Sept. 27
Today is Pooja. What that means would be revealed to me at night. For now, I had to go through a long good day. It was also Sunday. Father Deveraj thought it would be good if I would preach and he could translate at least at the first Mass at 5:30 am. I preached on the scriptures of the day which had to do with unauthorized people doing good things as well as cutting you hand off if it is causing you to sin. I just had two points based on what I had seen on y trip in India. The first was the six languages in which I concelebrated Sunday Mass during my stay so far in India. They were Kannada, Bengal, Nepali, Hindi, Malayalam, and here in Tamil. They wee all colorful forms o sincere praise of God. The other was my reaction to being in two Leprosy Hospitals. I expected sorrow and signs of psychological pain. Instead, I was met with joy. People wanted their pictures taken and gladly showed me their amputated digit or hand or foot. They wee happy to be cured. And they were happy to receive the treatment the sisters and the medial staff wee giving them. Amputation can be a joy-giving event especially if it means health and longer life. That’s what confession can do for us. The people liked it. Moe importantly, for good bad, Fr. Deveraj liked it and made me repeat it at each Mass.
Two men who had a lot to do with Love & Care showed up at the rectory n the early afternoon. They were Jesuraj and Mariasusai. I went with them to see a number of children who receive money from Love & Care to go to school. They wee all erect and bright looking like the head of their classes. All their fathers were deceased and their mothers reduced to coolie labor including construction work for a dollar a day. They would be going to the same work if it had not been for L & C. We also visited Jesuraj’s house. He was a school principle. Hs children all engineering students. They are a sign of what all the children in his area could be.
Coming home late from that jaunt, Father and I, in cassocks, rushed over to one of the parish missions for a Mass. The entrance rite here was at least as impressive as what I received the night before. I felt like a minor deity. More garlands and fire and speeches. The church was packed to over flowing. The atmosphere was electric. At the end of Mass, once again, there was a time for a kind of presentation of gifts and an open forum. Whatever I said must have been right again. This gathering was a very real symbol of heaven and we were enjoying it. The people went for that image agreeing with me. I also praised their pastor who had only been sent thee a month ago. I thought this was the highlight of the day.
But, I forgot this was Pooja. There was a celebration to experience. Pooja is a Hindu pagan feast. It’s sort of Thanksgiving mixed in with St. Francis Day. It’s a night for blessing especially means of transportation. We processed to the main street outside the church yard. There were assembled a cohort of heavy trucks as well as motorbikes and other mans of transportation. First, we blessed fire, then food, then the vehicles. Then all the fun broke loose s children were given all sorts of fun food mostly of the nut and grain variety.
Without being prepared for it, I was again asked to speak. When there’s a mob surrounding you at close quarters, I found it beneficial for my health to do what they told me to do. What I said was humorous and made a point and was short. All that was left to do was to let the good times roll. While the crowd rejoiced, the clergy got ready for another day.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Day 47, Sept. 26
The day, in effect, began at 2:45 when I was to be picked up. My ride seemed to be late. I waited a bit longer and he arrived. Actually the gate had been locked. The priest then jumped the high fence and opened the gate from the inside. He got me to the station in plenty of time. The agent assured me of my status in the sleeper. I preferred a seat. She said I’d have to arrange that with the conductor.
I had over 45 minutes waiting time. I took out my breviary and began the Office of Readings at an appropriate time. That was until a young woman came and sat next to me. She asked if I were alone. I said “yes” and returned to prayer. I could feel her watching me. Sure enough, 2 minutes later she interrupts me showing me a Divine Mercy prayer card. She asked if I were a Christian. I told her I was a priest. Then she began to tell me her story of being engaged to one man an in love with another. I tried to be as non-directive as possible. She didn’t seem to go for that. So, I obliged and gave her some solid advice. She didn’t go for that either. Then my train came in. She tried to stop me from boarding. She didn’t get her way this time. I boarded with a woman, young n fairly attractive chasing me. I still do not know her scheme. I asked some Indians about this and none even tried to answer me.
On board, I quickly found my berth. I’m an expert by now. It was on the window side – a single bed on top. I made the bed, climbed in, and soon enough fell asleep for about 2 hours. Then the sun began to shine. The top berth had no windows but the train was getting light. Since the owner of the bottom berth had already gotten off the train, I took over that bed, changed it to the seating position and lounged back to stare at the lovely and strange countryside flying by. It was a far better experience than I would have had if I were in a regular seat. I only had to make sure I got off at Dindigul. That was not a bit difficult. On a clear bright morning I had made my way one more time on the Indian Railway.
There was a minor problem. I could not find the people who were to pick my up. I did call them earlier that morning telling them we wee on time. Thanks to the miracle of mobile phones, I called Fr. Deveraj back again and he said they were 5 minutes away. I reached the exit and, before I could get down all the steps, they were on their way up. Fr. Deveraj and I hugged. We had met in the Bronx. He was a sight for sore eyes and an end to this adventure.
He was the beginning of the next one. We first had lunch at a nice restaurant in a busy transportation depot sot of town with no definition except for trucks and warehouses. After lunch, we headed for the parish in the city(?) of N.Poolampatty.
It proved to be a quaint country town. My quarters were more than adequate. Once again the pastor gave me his room. O the first time the floor was neither stone nor concrete. It was a Pergo product which made the room feel cleaner. I was shown first two families who were being helped by Love & Care. They would have been coolie laborers as pre-teens I it had not been for the little bit of funds making it possible o them to go to school.
We returned to the rectory and got a short rest (I had only those 2 hours of real sleep in two days). I was called at sunset and got ready for Mass. There was dark, then there was fire, the there was the sound of drums beaten wildly. All this theater was on my behalf welcoming me to the town. I proceeded to be blessed with fire, had a garland put around me as well as the distinctive mark on my forehead. (This was the third time I had that experience.) Then we entered church for Mass. Thee wee introductions all around and speeches by the leading townsfolk. It’s nice when almost everyone in town is Catholic. I said a couple of words which happened to be the right ones. He people seemed very happy. Maybe it was my reaction to the children that won them over. Whatever it was, the people and I seemed to get al0ng very well together.
The day, in effect, began at 2:45 when I was to be picked up. My ride seemed to be late. I waited a bit longer and he arrived. Actually the gate had been locked. The priest then jumped the high fence and opened the gate from the inside. He got me to the station in plenty of time. The agent assured me of my status in the sleeper. I preferred a seat. She said I’d have to arrange that with the conductor.
I had over 45 minutes waiting time. I took out my breviary and began the Office of Readings at an appropriate time. That was until a young woman came and sat next to me. She asked if I were alone. I said “yes” and returned to prayer. I could feel her watching me. Sure enough, 2 minutes later she interrupts me showing me a Divine Mercy prayer card. She asked if I were a Christian. I told her I was a priest. Then she began to tell me her story of being engaged to one man an in love with another. I tried to be as non-directive as possible. She didn’t seem to go for that. So, I obliged and gave her some solid advice. She didn’t go for that either. Then my train came in. She tried to stop me from boarding. She didn’t get her way this time. I boarded with a woman, young n fairly attractive chasing me. I still do not know her scheme. I asked some Indians about this and none even tried to answer me.
On board, I quickly found my berth. I’m an expert by now. It was on the window side – a single bed on top. I made the bed, climbed in, and soon enough fell asleep for about 2 hours. Then the sun began to shine. The top berth had no windows but the train was getting light. Since the owner of the bottom berth had already gotten off the train, I took over that bed, changed it to the seating position and lounged back to stare at the lovely and strange countryside flying by. It was a far better experience than I would have had if I were in a regular seat. I only had to make sure I got off at Dindigul. That was not a bit difficult. On a clear bright morning I had made my way one more time on the Indian Railway.
There was a minor problem. I could not find the people who were to pick my up. I did call them earlier that morning telling them we wee on time. Thanks to the miracle of mobile phones, I called Fr. Deveraj back again and he said they were 5 minutes away. I reached the exit and, before I could get down all the steps, they were on their way up. Fr. Deveraj and I hugged. We had met in the Bronx. He was a sight for sore eyes and an end to this adventure.
He was the beginning of the next one. We first had lunch at a nice restaurant in a busy transportation depot sot of town with no definition except for trucks and warehouses. After lunch, we headed for the parish in the city(?) of N.Poolampatty.
It proved to be a quaint country town. My quarters were more than adequate. Once again the pastor gave me his room. O the first time the floor was neither stone nor concrete. It was a Pergo product which made the room feel cleaner. I was shown first two families who were being helped by Love & Care. They would have been coolie laborers as pre-teens I it had not been for the little bit of funds making it possible o them to go to school.
We returned to the rectory and got a short rest (I had only those 2 hours of real sleep in two days). I was called at sunset and got ready for Mass. There was dark, then there was fire, the there was the sound of drums beaten wildly. All this theater was on my behalf welcoming me to the town. I proceeded to be blessed with fire, had a garland put around me as well as the distinctive mark on my forehead. (This was the third time I had that experience.) Then we entered church for Mass. Thee wee introductions all around and speeches by the leading townsfolk. It’s nice when almost everyone in town is Catholic. I said a couple of words which happened to be the right ones. He people seemed very happy. Maybe it was my reaction to the children that won them over. Whatever it was, the people and I seemed to get al0ng very well together.
Day 46, Sept. 25
Sadly, today was another get-a-way day. The scheduled journey would take me first to Trivandrum, the See city of the Diocese. Then I would catch the night train to Dindigul. There, on the following morning, I would be picked up by my new host.
The hardest part would be the first leg. My host had appointments all morning. I told him that was no problem. I could take the local bus. Somehow, that was not on his list of possibilities. I persisted. He could take me the very short distance to the bus and make sure I got on the right one. He reluctantly acquiesced. Then, r remembered that two of his parishioners wee going to be on that bus with their young sons to attend a diocesan function that might result n the boys receiving a scholarship to Catholic school.
When the time came near for the bus to leave, I had to force the priest to get out from behind his desk to get me to the bus. He seemed as if he wanted me to miss it. We were late. I saw a bus moving. Since it was the only bus I directed my host to pull in front of it, which he did. Sure enough it was the right bus and the two women were aboard. Like it may have happened in Mayberry USA the driver graciously stopped; the conductor got out of the bus and proceeded to help me with my bags. Meanwhile, Father was conversing with the women.
Once on the bus and on the way to the big city of Trivandrum, the conductor proceeded to take the fare. When he got to me, he just shrugged his shoulders as if to say it was out of his power. The ladies had paid or my fare. It was the whopping price of 11 rupees (22 cents). The conductor powerlessly showed me the receipt. By this time the two boys who obviously knew me from church had come to sit with me. I had two ten rupee notes ready to pay my fare. I gave each of the boys one of them. All seemed to be happy. The mothers had come to sit behind me forcing the boys to behave. We spent the time playing finger and hand games. None of us knowing a word of the other’s language, we spent the next 90 minutes playing together – with the moms happily satisfied they could enjoy the ride themselves.
When we arrived at the last stop, it turned out to not to be the one we anticipated. We hoped to be across the street from the train station. We weren’t. That was more than a block away and the streets were under construction. There were a lot of three-wheeled taxis surrounding us all asking for our business. That’s when the other surprise hit. The ladies were given money to pay for the ride to the Chancery (Bishop’s House in India). We were all going there. However, I wanted to go to the train station first to get my ticket straightened out. It was an e-ticket. That only allows you waiting list status. I wanted to get a seat and not the berth I seem to have been sent. Thus, the hassle. The ladies were instructed to accompany me to the Bishop’s House. I wanted them to go while I settled matters at the station. They won. My consolation prize was to pay the cab fare of 50 rupees to the consternation of the ladies who had obviously been given money to pay for the taxi.
They were waiting for me at the Bishop’s House. I was given a nice room to freshen up in. One priest insisted to go look up my ticket status and it now in quite good order. I bought two more books at their ridiculously low prices. One book had printed on the back cover US $ 30.00 India 300 rupees ($6.00).
Of course, I wanted to get out and shop for a few necessities. I was offered two directions o a walk. Neither had any shops. In one direction was the king’s palace (Kerala was a kingdom until 1947). The other way led to museums and the zoo. I got to the zoo at closing time. I was reading a sign when a guard asked me if I wee going to enter. I told him the zoo was going to close in 2 minutes. He was insistent. So, I said yes; he pointed me to the admission booth (10 rupees entrance charge, in US$ 20cents) So, I had little to lose. As soon as I received my ticket, the heavy door dropped with a great thud. Then, I realized I had an hour to enjoy a walk in the zoo. The ambiance was the best part. It felt like a jungle with trees one only finds in a rainforest. Not all the animals were out; but those that were looked healthy.
When I returned, one of the chancery officials met me and asked about my arrangements to the train station for the 3:45 am train. Then another got involved. The upshot was that I had a ride from a priest to the station starting at 2:45. Greater love…
At dinner I enjoyed more conversion about coming to the US. That is an expected part of a priest’s development here it seems. One needs that experience on his curriculum vitae here. Then I returned to my room to pray, type more blogs, and do a puzzle.
Sadly, today was another get-a-way day. The scheduled journey would take me first to Trivandrum, the See city of the Diocese. Then I would catch the night train to Dindigul. There, on the following morning, I would be picked up by my new host.
The hardest part would be the first leg. My host had appointments all morning. I told him that was no problem. I could take the local bus. Somehow, that was not on his list of possibilities. I persisted. He could take me the very short distance to the bus and make sure I got on the right one. He reluctantly acquiesced. Then, r remembered that two of his parishioners wee going to be on that bus with their young sons to attend a diocesan function that might result n the boys receiving a scholarship to Catholic school.
When the time came near for the bus to leave, I had to force the priest to get out from behind his desk to get me to the bus. He seemed as if he wanted me to miss it. We were late. I saw a bus moving. Since it was the only bus I directed my host to pull in front of it, which he did. Sure enough it was the right bus and the two women were aboard. Like it may have happened in Mayberry USA the driver graciously stopped; the conductor got out of the bus and proceeded to help me with my bags. Meanwhile, Father was conversing with the women.
Once on the bus and on the way to the big city of Trivandrum, the conductor proceeded to take the fare. When he got to me, he just shrugged his shoulders as if to say it was out of his power. The ladies had paid or my fare. It was the whopping price of 11 rupees (22 cents). The conductor powerlessly showed me the receipt. By this time the two boys who obviously knew me from church had come to sit with me. I had two ten rupee notes ready to pay my fare. I gave each of the boys one of them. All seemed to be happy. The mothers had come to sit behind me forcing the boys to behave. We spent the time playing finger and hand games. None of us knowing a word of the other’s language, we spent the next 90 minutes playing together – with the moms happily satisfied they could enjoy the ride themselves.
When we arrived at the last stop, it turned out to not to be the one we anticipated. We hoped to be across the street from the train station. We weren’t. That was more than a block away and the streets were under construction. There were a lot of three-wheeled taxis surrounding us all asking for our business. That’s when the other surprise hit. The ladies were given money to pay for the ride to the Chancery (Bishop’s House in India). We were all going there. However, I wanted to go to the train station first to get my ticket straightened out. It was an e-ticket. That only allows you waiting list status. I wanted to get a seat and not the berth I seem to have been sent. Thus, the hassle. The ladies were instructed to accompany me to the Bishop’s House. I wanted them to go while I settled matters at the station. They won. My consolation prize was to pay the cab fare of 50 rupees to the consternation of the ladies who had obviously been given money to pay for the taxi.
They were waiting for me at the Bishop’s House. I was given a nice room to freshen up in. One priest insisted to go look up my ticket status and it now in quite good order. I bought two more books at their ridiculously low prices. One book had printed on the back cover US $ 30.00 India 300 rupees ($6.00).
Of course, I wanted to get out and shop for a few necessities. I was offered two directions o a walk. Neither had any shops. In one direction was the king’s palace (Kerala was a kingdom until 1947). The other way led to museums and the zoo. I got to the zoo at closing time. I was reading a sign when a guard asked me if I wee going to enter. I told him the zoo was going to close in 2 minutes. He was insistent. So, I said yes; he pointed me to the admission booth (10 rupees entrance charge, in US$ 20cents) So, I had little to lose. As soon as I received my ticket, the heavy door dropped with a great thud. Then, I realized I had an hour to enjoy a walk in the zoo. The ambiance was the best part. It felt like a jungle with trees one only finds in a rainforest. Not all the animals were out; but those that were looked healthy.
When I returned, one of the chancery officials met me and asked about my arrangements to the train station for the 3:45 am train. Then another got involved. The upshot was that I had a ride from a priest to the station starting at 2:45. Greater love…
At dinner I enjoyed more conversion about coming to the US. That is an expected part of a priest’s development here it seems. One needs that experience on his curriculum vitae here. Then I returned to my room to pray, type more blogs, and do a puzzle.
Day 45, Sept. 24
Today would be the last full day in Kerala. Ff. Dickson an I concelebrated Mass in the morning, had breakfast together with the sisters, and prepared ourselves for a leisurely boat trip. It turned out to be a joyful outing to see Father’s family. We dove fo about an hour to the house and had a good visit. Then, we dove a little to a river with a fairly large bend in it. There, waiting for us was a large boat that could comfortably ary about 15 people. He sets wee protected from the sun. he two of us got in an the crew of two shoved off and we slowly cruised around the ‘lake’ formed by the bend. The birds and tiny flying fish made it a delight. At one time or another each of us nodded off to sleep, but for only a minute or so. That’s how relaxing it was. By the time we docked, we were refreshed and ready to continue.
We drove back to the house to meet some more of Father’s family. Then, we returned to the rectory. We didn’t do much. Yet, seeing a priest’s home and seeing him interact with family provided me with a view of clergy that you don’t see in the rectory. What I saw was not a bit different from what I’ve experienced in the US. Iests are the same. They are ordinary people. The home had more religious statues and pictures than the average American home. It was, however, about the same as most Catholic homes I visited in India. Here, Catholics all have decorated their homes profusely with holy objects especially of Mary.
At about 8pm, as usual, we called on the sisters for dinner. And, as usual, they provided a fine supper and good conversation.
Today would be the last full day in Kerala. Ff. Dickson an I concelebrated Mass in the morning, had breakfast together with the sisters, and prepared ourselves for a leisurely boat trip. It turned out to be a joyful outing to see Father’s family. We dove fo about an hour to the house and had a good visit. Then, we dove a little to a river with a fairly large bend in it. There, waiting for us was a large boat that could comfortably ary about 15 people. He sets wee protected from the sun. he two of us got in an the crew of two shoved off and we slowly cruised around the ‘lake’ formed by the bend. The birds and tiny flying fish made it a delight. At one time or another each of us nodded off to sleep, but for only a minute or so. That’s how relaxing it was. By the time we docked, we were refreshed and ready to continue.
We drove back to the house to meet some more of Father’s family. Then, we returned to the rectory. We didn’t do much. Yet, seeing a priest’s home and seeing him interact with family provided me with a view of clergy that you don’t see in the rectory. What I saw was not a bit different from what I’ve experienced in the US. Iests are the same. They are ordinary people. The home had more religious statues and pictures than the average American home. It was, however, about the same as most Catholic homes I visited in India. Here, Catholics all have decorated their homes profusely with holy objects especially of Mary.
At about 8pm, as usual, we called on the sisters for dinner. And, as usual, they provided a fine supper and good conversation.
Day 44, Sept. 23
There was more to come as far as joyriding was concerned. This time in Kerala was to be more concerned with resting. On that note Fr. Dickson gave me some choices as to how to spend the day. That part was easy. The mountains are my joy. He expanded his choices with the result of confusing me. Then, we could also do more than one thing. I had no idea how to respond to his putting the success of the day on my uninformed choices. So, I chose the mountains alone. I chose correctly. It turned out to be a glorious day despite some spots of bad weather.
We went to the Ghats. Without knowing it for sure, I had chosen o go into the mountains I had seen from a distance twice. They were enchanting. Although they are considered a range, each mountain stands unique. Climbing .them is no different than driving up the Smokies except there are a lot more cutbacks. You gain altitude much faster. The views are more stark although they are very green. Both coffee and tea grow there as well as various palms and hardwoods. Getting out and hiking was thrilling sine we were playing hide and seek with clouds. When the clouds opened, a completely new vista appeared. Of course, there were streams, falls, and whitewater. It was a flashback to home in Tennessee.
We returned to the parish an dinner with the sisters. They leaned my liking for cold Coca-Cola and served it at dinner. I looked forward to something cold. Nowhere else in India had anything cold.
Tonight we surprised ourselves. We played Scrabble. The game was fun, fast and competitive. We ended at 11:30 a more bonded group.
There was more to come as far as joyriding was concerned. This time in Kerala was to be more concerned with resting. On that note Fr. Dickson gave me some choices as to how to spend the day. That part was easy. The mountains are my joy. He expanded his choices with the result of confusing me. Then, we could also do more than one thing. I had no idea how to respond to his putting the success of the day on my uninformed choices. So, I chose the mountains alone. I chose correctly. It turned out to be a glorious day despite some spots of bad weather.
We went to the Ghats. Without knowing it for sure, I had chosen o go into the mountains I had seen from a distance twice. They were enchanting. Although they are considered a range, each mountain stands unique. Climbing .them is no different than driving up the Smokies except there are a lot more cutbacks. You gain altitude much faster. The views are more stark although they are very green. Both coffee and tea grow there as well as various palms and hardwoods. Getting out and hiking was thrilling sine we were playing hide and seek with clouds. When the clouds opened, a completely new vista appeared. Of course, there were streams, falls, and whitewater. It was a flashback to home in Tennessee.
We returned to the parish an dinner with the sisters. They leaned my liking for cold Coca-Cola and served it at dinner. I looked forward to something cold. Nowhere else in India had anything cold.
Tonight we surprised ourselves. We played Scrabble. The game was fun, fast and competitive. We ended at 11:30 a more bonded group.
Day 43, Sept. 22
Plans were made after the feast yesterday. I was part of one. On rising this morning, I concelebrated Mass in the parish church and went to breakfast at the convent. In fact, every meal not eaten out took place in the convent. There were three nuns living in the convent. The older o the three did seem the most sensible; but was not the superior. That was the one in the middle, age-wise. She was very intelligent and certainly in charge. The other was very young and acted the part.
I found out four priests were going out for a day off and I was invited to come. I immediately accepted. What we ended up doing was drive south along the coast and look for the damage still evident from the Tsunami. Churches were still being rebuilt; monuments were constructed and efforts to help the people were ongoing. It’s interesting to be with priests who spend their off time inspecting and praying in churches. We also walked around beaches and on rocks. We also had a good meal and went back to our parishes.
Back home, I got to walk out to see the sun set again. Again it was too late; but it was about 15 minutes earlier and I got to see where I was the night before. There really was nothing to be afraid of. And it was kind of pretty where the fresh water (from three sources) entered the salty Arabian Sea. There were religious shrines and statues along the shore as well. It was a good evening.
Plans were made after the feast yesterday. I was part of one. On rising this morning, I concelebrated Mass in the parish church and went to breakfast at the convent. In fact, every meal not eaten out took place in the convent. There were three nuns living in the convent. The older o the three did seem the most sensible; but was not the superior. That was the one in the middle, age-wise. She was very intelligent and certainly in charge. The other was very young and acted the part.
I found out four priests were going out for a day off and I was invited to come. I immediately accepted. What we ended up doing was drive south along the coast and look for the damage still evident from the Tsunami. Churches were still being rebuilt; monuments were constructed and efforts to help the people were ongoing. It’s interesting to be with priests who spend their off time inspecting and praying in churches. We also walked around beaches and on rocks. We also had a good meal and went back to our parishes.
Back home, I got to walk out to see the sun set again. Again it was too late; but it was about 15 minutes earlier and I got to see where I was the night before. There really was nothing to be afraid of. And it was kind of pretty where the fresh water (from three sources) entered the salty Arabian Sea. There were religious shrines and statues along the shore as well. It was a good evening.
Day 42, Sept. 21
This morning is the Feast of St. Matthew. It would be tough to beat last night’s pomp and gayety. For starters they brought in an outside bishop. (He had been the prefect in the seminary Fr. Dickson went to and had collaborated with him in writing music). He preached longer than the homilist the night before. And then there was the crowd which was even larger. The liturgical dancing was a sight to behold. But the biggest difference was the meal. It was a feast for 3,000+. Everybody ate. The priests ate the best including tapioca and ice cream for dessert. I was engaged in a kind of food fight with the priest who sat next to me. He tied to keep filling up my plate and I retaliated by putting that morsel on his plate. The ladies and nuns serving got into the lightheartedness and all enjoyed a good time. I got n extra dessert out of the affair and a good deal of acceptance. People and priests alike saw I could give and take with th bst o them.
I went for a walk on the beach after the meal while the parish priests were renewing their friendship and making plans with each other. The town was a fishing village with boats which could have been used in a Life of Christ. I discovered a secret I wish I didn’t. The Styrofoam plates used for the east were being thrown into the sea. Only the sea was coming in and the garbage lay strewn over the sand. Such being the
Case, I diverted my walk to the city. Sine it was a Catholic an Muslim holiday, there weren’t many stores open. So I, spent the rest of the daylight hours quietly.
Then Fr. Dickson asked m to walk with me to see the sun set. It was too late for that. In at it was getting very dark with only a sliver of a moon. Yet, I was urged on to walk along the shore in virtual total darkness. Not to do so would mean I did not trust my host and that I was scared. The last statement was true. There was the ocean and an estuary entering it. There was same garbage still around. I had ideas of the possibilities of what my next step might be. I did not like playing this game. But, I did. Soon enough we got to some lights and my trust may have been proven.
This morning is the Feast of St. Matthew. It would be tough to beat last night’s pomp and gayety. For starters they brought in an outside bishop. (He had been the prefect in the seminary Fr. Dickson went to and had collaborated with him in writing music). He preached longer than the homilist the night before. And then there was the crowd which was even larger. The liturgical dancing was a sight to behold. But the biggest difference was the meal. It was a feast for 3,000+. Everybody ate. The priests ate the best including tapioca and ice cream for dessert. I was engaged in a kind of food fight with the priest who sat next to me. He tied to keep filling up my plate and I retaliated by putting that morsel on his plate. The ladies and nuns serving got into the lightheartedness and all enjoyed a good time. I got n extra dessert out of the affair and a good deal of acceptance. People and priests alike saw I could give and take with th bst o them.
I went for a walk on the beach after the meal while the parish priests were renewing their friendship and making plans with each other. The town was a fishing village with boats which could have been used in a Life of Christ. I discovered a secret I wish I didn’t. The Styrofoam plates used for the east were being thrown into the sea. Only the sea was coming in and the garbage lay strewn over the sand. Such being the
Case, I diverted my walk to the city. Sine it was a Catholic an Muslim holiday, there weren’t many stores open. So I, spent the rest of the daylight hours quietly.
Then Fr. Dickson asked m to walk with me to see the sun set. It was too late for that. In at it was getting very dark with only a sliver of a moon. Yet, I was urged on to walk along the shore in virtual total darkness. Not to do so would mean I did not trust my host and that I was scared. The last statement was true. There was the ocean and an estuary entering it. There was same garbage still around. I had ideas of the possibilities of what my next step might be. I did not like playing this game. But, I did. Soon enough we got to some lights and my trust may have been proven.
Day 41, Sept. 20
Day 41, Sept. 20
The festive day arrived. What a day it was! The previous day was filled with an intrigue regarding where I was to go and how I would get there and when. Plans changed hourly. I was about to be sent to a place not on my agenda – Kerala. Until this trip that was the only part of India I knew about. Now, thanks to this baptism, a priest was coming along to Tuticorin with other relatives of the family. The priest, Fr. Dixson, was a cousin to Fr. Vijay.
The first event of the day was Mass in Fr. Vijay’s home parish. Then there was the baptism with three priests (I was asked to keep my vestment on for this event) and two babies (another family coincidentally wanted their baby’s baptism at the same time). It was all a bit chaotic but valid. Our way of expressing the same rite o baptism is much more beautiful than the manner in which this one took place.
After the baptism we went to the house where we recognized the baby’s father’s birthday. Then, we went off to a restaurant for a gala luncheon. A whole lot of people were there so that we ate in groups. As my group (the first) finished the three priests went out together. We all got sandals (my first pair and all of us bought the exact same model for 365 rupees each). When we moseyed back the group that was headed back to Kerala had been waiting (they said an hour but no way was that true). Just like that my bags were stowed in the vehicle, we were stuffed in it, and we were off.
Our driver knew we were late. With almost 2 months of watching kamikaze drivers wend their way around 2 lane roads and traffic in both directions, I was finally locked up in a vehicle with such a driver. At times he was going 120 kph in the opposite lane with a truck heading straight at us with no idea of slowing down and we weren’t being allowed back into our lane. I closed my eyes for a blink and the situation had rectified itself. Thanks for somebody’s guardian angel.
As we approached the Kerala/Tamil Nadu border a distinctively beautiful range of mountains appeared. They were the same I saw when I visited the southern tip of India. They are the Western Ghats. I would like to have spent a day in them. We stopped for a coffee break in full view of their beauty. I had a Pepsi and some home made potato chips. The others ordered from an Indian restaurant after I bought my stuff next door. When I realized I had bought food at the wrong place, I went into the restaurant and was about to get thrown out before the others acknowledged that I belonged to their party.
From there, it was two more hours until we g0ot off the main road and us two priests got off and entered the rectory a couple of hours after dark. Fr. Dixson put me in his room – it had a European commode. I stopped my protest immediately upon hearing the word ‘European.’ The alternative is a hole and two foot steps. I accepted his kind offer graciously. The night was better for it.
But, the night was nowhere near over. The feast had not yet begun. There had been a very good reason for the driver to defy death for all of us. The pastor of one of the two pastors in this town needed to be there for the fun to begin. Now that we were ready, the message got to St. Matthew’s Church that they could commence. Fireworks started blasting and the sound of a marching band began to blare. St. Matthew’s is about a two minute walk to where I was staying (St. May Magdalene). You can see one from the other. After the sound came the sights in the form of people. First came groups of children, each wearing a distinctive color. The same routine continued with the teen-age girls and teen boys, the adult women in several sodalities and next to the end the groups of men. And finally the band led by the drums. When the parade reached where we were stationed right in front of St. Mary Magdalene’s (the half way point of the parade from which they circled back to St. Matthew’s. With the drummers assembled in a circle in front of us on a hot steamy night with only Christmas type lights illuminating the sweaty backs of the shirtless, skirted young men beating their hearts out on the drums o all sorts hearkened my spirit back thousands of years to a primordial time. It had more excitement than a rally on an SEC campus before the biggest game of the year. And this was only the eve of St. Matthew’s feast day.
Before anyone was allowed to catch their breath, Mass began. A notable speaker was invited to preach at it (as was another on the actual feat day). As it turned out this speaker was born in the parish. He spoke for over half an hour. I stayed awake for most of it including the end. Needless to say, the church was packed with over 1500 people nd the crowd outside far exceeded that.
As Mass ended the festivities continued with people enjoying each others’ presence. S the splendid hot that he was, Fr. Dixson showed me home to my bed from which angle I could enjoy I needed to see for the rest of the night.
The festive day arrived. What a day it was! The previous day was filled with an intrigue regarding where I was to go and how I would get there and when. Plans changed hourly. I was about to be sent to a place not on my agenda – Kerala. Until this trip that was the only part of India I knew about. Now, thanks to this baptism, a priest was coming along to Tuticorin with other relatives of the family. The priest, Fr. Dixson, was a cousin to Fr. Vijay.
The first event of the day was Mass in Fr. Vijay’s home parish. Then there was the baptism with three priests (I was asked to keep my vestment on for this event) and two babies (another family coincidentally wanted their baby’s baptism at the same time). It was all a bit chaotic but valid. Our way of expressing the same rite o baptism is much more beautiful than the manner in which this one took place.
After the baptism we went to the house where we recognized the baby’s father’s birthday. Then, we went off to a restaurant for a gala luncheon. A whole lot of people were there so that we ate in groups. As my group (the first) finished the three priests went out together. We all got sandals (my first pair and all of us bought the exact same model for 365 rupees each). When we moseyed back the group that was headed back to Kerala had been waiting (they said an hour but no way was that true). Just like that my bags were stowed in the vehicle, we were stuffed in it, and we were off.
Our driver knew we were late. With almost 2 months of watching kamikaze drivers wend their way around 2 lane roads and traffic in both directions, I was finally locked up in a vehicle with such a driver. At times he was going 120 kph in the opposite lane with a truck heading straight at us with no idea of slowing down and we weren’t being allowed back into our lane. I closed my eyes for a blink and the situation had rectified itself. Thanks for somebody’s guardian angel.
As we approached the Kerala/Tamil Nadu border a distinctively beautiful range of mountains appeared. They were the same I saw when I visited the southern tip of India. They are the Western Ghats. I would like to have spent a day in them. We stopped for a coffee break in full view of their beauty. I had a Pepsi and some home made potato chips. The others ordered from an Indian restaurant after I bought my stuff next door. When I realized I had bought food at the wrong place, I went into the restaurant and was about to get thrown out before the others acknowledged that I belonged to their party.
From there, it was two more hours until we g0ot off the main road and us two priests got off and entered the rectory a couple of hours after dark. Fr. Dixson put me in his room – it had a European commode. I stopped my protest immediately upon hearing the word ‘European.’ The alternative is a hole and two foot steps. I accepted his kind offer graciously. The night was better for it.
But, the night was nowhere near over. The feast had not yet begun. There had been a very good reason for the driver to defy death for all of us. The pastor of one of the two pastors in this town needed to be there for the fun to begin. Now that we were ready, the message got to St. Matthew’s Church that they could commence. Fireworks started blasting and the sound of a marching band began to blare. St. Matthew’s is about a two minute walk to where I was staying (St. May Magdalene). You can see one from the other. After the sound came the sights in the form of people. First came groups of children, each wearing a distinctive color. The same routine continued with the teen-age girls and teen boys, the adult women in several sodalities and next to the end the groups of men. And finally the band led by the drums. When the parade reached where we were stationed right in front of St. Mary Magdalene’s (the half way point of the parade from which they circled back to St. Matthew’s. With the drummers assembled in a circle in front of us on a hot steamy night with only Christmas type lights illuminating the sweaty backs of the shirtless, skirted young men beating their hearts out on the drums o all sorts hearkened my spirit back thousands of years to a primordial time. It had more excitement than a rally on an SEC campus before the biggest game of the year. And this was only the eve of St. Matthew’s feast day.
Before anyone was allowed to catch their breath, Mass began. A notable speaker was invited to preach at it (as was another on the actual feat day). As it turned out this speaker was born in the parish. He spoke for over half an hour. I stayed awake for most of it including the end. Needless to say, the church was packed with over 1500 people nd the crowd outside far exceeded that.
As Mass ended the festivities continued with people enjoying each others’ presence. S the splendid hot that he was, Fr. Dixson showed me home to my bed from which angle I could enjoy I needed to see for the rest of the night.
Day 40, Sept. 19
Fr. Vijayan had to spend time with his family until 3pm. I decided to wake up a bit late, go down to the chapel and pray. I did jut that and I got caught. The bishop came down with presumably the same plan and asked me to concelebrate Mass together with him. It was just the two of us with me leading. After Mass we had breakfast together. Both were good. The conversation at breakfast was very positive. He would like to participate with Love & Care if they linked bishops together from the US and India even with the stipulation that priests may have the freedom to come to America for a period of time.
After breakfast, I worked a bit on the log and went out looking for various shops. I did go to a mobile phone store (there are two or three per block) where I learned again my phone was perfectly good. Chances are it was the network that was deficient.
I got back in time for Father and his brother whose car was now fixed. We saw some of the sights of Titicorin. The family was gathering for the baptism the next day. A festive spirit was growing
Fr. Vijayan had to spend time with his family until 3pm. I decided to wake up a bit late, go down to the chapel and pray. I did jut that and I got caught. The bishop came down with presumably the same plan and asked me to concelebrate Mass together with him. It was just the two of us with me leading. After Mass we had breakfast together. Both were good. The conversation at breakfast was very positive. He would like to participate with Love & Care if they linked bishops together from the US and India even with the stipulation that priests may have the freedom to come to America for a period of time.
After breakfast, I worked a bit on the log and went out looking for various shops. I did go to a mobile phone store (there are two or three per block) where I learned again my phone was perfectly good. Chances are it was the network that was deficient.
I got back in time for Father and his brother whose car was now fixed. We saw some of the sights of Titicorin. The family was gathering for the baptism the next day. A festive spirit was growing
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Day 39, Sept. 18
Back to work today. Actually, there has been no work on this trip except lugging around two or three packs on travel days. What passes for work is going to the programs Love & Care supports or is thinking of supporting and see how they’re doing. On might think these places are filled with horrible stories and distorted human beings. If so, I did not see any. I saw plenty of happy boys and girls breaking the language barrier with high fives. I saw men and women with AIDS or Leprosy coping well and preening to get ready for a photo I was about to take. They had the good kind o pride and a lot of hope.
Such was the case in the place we visited for the whole day today. It was founded by French Jesuit missionaries in the 1850’s. It s now led by a former seminary professor who is as kind and insightful as they come. He s and has been the perfect leader for this compound serving over a 1,000 people. There are orphan boys and girls; there are school children taken day students. There are kids with AIDS and adults with every sort o malady. There are mentally disturbed kids and adults and Downs Syndrome children. There are others whom I did not list. Every one of them is loved by the sisters, father, and the rest of the capable and vastly underpaid staff. It is also the cleanest place of its kind.
I had a lot of time to interact with the staff and the patients and students. I would never have guessed that none of these wonderful people had severe problems. So well were they taken are of.
I was supposed to spend five or so days here to gain the “experience.” Other opportunities came up tht I chose to do instead. But, I got my experience in one day – especially since, by now, I had seen a number of these facilities (all of them heroically led) but none better than this one.
Back to work today. Actually, there has been no work on this trip except lugging around two or three packs on travel days. What passes for work is going to the programs Love & Care supports or is thinking of supporting and see how they’re doing. On might think these places are filled with horrible stories and distorted human beings. If so, I did not see any. I saw plenty of happy boys and girls breaking the language barrier with high fives. I saw men and women with AIDS or Leprosy coping well and preening to get ready for a photo I was about to take. They had the good kind o pride and a lot of hope.
Such was the case in the place we visited for the whole day today. It was founded by French Jesuit missionaries in the 1850’s. It s now led by a former seminary professor who is as kind and insightful as they come. He s and has been the perfect leader for this compound serving over a 1,000 people. There are orphan boys and girls; there are school children taken day students. There are kids with AIDS and adults with every sort o malady. There are mentally disturbed kids and adults and Downs Syndrome children. There are others whom I did not list. Every one of them is loved by the sisters, father, and the rest of the capable and vastly underpaid staff. It is also the cleanest place of its kind.
I had a lot of time to interact with the staff and the patients and students. I would never have guessed that none of these wonderful people had severe problems. So well were they taken are of.
I was supposed to spend five or so days here to gain the “experience.” Other opportunities came up tht I chose to do instead. But, I got my experience in one day – especially since, by now, I had seen a number of these facilities (all of them heroically led) but none better than this one.
Day 38, Sept. 17
Today was a preplanned fun day. Fr. Vijayan knew my love of geography and history, combined them and added a friend of his for a trip to the bottom of India. Kanyakumari is the resort town at the southernmost point in India. As such, it is at the confluence of the Indian Ocean, the Bay of Bengal, and the Arabian Sea. So, it became my pleasure to put my body in all three of them at the same time. For those who might dispute the exact spot for this to take place, I went in three times one for certain in ach of the three. Just realize that the next piece of land from me would be Antarctica.
The town also had a monument to those killed in the Tsunami. It was simple and poignant. Then, there were the host of 20 rupee stores. They were more like our old Five and Dime stores than our present dollar stores. For instance, I bought a 40 cent flashlight to replace a much more expensive one I left in the rectory in Jaipur.
On the way there we satisfied my need to get in touch with history by visiting a small slip of land where St. Francis Xavier had lied in a cave. The cave was previously inhabited by a Hindu guru who voluntarily gave it to the Jesuit missionary. From there, Francis would walk the beach and preach Christianity to the townspeople there.
Fishing is the industry there much the same as it was for hundreds of years ago. The boats probably look the same. (In fact, they look similar to the first century boat they found in the Sea of Galilee.) Only here we were able to follow the fishing boats from the horizon to the shore, watch them come to land, see them empty their nets, sort them out, and then sell them. The only part of that routine I did not understand was the last. The sale took place fast in the form of an auction. The middlemen were there in numbers. You would think the law of supply and demand favored the poor fishermen. Nevertheless, each of the many times we watched a large catch of sardine size fish went for about 300 rupees. That amounted to $6.00 for three men working all night and well into the day. Coolie labor brings in about 50 rupees a day o $1.00. Now we did see some fishermen stow away some large fish in the boat which they did not sell on the shore. Maybe they made a good deal elsewhere or had it for dinner themselves.
Speaking of food, we had been in a quandary as to where to eat. Our first effort led us to a basement restaurant with no patrons and plenty of flies. I took the lead to get us out of there. Then, Fr. Vijayan called his brother-in-law who arrived in less than five minutes. He showed us to a fine hotel with a restaurant with a good clientele. We enjoyed a fine seafood meal including squid (my personal favorite) cooked just right. I had to trick Vijayan to get the bill and pay for the meal before he realized it. This was too good an experience not to.
Today was a preplanned fun day. Fr. Vijayan knew my love of geography and history, combined them and added a friend of his for a trip to the bottom of India. Kanyakumari is the resort town at the southernmost point in India. As such, it is at the confluence of the Indian Ocean, the Bay of Bengal, and the Arabian Sea. So, it became my pleasure to put my body in all three of them at the same time. For those who might dispute the exact spot for this to take place, I went in three times one for certain in ach of the three. Just realize that the next piece of land from me would be Antarctica.
The town also had a monument to those killed in the Tsunami. It was simple and poignant. Then, there were the host of 20 rupee stores. They were more like our old Five and Dime stores than our present dollar stores. For instance, I bought a 40 cent flashlight to replace a much more expensive one I left in the rectory in Jaipur.
On the way there we satisfied my need to get in touch with history by visiting a small slip of land where St. Francis Xavier had lied in a cave. The cave was previously inhabited by a Hindu guru who voluntarily gave it to the Jesuit missionary. From there, Francis would walk the beach and preach Christianity to the townspeople there.
Fishing is the industry there much the same as it was for hundreds of years ago. The boats probably look the same. (In fact, they look similar to the first century boat they found in the Sea of Galilee.) Only here we were able to follow the fishing boats from the horizon to the shore, watch them come to land, see them empty their nets, sort them out, and then sell them. The only part of that routine I did not understand was the last. The sale took place fast in the form of an auction. The middlemen were there in numbers. You would think the law of supply and demand favored the poor fishermen. Nevertheless, each of the many times we watched a large catch of sardine size fish went for about 300 rupees. That amounted to $6.00 for three men working all night and well into the day. Coolie labor brings in about 50 rupees a day o $1.00. Now we did see some fishermen stow away some large fish in the boat which they did not sell on the shore. Maybe they made a good deal elsewhere or had it for dinner themselves.
Speaking of food, we had been in a quandary as to where to eat. Our first effort led us to a basement restaurant with no patrons and plenty of flies. I took the lead to get us out of there. Then, Fr. Vijayan called his brother-in-law who arrived in less than five minutes. He showed us to a fine hotel with a restaurant with a good clientele. We enjoyed a fine seafood meal including squid (my personal favorite) cooked just right. I had to trick Vijayan to get the bill and pay for the meal before he realized it. This was too good an experience not to.
Day 37, Sept. 16
When I left Tennessee, I thought I was going to be picked up in Bangalore by Fr. Vijayan Joseph who is the pastor of Holy Spirit in the Bronx. Later I thought he was going to meet me in Chingleput. Now, he actually was going to meet me at the railway station in Tuticorin. And, lo and behold he showed up. It took us little while to hook up; but it was like meeting a long lost brother. He was the first person I met in India whom I had known in the US. It really is a profound experience, even after making many good new friends, to find an old one.
Fr. Vijayan got to working on his hospitality right away. Friends though we were, we tussled over carrying my bags up the train station’s stairway. Safely out of the station, Fr. hailed a cab and got us to the Bishop’s House. We got there in time for breakfast. Once again, the diocesan staff was genuinely welcoming in their greetings to me. When the door to my room had a problem, they gave me a better room next door.
Father had to tend to his mother the rest of the morning. She had to go to the hospital. So, as soon as Father took me to the laundry, I received a chance to catch up on my blogging and settling into my room until the early afternoon. That proved to be until past 3:00 pm.
At that time, Father got his brother to drive us in a car his brother borrowed (his was under repair) to Gramodaya. This was a place where the leaders of the community had been doing an outstanding job organizing the people. When I arrived, the people had been waiting a fairly long time. The vast majority were women who had HIV+ children. The first thing they did was to honor us as guests and make us seem very important. I get very apprehensive every time someone tries to make me bigger than I am. This was grossly overdone here. The women told us their stories. They were compelling. Somehow, I got into the position of judging what they should be doing. In the course of developing options it became obvious that these people had been highly trained by first rate group development workers and were far ahead in thought and resources than Love and Care Mission. They had over 1,000 volunteers they could count on. We were very cordial as the meeting with us handing out saris to the women and gifts to the children. These folks knew how to get a crowd.
Down the road, there was an old but working Hindu Shrine. One of the leaders had a good knowledge of the place. About 400 years old it still gave evidence of excellent art and workmanship. Yet, especially since it was now dark, the fact it was in session, we received a flashlight tour that let us feel like we were meeting the gods and goddesses for real. When we got to the holy of holies we were required to give the priest a prayer request he would pray for in the sacred room. It was all serious and more educational than the government controlled shrines.
We returned back to Bishop’ House (which was steps away from Fr. Vijayan’s family home. We were to get ready for a fun trip the next morning.
When I left Tennessee, I thought I was going to be picked up in Bangalore by Fr. Vijayan Joseph who is the pastor of Holy Spirit in the Bronx. Later I thought he was going to meet me in Chingleput. Now, he actually was going to meet me at the railway station in Tuticorin. And, lo and behold he showed up. It took us little while to hook up; but it was like meeting a long lost brother. He was the first person I met in India whom I had known in the US. It really is a profound experience, even after making many good new friends, to find an old one.
Fr. Vijayan got to working on his hospitality right away. Friends though we were, we tussled over carrying my bags up the train station’s stairway. Safely out of the station, Fr. hailed a cab and got us to the Bishop’s House. We got there in time for breakfast. Once again, the diocesan staff was genuinely welcoming in their greetings to me. When the door to my room had a problem, they gave me a better room next door.
Father had to tend to his mother the rest of the morning. She had to go to the hospital. So, as soon as Father took me to the laundry, I received a chance to catch up on my blogging and settling into my room until the early afternoon. That proved to be until past 3:00 pm.
At that time, Father got his brother to drive us in a car his brother borrowed (his was under repair) to Gramodaya. This was a place where the leaders of the community had been doing an outstanding job organizing the people. When I arrived, the people had been waiting a fairly long time. The vast majority were women who had HIV+ children. The first thing they did was to honor us as guests and make us seem very important. I get very apprehensive every time someone tries to make me bigger than I am. This was grossly overdone here. The women told us their stories. They were compelling. Somehow, I got into the position of judging what they should be doing. In the course of developing options it became obvious that these people had been highly trained by first rate group development workers and were far ahead in thought and resources than Love and Care Mission. They had over 1,000 volunteers they could count on. We were very cordial as the meeting with us handing out saris to the women and gifts to the children. These folks knew how to get a crowd.
Down the road, there was an old but working Hindu Shrine. One of the leaders had a good knowledge of the place. About 400 years old it still gave evidence of excellent art and workmanship. Yet, especially since it was now dark, the fact it was in session, we received a flashlight tour that let us feel like we were meeting the gods and goddesses for real. When we got to the holy of holies we were required to give the priest a prayer request he would pray for in the sacred room. It was all serious and more educational than the government controlled shrines.
We returned back to Bishop’ House (which was steps away from Fr. Vijayan’s family home. We were to get ready for a fun trip the next morning.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Day 36, Sept. 15
My stay at Chingleput was certainly stable. There was a great deal of movement driving hard from one place to another. We worked our way through many small villages with only grass huts. We saw, in other places, large factories under construction. India is a country of contrasts. While I was trying to figure out how to help others, one of the sisters we met took compassion on me. She is a physician practicing homeopathic medicine. She asked me she could help. I agreed and thereby learned a lot. She used a puntograph (?) to learn my medical history. Strangely she was able to tell me with accuracy what I had suffered from the last few years. Then, she determined what my body needed to get better and gave me the pills I needed. They actually work!
I was back to work as well. The first place we visited today was at Walabad where the young pastor was training the people of his parish to make church candles. They were embroidering saris. That is they bought plain saris at 300 rupees each, putting on them all sorts of gaudy stuff in order to sell them for 3,500 rupees. The finished product did look very good and worth the added price ice it took 5 people three days to finish one project. He did have a problem finding a market. I told him that since he already had a market with the churches, he could have his people make stoles. I showed him one of his Church Goods catalogues. He still wasn’t sure what I was telling him until I showed him the stole I bought from ST. Jude’s 50th anniversary. He still has the stole. He was impressed.
Beyond the Love & Care sites, Fr. Charles took me to parishes where there were recent or current building going on. This must have included half the diocese including the new church he dedicated a few days before he took over his job as Procurator of the Diocese. He knew building and counseled a number of pastors in my presence about how to proceed. A couple of times I gave in and offered my expert advice myself. It was h for me to resist. It was easier for them to resist me.
We were coming closer to another night. Only, this night involved an overnight train ride to Tuticorin. My train, the “Pearl City Special” (really) was to come in t 8:23 and depart t 8:25. So I needed to be at the right train car at the right platform (they think in platform numbers not track numbers). With that in mind, Fr. Charles and two houseboys from the Bishop’s House took me to the station 30 minutes early; found out the platform number and waited with me. It was over 30 minutes late. On our side we waited exactly where my car stopped.
This time I had a single berth. The compartments in 2nd class hold four berths; opposite them are two berths. Each of the two he privacy curtains and seems to me to be less under the influence of other people’s habits.
I did enjoy this ride better than the other two. Before I knew it, there was a new day in a new city.
My stay at Chingleput was certainly stable. There was a great deal of movement driving hard from one place to another. We worked our way through many small villages with only grass huts. We saw, in other places, large factories under construction. India is a country of contrasts. While I was trying to figure out how to help others, one of the sisters we met took compassion on me. She is a physician practicing homeopathic medicine. She asked me she could help. I agreed and thereby learned a lot. She used a puntograph (?) to learn my medical history. Strangely she was able to tell me with accuracy what I had suffered from the last few years. Then, she determined what my body needed to get better and gave me the pills I needed. They actually work!
I was back to work as well. The first place we visited today was at Walabad where the young pastor was training the people of his parish to make church candles. They were embroidering saris. That is they bought plain saris at 300 rupees each, putting on them all sorts of gaudy stuff in order to sell them for 3,500 rupees. The finished product did look very good and worth the added price ice it took 5 people three days to finish one project. He did have a problem finding a market. I told him that since he already had a market with the churches, he could have his people make stoles. I showed him one of his Church Goods catalogues. He still wasn’t sure what I was telling him until I showed him the stole I bought from ST. Jude’s 50th anniversary. He still has the stole. He was impressed.
Beyond the Love & Care sites, Fr. Charles took me to parishes where there were recent or current building going on. This must have included half the diocese including the new church he dedicated a few days before he took over his job as Procurator of the Diocese. He knew building and counseled a number of pastors in my presence about how to proceed. A couple of times I gave in and offered my expert advice myself. It was h for me to resist. It was easier for them to resist me.
We were coming closer to another night. Only, this night involved an overnight train ride to Tuticorin. My train, the “Pearl City Special” (really) was to come in t 8:23 and depart t 8:25. So I needed to be at the right train car at the right platform (they think in platform numbers not track numbers). With that in mind, Fr. Charles and two houseboys from the Bishop’s House took me to the station 30 minutes early; found out the platform number and waited with me. It was over 30 minutes late. On our side we waited exactly where my car stopped.
This time I had a single berth. The compartments in 2nd class hold four berths; opposite them are two berths. Each of the two he privacy curtains and seems to me to be less under the influence of other people’s habits.
I did enjoy this ride better than the other two. Before I knew it, there was a new day in a new city.
Day 35, Sept. 14
Today, Father Charles took me to 7 different projects. The Diocese has 78 parishes. By the end of this day I would have personally visited 10 of them and another 6 on the next day. Nor was travel easy. Transportation was by SUV over dirt or gravel roads. There was mud, other barriers including animals of all sorts and other drivers whose intentions no one could tell. Travel time was much longer than it would be for the same distance in the US.
In Palliagaram, Sister Preethika showed me her Rehabilitation Center which was home to 76 retarded children with another 10 there as outpatients. Despite what one might think, the children were sporting smiles of happiness. On the same campus, two priests run a Health center.
Father Michael Suresh’s parish came next. He was another wise priest who let me know that the needs of the people are far beyond what we are giving now.
There were more Love & Care children at Pappanallur, Amaiyappanallur, Manambathy Kndigi, Ambedkar Nagar, and Rettaimangalam.
We also visited a Jesuit mission at Ongur. It was great to talk to Fr. Bellarmine sj. He told me bout the Jesuits in India including some I hope to stay with later in my journey.
By the end of the day, I knew I had a workout. Father Charles (58 and happily chubby) was still going strong. Then again he was used to the heat and not coughing and blowing his nose like I was constantly. I did learn the extent of the needs in India. They are ubiquitous. Stand at any place in the county. At that point there is a need. The only reason we just have the programs we have is that someone is there
Today, Father Charles took me to 7 different projects. The Diocese has 78 parishes. By the end of this day I would have personally visited 10 of them and another 6 on the next day. Nor was travel easy. Transportation was by SUV over dirt or gravel roads. There was mud, other barriers including animals of all sorts and other drivers whose intentions no one could tell. Travel time was much longer than it would be for the same distance in the US.
In Palliagaram, Sister Preethika showed me her Rehabilitation Center which was home to 76 retarded children with another 10 there as outpatients. Despite what one might think, the children were sporting smiles of happiness. On the same campus, two priests run a Health center.
Father Michael Suresh’s parish came next. He was another wise priest who let me know that the needs of the people are far beyond what we are giving now.
There were more Love & Care children at Pappanallur, Amaiyappanallur, Manambathy Kndigi, Ambedkar Nagar, and Rettaimangalam.
We also visited a Jesuit mission at Ongur. It was great to talk to Fr. Bellarmine sj. He told me bout the Jesuits in India including some I hope to stay with later in my journey.
By the end of the day, I knew I had a workout. Father Charles (58 and happily chubby) was still going strong. Then again he was used to the heat and not coughing and blowing his nose like I was constantly. I did learn the extent of the needs in India. They are ubiquitous. Stand at any place in the county. At that point there is a need. The only reason we just have the programs we have is that someone is there
Day 34, Sept. 13
Today, once again, I was on the move. This time it was by car. Dr. and Mrs., Sagai Anthony, who are newlyweds, were taking me to Chingleput. I had met the young Doctor n the Bronx. He was staying with Fr. Vijayan Joseph while doing work t Montefiori Hospital. Now he was on vacation, enjoying his bride and writing to be accepted as a resident in some hospital in the US. One of them is UT Hospital in Knoxville. I hope he gets it.
For the fifth time in three days e made our way through Chennai. This was to be one way for me. The highlight for me, other than to spend time in a car with lovers, was the lunch we had. For that there were five of us. Two relatives were driving along with us in a motorcycle. The lunch was in a tree house. The food was superb; but the atmosphere was best. I asked and was told this was a typical South Indian home in olden times. It reminded me of Thai homes in the jungle even today.
When we arrived in Chingleput, we were warmly greeted by Fr. Charles at the Bishop’s House, that is to say, the Chancery and residence for its members. Fr. Charles is a dynamic man who had been pastor at many parishes. He was only recently named Procurator, CFO of the Diocese, and a member of every single commission in the Diocese. To me, as we visited almost 1/3 o the Diocese in 3 days, he appeared to be a priests’ priest. He gave wise advice to young and old alike and loved everyone.
After I was handed over to his care in late afternoon, we started visiting parishes and programs sponsored by Love & Care. The first three came today.
We began by visiting Ghandi Nagar. There 100 children had their tuition paid by Love & Care. They would otherwise not attend school and be faced with being a coolie laborer for the rest of life.
From there we went to a sub-station. That term describes a mission of a parish in the Chingleput Diocese. (and many others, perhaps) A typical parish may have four to ten substations. It’s a pastor’s problem to figure out how to service them all. They are not too far away from each other as our “missions” are in Tennessee; but they are well populated and have great hope of conversions. This one was at Madaiyambakkam, a substation of Sengattur. It sported 150 children supported by Lo& Care.
You have to know the typical visit. Fist, I would have tea or some drink with the leaders of the program. Then, I would tour the site. Then the children (or adults as the case may be) would conduct a show of some sort. I would give a speech or pep talk. Finally, I’d b thanked and I’d die into the group usually resulting in joy and shouting. At the end we discussed what was really happening and what needs they had. In every case there were a lot more needs than we were even dreaming to give.
The last place we visited that night was the 150 yea old Church at Cheyur. There, F. Raymond shared with us his hospitality and wisdom. As has become usual, I returned to the Bishop’s House quite tired.
Today, once again, I was on the move. This time it was by car. Dr. and Mrs., Sagai Anthony, who are newlyweds, were taking me to Chingleput. I had met the young Doctor n the Bronx. He was staying with Fr. Vijayan Joseph while doing work t Montefiori Hospital. Now he was on vacation, enjoying his bride and writing to be accepted as a resident in some hospital in the US. One of them is UT Hospital in Knoxville. I hope he gets it.
For the fifth time in three days e made our way through Chennai. This was to be one way for me. The highlight for me, other than to spend time in a car with lovers, was the lunch we had. For that there were five of us. Two relatives were driving along with us in a motorcycle. The lunch was in a tree house. The food was superb; but the atmosphere was best. I asked and was told this was a typical South Indian home in olden times. It reminded me of Thai homes in the jungle even today.
When we arrived in Chingleput, we were warmly greeted by Fr. Charles at the Bishop’s House, that is to say, the Chancery and residence for its members. Fr. Charles is a dynamic man who had been pastor at many parishes. He was only recently named Procurator, CFO of the Diocese, and a member of every single commission in the Diocese. To me, as we visited almost 1/3 o the Diocese in 3 days, he appeared to be a priests’ priest. He gave wise advice to young and old alike and loved everyone.
After I was handed over to his care in late afternoon, we started visiting parishes and programs sponsored by Love & Care. The first three came today.
We began by visiting Ghandi Nagar. There 100 children had their tuition paid by Love & Care. They would otherwise not attend school and be faced with being a coolie laborer for the rest of life.
From there we went to a sub-station. That term describes a mission of a parish in the Chingleput Diocese. (and many others, perhaps) A typical parish may have four to ten substations. It’s a pastor’s problem to figure out how to service them all. They are not too far away from each other as our “missions” are in Tennessee; but they are well populated and have great hope of conversions. This one was at Madaiyambakkam, a substation of Sengattur. It sported 150 children supported by Lo& Care.
You have to know the typical visit. Fist, I would have tea or some drink with the leaders of the program. Then, I would tour the site. Then the children (or adults as the case may be) would conduct a show of some sort. I would give a speech or pep talk. Finally, I’d b thanked and I’d die into the group usually resulting in joy and shouting. At the end we discussed what was really happening and what needs they had. In every case there were a lot more needs than we were even dreaming to give.
The last place we visited that night was the 150 yea old Church at Cheyur. There, F. Raymond shared with us his hospitality and wisdom. As has become usual, I returned to the Bishop’s House quite tired.
Day 32-33,
Sept. 11-12
Today was another travel day. Thanks to the patron saint of air travel, the flight scheduled for the early morning was switched to 1:30. Still, it was still raining pretty hard and there was a degree of difficulty getting to the airport. Sure enough, after some initial clear sailing, we bogged down in heavy traffic. We were stopped in ten lanes of gridlock. My driver was performing magic acts fitting us into holes too tight for a horse let alone a taxi. Still, all our extra time was being eaten up and there as danger we could be late. Uncharacteristically, I was at peace. I suppose it had to do with all the meditation. Maybe, some o it was sticking. I did pray tht the plane would be a trifle late.
Well, soon enough those ten lanes narrowed down to one. Teems of water turned the airport exit from an interstate quality highway into a broken down country road with the vehicles sorting out how to cross a torrent. We braved it and crossed into clear sailing. That put me in plenty of time for the plane – which indeed was late. When w boarded the pilot complained that he had arrived on time; but ground control delayed him for n apparent reason. Only I knew. But, the result was almost 3 hours of further delays.
All of that time was patiently absorbed by the folks waiting for me. Dr. Sagai Anthony MD, his wife and others were waiting to pick me up and show me the sights of Chennai. Christian Chennai (the former Madras) is highlighted by two places St. Thomas, the Apostle, was reputed to have been. One of those spots is a hill that was found to contain some relics; the other was a cave (on a hill overlooking the sea) where he spent time and on which he was martyred.
We barely made it to the first hill before dark. We couldn’t see the relics since Saturday evening Mass had begun in the church where they were kept. My lasting impression had to do with the high degree of commercialization. The parish seemed to be trying not only to be making converts but also money on St Thomas’ name.
We headed home where they had a rooftop room for me just like Elijah might have enjoyed. Then we settled down for dinner, a little walk and bed.
The next day was Sunday. I took the opportunity to concelebrate a Mass totally in Tamil. That meant I said nothing aloud only whispering the concelebrant’s parts in English. I did offer the Body of Christ in what I thought was Tamil. The people responded correctly; but I checked and what I thought I was to say and what I should have said were different. It was still a good experience. The Church was new and marble. The women stayed mostly on one side and sat on the floor. Most the men sat on plastic chairs. The responses were enthusiastic and the music as I’ve come to expect. The priest chanted most of the Mass.
After walking home we had a leisurely breakfast. Then, we took of to see the sites. I did get to see the other hill which was more important and less commercialized. Thomas had reputedly lived there and died near there. A mob, anxious to kill him, went to the cave where Thomas was located. Thomas prayed to be able to escape. Suddenly, an exit opened which s still there. It didn’t do him much good, though, because they soon grabbed him and killed him. Also in the well is a spring from which you can draw water.
Following this sacred place we drove further South to a beach. There was an interesting old Hindu Temple on the site and, the big attraction, a beach on the Bay of Bengal. I enjoyed the beach. I dressed with bathing trunks on. So, one more questionable article I brought for the trip was used. This was also the first time I used my ‘running’ shoes as well. My packing technique was vindicated.
The trail from the parking area to the beach was littered with kiosks all selling virtually the same things. Dr. Sagai and his wife wanted to buy me something to remember the day. We decided they could negotiate far better than I. There is a different price list for foreigners than for locals. We decided on an image of the god Gnassei. I had arrived on his feast day. They did do well shopping for it although it took a lot of time. But, they both thought I needed something more Indian to wear. Without my participation, they bought me a doothy. I was to put it on when I retuned to the house.
When the time came for my change of clothing they had to make sure I was OK with it. I said I was. Then, the men made sue I was wearing it with dignity (it was of very good quality). Then, I emerged with my long skirt. It really is masculine attire in India (most men wear it). I was told it looked very good. I had no reason to disagree. It was upper class. And I wasn’t the only man in the room sporting one.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Day 31, Sept. 10
The day before, under the direction of Anthony Arulraj, I bought a ticket to see the sights of Delhi. The tour was run by the City of Delhi’s Tourism department. It was only $5.00 plus admissions for a full day’s trip from 8:00 to 5:30.
The day didn’t start out too well. The morning was soaking wet with deep puddles making it hard to even walk the three or so blocks to the tourist center. When I got there barely on time, I found out the guide was late because she was tied up in traffic. Over a half hour later, they decided to meet the guide at the first site. At the Hindu temple, there was still no report on the guide. One of the six of us, a Hindu, led us and tried to answer questions. None of the people at the Temple could speak English. Finally, the guide did show up and we went to the site of Gandhi’s death. It had served as his ashram. It is also a good children’s museum. We had an 8 year old with us and she enjoyed herself. Following tht we saw and briefly prayed in the Lotus shaped temple of the Bahai faith.
At lunch time we came near to where we started. We were dumped off in front of a cafeteria serving local food. However, the 8 yea old girl from Sicily wanted either pasta or McDonald’s. There were no pasta houses. So, on to Mickey D’s. I couldn’t let the mother and daughter go it alone only guessing where the place was. So, I guided them to the place and had my first non-Indian meal since arriving. Actually, McDonalds serves no be in India; but it does have a vegetable concoction on a bun that is an Indian creation. It was pretty good.
Back to the tour. The remaining stops were:
the Qutub Minar which is a 72 meter tower built in three stages over 5 centuries. I didn’t think I wanted to pay an admission until I saw it. It is impressive as were the structures around it. They gave a good historical background of Mughal rule which most locals don’t like to remember.
the Rajghat, where Gandhi was cremated and revered
the Red Fort, built by the same man who built the Taj Mahal
Humayun’s tomb, an impressive area and monument that may have been the prototype of the Taj.
After all that bedraggled and soaked we finished the tour. I don’t hve pictures of most of it because my good camera wouldn’t work and I brought the wrong disc fo my back-up. Hence, after getting back I looked for and found a photo shop and bought a 2 gig SD card for $10.00 and returned to the CBCI center tired but happy.
The conversation at table that evening was more open and enjoyable s I felt more accepted. The visiting bishop was still there and I asked him some criticl questions and got back the answers I wanted to hear.
Day 30, Sept. 9
This morning was to be the longed for reunion of those of us who went on different trips. I went sight-seeing. The director of the Peace and Justice Office and a Sister who is on his staff and is a lawyer visited Catholics in the State of Orissa. Last year, Catholics were brutally attacked, raped, murdered, had their homes burned, and everything taken from them including their ID’s. Things are not any better now. I wanted to hear how their trip went.
I did get an earful of the terrible time the Christians are having not able to wok a decent job. They can only be coolies. None have ID’s and the government is not helping the process. Sister presented a plan whereby they can get replacement ID’s through the Federal Freedom of Information Act. They can apply to see their own records. The state officials can stall for 30 days; then the law kicks in. We will find out how in a month or so. The conversation was intense and time went fast. Let’s pray for those who are hurting so much and can’t move out without ID.
That afternoon II decided to make my move and try out the Delhi subway – the Metro. It has three lines and some more a year away. It is quite modern in contrast to the Kolkata subway. I decided to go to an historical park that depicts various tribal peoples n India. By the time I got to the proper station the time for closing was drawing near and a transit cop gave me the wrong direction from the station. It also started to rain. So, I beat it back to the Metro, after walking around the Supreme Court at their closing time rubbing shoulders with lawyers (maybe a judge or two) who wore the typical garb you’d see in a British Court room drama. I took a different way home and made it in time to take a shower before dinner.
Dinner featured the usual banter plus a conversation with the Youth Ministry leaders. They seem to have their act very much together. I could have been speaking to US leaders so small has the world gotten.
This morning was to be the longed for reunion of those of us who went on different trips. I went sight-seeing. The director of the Peace and Justice Office and a Sister who is on his staff and is a lawyer visited Catholics in the State of Orissa. Last year, Catholics were brutally attacked, raped, murdered, had their homes burned, and everything taken from them including their ID’s. Things are not any better now. I wanted to hear how their trip went.
I did get an earful of the terrible time the Christians are having not able to wok a decent job. They can only be coolies. None have ID’s and the government is not helping the process. Sister presented a plan whereby they can get replacement ID’s through the Federal Freedom of Information Act. They can apply to see their own records. The state officials can stall for 30 days; then the law kicks in. We will find out how in a month or so. The conversation was intense and time went fast. Let’s pray for those who are hurting so much and can’t move out without ID.
That afternoon II decided to make my move and try out the Delhi subway – the Metro. It has three lines and some more a year away. It is quite modern in contrast to the Kolkata subway. I decided to go to an historical park that depicts various tribal peoples n India. By the time I got to the proper station the time for closing was drawing near and a transit cop gave me the wrong direction from the station. It also started to rain. So, I beat it back to the Metro, after walking around the Supreme Court at their closing time rubbing shoulders with lawyers (maybe a judge or two) who wore the typical garb you’d see in a British Court room drama. I took a different way home and made it in time to take a shower before dinner.
Dinner featured the usual banter plus a conversation with the Youth Ministry leaders. They seem to have their act very much together. I could have been speaking to US leaders so small has the world gotten.
Day 28 & 29,
Sept. 7 & 8
Right on time at 5:15 am my driver was ready at the door to take me on my tour of Agra and Jaipur. I was told he spoke three languages and one of them was English. He must have spoken two languages because one of them was not English. I found that out right away. So, it became a kind of silent two days. He did understand the rules (?) of the road – that is, he knew how to maneuver in dense traffic - and made sure we got to our places of interest on time. Despite the language problem we enjoyed our breaks together and stops for lunch and dinner. This was my first time eating at (shall we say) non-four star restaurants. They were good and very cheap ($4.00 for two people coming out full) and I think healthy.
Without a doubt all the long driving for two days was worth it for one special stop – at the Taj Mahal. It is one of those rare works of art that stuns you even though you saw thousands of pictures of it. I knew what to expect and yet I just had to sit down and gawk at it for a while. I had tht feeling a few times. One was seeing the ‘David’ in Florence. The view from a distance was spectacular; then, close up, the detail work was exquisite as the guide showed us the translucence of the marble and the glow of some of the inlaid precious stones. All the guide did for us besides putting a flashlight out to show us the quality and property of the marble was show us all the angles that provided us excellent views I would have missed. I missed one important thing. Our car lost its A/C. I was also in need of an alignment. He directed us to a shop, drove us to the site, drove us back and took us to a good and relatively moderately priced restaurant
We paid for his dinner before we went to the Red Fort. He was being paid $10.00 to show us both places. He got a call and dumped us but not before giving us a rebate on his charge. The Red Fort was very interesting as it began to click in my head the relationships among Indian, Chinese, Egyptian, and other Ancient Near Eastern architecture, religion and culture. There does seem to be a thread that connects them all.
After those two sites we had to make a 4 hour drive to Jaipur. So, we hightailed it out to get to the Cathedral where they expected us to arrive far earlier than we could make it. And the traffic was horrible as cars, buses, heavy trucks, three wheel cabs, bicycles, ox carts, and the always present cows vied for position on the National Highway. They ought to make a video game with actual film from the road. It would frighten the most hip teenager into not wanting a driver license.
We got to the Cathedral late. They had a meal waiting for us and beds. I needed the bed more. The next morning, after a good sleep, I concelebrated Mass, had breakfast and started out to see the amazing features of Jaipur. There was the Hawa Mahal with its unique façade that you can see out of but not in. It was designed in 1778 for the Rationalist raja Sawai Singh who would have loved Jefferson. He also built the Jant Mantar, a park of oversized astronomical instruments that are still precise. Then there was the magnificent Palace with its museum.
Having done the city, there were the wonders of the countryside. Thee wee the two parts o the Amber Fort. It has religious, military, and cultural components that ae outstanding. There’s also the Jai Mahal which was built in the middle o the lake with three stories under water.
It was a good trip. Once again e hauled it back to Delhi through the traffic to make it back by 8 pm. We almost made it. Dinner with the staff o CBCI was scheduled at 8:30 and I made it early. The conversation s cordial as it built relationships. I had the chance to sound out a bishop who arrived for a meeting the next day about how Love & Care can and, perhaps, should work. He had no problem with India providing priests to the US. Nor did anyone else. To the contrary they welcomed the opportunity.
Day 27, Sept. 6
As sorry as I was to change my date to have dinner at Peter’s home with his family, the proof I made a good decision was my waking up feeling much better. The cab ride to the airport went without a hitch. We went by a shorter route because of the early Sunday moning time frame. The flight went well and before I knew it I had landed in New Delhi.
Anthony Arulraj was right there watching me wait for my baggage. For once my bags were among the first to come out of the chute. We got a prepaid taxi and we were on our way to the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of India’s building. I took my stuff to my room which was spacious, light, air conditioned, and sporting a clean European bathroom.
I had e-mailed Anthony that I wanted to take him out to lunch. We did go to lunch; but the whole Justice and Peace staff of the CBCI went as well. We ate at a Chinese restaurant. There were two reasons for this choice. It seed tasty, good food. And, it was owned by refugees settled by the staff. Everything was most enjoyable and we hit it of very well. I believe we’ll be in touch for a long time in the future. The Director, Fr. Nithiya Sagayam, ofm. Cap, and Sister Mariola d’Sousa told me about their upcoming trip to Orissa. It’s a long terrifying story of the outrages done to the Catholics there. They were going there Monday to instruct them how they could regain their ID’s which were lost, burned or otherwise destroyed last year. They would return Wednesday.
That was when I would return from a two day tour to Agra and Jaipur. Anthony obtained the services of a driver and found a rectory where I could stay.
After the long happy lunch, I had some time to walk around a bit with the intention to find an ATM machine. I came to a commercial area. I tried three banks. None of their ATM’s would work for e. I thought I was in great trouble. Later I tried and failed to reach the emergency number of USAA. Before I left, I called them twice to make sure they knew I was going to need their services in India. Yet, the machines said my card was unauthorized. More on that later.
As sorry as I was to change my date to have dinner at Peter’s home with his family, the proof I made a good decision was my waking up feeling much better. The cab ride to the airport went without a hitch. We went by a shorter route because of the early Sunday moning time frame. The flight went well and before I knew it I had landed in New Delhi.
Anthony Arulraj was right there watching me wait for my baggage. For once my bags were among the first to come out of the chute. We got a prepaid taxi and we were on our way to the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of India’s building. I took my stuff to my room which was spacious, light, air conditioned, and sporting a clean European bathroom.
I had e-mailed Anthony that I wanted to take him out to lunch. We did go to lunch; but the whole Justice and Peace staff of the CBCI went as well. We ate at a Chinese restaurant. There were two reasons for this choice. It seed tasty, good food. And, it was owned by refugees settled by the staff. Everything was most enjoyable and we hit it of very well. I believe we’ll be in touch for a long time in the future. The Director, Fr. Nithiya Sagayam, ofm. Cap, and Sister Mariola d’Sousa told me about their upcoming trip to Orissa. It’s a long terrifying story of the outrages done to the Catholics there. They were going there Monday to instruct them how they could regain their ID’s which were lost, burned or otherwise destroyed last year. They would return Wednesday.
That was when I would return from a two day tour to Agra and Jaipur. Anthony obtained the services of a driver and found a rectory where I could stay.
After the long happy lunch, I had some time to walk around a bit with the intention to find an ATM machine. I came to a commercial area. I tried three banks. None of their ATM’s would work for e. I thought I was in great trouble. Later I tried and failed to reach the emergency number of USAA. Before I left, I called them twice to make sure they knew I was going to need their services in India. Yet, the machines said my card was unauthorized. More on that later.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Day 27, Sept. 6
As sorry as I was to change my date to have dinner at Peter’s home with his family, the proof I made a good decision was my waking up feeling much better. The cab ride to the airport went without a hitch. We went by a shorter route because of the early Sunday moning time frame. The flight went well and before I knew it I had landed in New Delhi.
Anthony Arulraj was right there watching me wait for my baggage. For once my bags were among the first to come out of the chute. We got a prepaid taxi and we were on our way to the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of India’s building. I took my stuff to my room which was spacious, light, air conditioned, and sporting a clean European bathroom.
I had e-mailed Anthony that I wanted to take him out to lunch. We did go to lunch; but the whole Justice and Peace staff of the CBCI went as well. We ate at a Chinese restaurant. There were two reasons for this choice. It seed tasty, good food. And, it was owned by refugees settled by the staff. Everything was most enjoyable and we hit it of very well. I believe we’ll be in touch for a long time in the future. The Director, Fr. Nithiya Sagayam, ofm. Cap, and Sister Mariola d’Sousa told me about their upcoming trip to Orissa. It’s a long terrifying story of the outrages done to the Catholics there. They were going there Monday to instruct them how they could regain their ID’s which were lost, burned or otherwise destroyed last year. They would return Wednesday.
That was when I would return from a two day tour to Agra and Jaipur. Anthony obtained the services of a driver and found a rectory where I could stay.
After the long happy lunch, I had some time to walk around a bit with the intention to find an ATM machine. I came to a commercial area. I tried three banks. None of their ATM’s would work for e. I thought I was in great trouble. Later I tried and failed to reach the emergency number of USAA. Before I left, I called them twice to make sure they knew I was going to need their services in India. Yet, the machines said my card was unauthorized. More on that later.
As sorry as I was to change my date to have dinner at Peter’s home with his family, the proof I made a good decision was my waking up feeling much better. The cab ride to the airport went without a hitch. We went by a shorter route because of the early Sunday moning time frame. The flight went well and before I knew it I had landed in New Delhi.
Anthony Arulraj was right there watching me wait for my baggage. For once my bags were among the first to come out of the chute. We got a prepaid taxi and we were on our way to the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of India’s building. I took my stuff to my room which was spacious, light, air conditioned, and sporting a clean European bathroom.
I had e-mailed Anthony that I wanted to take him out to lunch. We did go to lunch; but the whole Justice and Peace staff of the CBCI went as well. We ate at a Chinese restaurant. There were two reasons for this choice. It seed tasty, good food. And, it was owned by refugees settled by the staff. Everything was most enjoyable and we hit it of very well. I believe we’ll be in touch for a long time in the future. The Director, Fr. Nithiya Sagayam, ofm. Cap, and Sister Mariola d’Sousa told me about their upcoming trip to Orissa. It’s a long terrifying story of the outrages done to the Catholics there. They were going there Monday to instruct them how they could regain their ID’s which were lost, burned or otherwise destroyed last year. They would return Wednesday.
That was when I would return from a two day tour to Agra and Jaipur. Anthony obtained the services of a driver and found a rectory where I could stay.
After the long happy lunch, I had some time to walk around a bit with the intention to find an ATM machine. I came to a commercial area. I tried three banks. None of their ATM’s would work for e. I thought I was in great trouble. Later I tried and failed to reach the emergency number of USAA. Before I left, I called them twice to make sure they knew I was going to need their services in India. Yet, the machines said my card was unauthorized. More on that later.
Day 26, Sept. 5
This morning three of us priests got up early to attend the Feast D Mass of Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta. The Archbishop of Calcutta was to be the principal concelebrant. We had trouble finding cab at 5:30 in the morning; but eventually found one after walking a third of the way there. When we arid I found there were no way near the number of priests I expected. We numbered nine. But the chapel, which maybe numbers about 150, was filled. All the MC Sisters in Calcutta were there and all the postulants and novices. There were a number of lay people who received cordial welcomes indicating to me they were key supporters of the sisters. The scene was harming, joyful, and holy. In one room the priests vested with many of us coming late. But the Mass started late. There was no clock. As we were processing in I noticed the Portuguese priest entering. I motioned to him to vest. I just then realized how familiar the Motherhouse had come to me.
The archbishop was described to me as a wise man who has done a loot of good. However, he reinvented himself as a kind of guru. He grew a long gray beard and talked philosophically. At the Mass his homily had thee points and lasted over a half hour. His three points were: to bring the Good News to the poor you need to give them food, devotion and holiness. I may have been the only person there to follow him. Sitting toward the congregation of sisters and laity, I could see the sisters fidget around. They were sitting lotus-style on the concrete floor. Some were mercifully asleep.
The one exciting thing or me happened by dumb luck. Although I was among the last concelebrant to enter, I ended up sitting closest to the three main celebrants. As it worked out I was standing closest to the altar. We used Eucharistic Prayer II. After the Consecration I was summoned t pray one of the concelebrant’s prayers. So, I was the one who mentioned Blessed Teresa of Kolkata at the memorial of the saints. I felt embarrassed and proud at the same time.
After the Mass, came the best time. The sisters lined up in the stairway and in the hallways and sang a song to Mother. Perhaps, everyone there had goose bumps. Following that event, the sisters fed the priests breakfast and we all made our way home.
There was to be another Mass that evening; but I was scheduled to be the celebrant at the Saturday evening Mass with the Sunday readings. I was going to fly to Delhi early the next morning and probably would not be able to be at Sunday Mass let alone say one. So, I had to hold off returning for the feasting at the Motherhouse.
By then I was exhausted and had some flu-like symptoms. Although the Mass was for Sunday with its readings, it was in the middle of a novena to Our Lady of Good Health. The priest who came to preach the novena preached on the novena topic. He talked about as long as the archbishop. However, I couldn’t tell you how many points he made. I woke up about three times during the sermon. The final time was just as he was finishing up. That was good luck. People in the congregation did not notice.
I had planned to go to my guide Peter’s house for dinner. I had to renege on him. I was sick as a dog. So, I packed, took a hot bath, and slept.
This morning three of us priests got up early to attend the Feast D Mass of Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta. The Archbishop of Calcutta was to be the principal concelebrant. We had trouble finding cab at 5:30 in the morning; but eventually found one after walking a third of the way there. When we arid I found there were no way near the number of priests I expected. We numbered nine. But the chapel, which maybe numbers about 150, was filled. All the MC Sisters in Calcutta were there and all the postulants and novices. There were a number of lay people who received cordial welcomes indicating to me they were key supporters of the sisters. The scene was harming, joyful, and holy. In one room the priests vested with many of us coming late. But the Mass started late. There was no clock. As we were processing in I noticed the Portuguese priest entering. I motioned to him to vest. I just then realized how familiar the Motherhouse had come to me.
The archbishop was described to me as a wise man who has done a loot of good. However, he reinvented himself as a kind of guru. He grew a long gray beard and talked philosophically. At the Mass his homily had thee points and lasted over a half hour. His three points were: to bring the Good News to the poor you need to give them food, devotion and holiness. I may have been the only person there to follow him. Sitting toward the congregation of sisters and laity, I could see the sisters fidget around. They were sitting lotus-style on the concrete floor. Some were mercifully asleep.
The one exciting thing or me happened by dumb luck. Although I was among the last concelebrant to enter, I ended up sitting closest to the three main celebrants. As it worked out I was standing closest to the altar. We used Eucharistic Prayer II. After the Consecration I was summoned t pray one of the concelebrant’s prayers. So, I was the one who mentioned Blessed Teresa of Kolkata at the memorial of the saints. I felt embarrassed and proud at the same time.
After the Mass, came the best time. The sisters lined up in the stairway and in the hallways and sang a song to Mother. Perhaps, everyone there had goose bumps. Following that event, the sisters fed the priests breakfast and we all made our way home.
There was to be another Mass that evening; but I was scheduled to be the celebrant at the Saturday evening Mass with the Sunday readings. I was going to fly to Delhi early the next morning and probably would not be able to be at Sunday Mass let alone say one. So, I had to hold off returning for the feasting at the Motherhouse.
By then I was exhausted and had some flu-like symptoms. Although the Mass was for Sunday with its readings, it was in the middle of a novena to Our Lady of Good Health. The priest who came to preach the novena preached on the novena topic. He talked about as long as the archbishop. However, I couldn’t tell you how many points he made. I woke up about three times during the sermon. The final time was just as he was finishing up. That was good luck. People in the congregation did not notice.
I had planned to go to my guide Peter’s house for dinner. I had to renege on him. I was sick as a dog. So, I packed, took a hot bath, and slept.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Day 25, Sept. 4
Today is to be an easy day with several choices. The fist choice I made was to attend the funeral Mass of a 77 year old priest who did the day before. In the last few weeks I have felt myself very close to the diocesan priests in India. It is not too much of a stretch to fee the need to pray with the archbishop and priests of Kolkata in their sorrow at losing one of their own.
For the most part the Mass was exactly what we would do in Tennessee. The homilist followed the same outline I have always heard at such occasions including a few funny anecdotes from the priest’s life. There were some differences. The casket was open and remained so through the Mass. At the beginning close priest friends and family put garlands on his open casket. After the final commendation, all us priests passed by the dead body and traced the sign of the cross on his forehead. That was weird as his forehead was warm (another warm and moist day in the big city) and soft.
Aft the funeral, I took a taxi back with a priest and got ready for a foray into the post office. The tea, woolen products and my prized Ghurka knife would have been a burden to carry all over India for the next two months. Mailing them home would be a solution. I checked with my brother and he agreed I should send them to my mother’ house. He’ll pick the package (10 lbs. or 4,25 kilos) up hen it arrives in about 6 weeks. I sure hope so. The local post office was busy. Instead of getting on the end of any of the lines there, I went directly to an old desk with a man who looked like a postal official. He may o may not have been; but he was knowledgeable and repacked my parcel, filled out all the customs info and sewed over the package with some light cloth. It looked professional. Now, all I have to do is hope it arrives before Nov. 1.
All day long heavy rain played tag with the sun. I got caught going to the post office and I got caught big time on my next trip. After lunch (1pm) I decided to visit the home (and museum) of the great Rabindranath Tagore. He was a poet, playwright, artist, and international intellectual. He won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1913. He wrote the Indian national anthem. Looking at his ideas as presented in his museum, he really has something to say even to our world. What I saw makes sense of Eastern spirituality in respect to dealing with the relationship of affluence in the midst of abject poverty.
Drenched, I made my way through the unfamiliar streets of a part of town I hadn’t seen before, looking for the subway station. Asking directions is fun but an inexact science. I was consistently directed and eventually reached the station half a mile way from the one I got out of. All the same, the experience of traipsing through sidewalks and streets filled with noise, commotion, business, while avoiding disrupting families living on the sidewalk is exhilarating to an extent. Add to that the ‘pucker’ factor of being 17,000 miles from home in a country where few can understand you. The times I asked directions and was greeted with heroic attempts to give me a right answer lifted my impression of the human race as quite a good group to belong to.
Day 24, Sept. 3
Waking up today was exciting as I anticipated going to the Leper Colony. But first was Mass with the Bishop. The chapel was a dirty room with cracked walls slightly decorated to resemble a church. I’ve said Mass in military outposts that looked better. Jesus was present anyway. We were on the campus of two Catholic schools and what will be a modern Chancery building complete with rooms for the clergy and visiting priests.
After Mass and breakfast, I had a personal interview with the Bishop. My guess that he was stuffy man was immediately shattered by his warmth. We hit it off well. He was my first bishop on whom I could try out my understanding of how Love & Care should work. He agreed with me wholeheartedly underlining my points from his stance as a bishop. He agreed that funds for individual project should be funneled though the local bishop and that a relationship between Indian and American bishops would b beneficial. He even agreed to allow his priests to take assignments in the US.
Now, we were off to see the lepers. I had become more and more apprehensive as to how I would react. When we finally arrived, 35 kms later, the MC Sister in charge offered us cold water. This was the first truly (American standard) cold water I’ve consumed since I left the US. The entrance and first buildings were clean and neat (unusual for India up to now). As I continued and looked through one building after another, I realized a few things. The place was clean. When the landscaping gets finished, it will be beautiful. The inmates (as inpatients are called) were all happy. The sisters do fabulous work making them know they are loved. Each patient has either bandages on extremities or prostheses. They were relaxing between therapy sessions. They knew they could get better. No one complained. There was hope.
In one sense I was disappointed in that I did not see the low point o human misery. I witnessed quite the opposite. That’s the difference Christ makes hen h woks though committed people. I was disappointed; but glad of it.
I had a choice of times for my bus. I chose the later of the two so I could see more. I ended up using the diocesan computer for a couple of hours whenever the electricity came back on. (At certain times each place I’ve visited has shut off its electricity to conserve it) That gave me the chance to get my blog close to current.
The ride back was better. I sat next to a man who manufactures and sells fly fishing lures internationally. They did not put on the loud music for the first leg of the journey. However, they did show a Bollywood movie later, and the bus was one again freezing. Because the bus was running late, the driver tried to work his way through slower traffic. This meant he spent half the five hour trip honking his loud horn. Whatever good points the return trip had over the one the previous day were completely voided by the incessant noise. The bus came in at 10:00pm an hour late. Despite that, Peter was there when I descended the bus and walked me back to St. Anthony’s.
Day 23, Sept. 2
Having made the acquaintance of Fr. Cyril (Cyl) I was looking forward to seeing his ministry. I had never been to a leper colony before and I thought it was worth the change in plans to take this opportunity. The day began with Mass at St. Anthony’s. There having a novena to Our Lady of Good Health. Each day thee is a sermon given on an aspect of Mary that is highlighted. All nine days had the same preacher and novena prayers after Communion. The people loved it. At the end they were blessed by a statue of Our Lady. [In a related conversation later, one priest told me that, in bringing the Faith to Hindus, it is good to relate to their practices. They’re used to statues and divine representatives granting favors. So, the missionaries heavily used devotions to Mary and the saints as a way of relating Christian concepts to those they know.]
After Mass, I had a time to pack and have some free time. We had lunch before taking the trolley (vintage 1905 and probably repatched every 20 years until it looks like a war wagon) to the Motherhouse to keep our appointment with Fr. Steve.
Steve is a Missionary of Charity priest (one of the few). I wanted to pick his brain on the subjects of poverty, discernment and the Corpus Christi Movement of priests. Steve is from Australia. He responded, however, in the manner of an Eastern guru. He always turned the question back around to me. I got some good information from him but my interrogation techniques weren’t good enough to get a direct answer. One of the MC Sisters came with refreshments. (They are exceedingly gracious to priests.) Then Cyl and I tried to get to the 4:00 bus to Asensol.
We decided to go by taxi; but n one would take us. The four drivers we stopped all told us there was a political rally in the square and they couldn’t get to the bus. We took a trolley to see how close we could get and walk the rest of the way. The trolley gt us all the depot even faster than a cab could have. Strange! Cyl thought it was too short fare for the taxi.
Cyl booked us on a Volvo modern bus. It was comfortable except for the loud music and the super-cold ai conditioning. At first, the A/C felt great, until I started freezing. That inconvenience was compensated for by the spectacular sunset and the views of West Bengal vistas.
We got to our destination about 8:30. We had to walk a ways to the compound. At the gate, Cyl got motorbike and rode me to the Bishop’s House where we were very late for supper. We apologized, they understood. After the meal, we were showed to our quarters another ride away. They were little concrete apartments. Mine had n mirrors. But the bathroom did he a special luxury – my first room with hot water.
Day 22, Sept. 1
Father Gregory is the pastor of St. Anthony’s and, formally, my host. He seems to be a self-assured man fully in charge of all that’s in his care. He has a resume that would put him in the running for a diocese of his own some day. Knowing that I was looking at various projects for Love & Care, he wanted me to go with him to see his pet project. It was across to Hooghly River in Howrah. Crossing the bridge, his appearance changed. He looked happy and free of the cares of management. By the time we arrived at the Bess Crawford Center (named after an Australian benefactor), he was a joy, proud to show me this part of his life. Sure enough, it was a place where children who dropped out of school were picked up and taught by high quality teachers at their own pace until they liked learning and were able to be re-admitted to school. Primary school children were learning English. (That’s a big deal here.) Such knowledge alone could practically guarantee them a job, if they persevere. They put on a program of songs for me and impressed me greatly more by their discipline than anything else. It’s a super project. And the teachers get paid about $20 to 50.00 per month. I’ve been asking about the economics o the country. I’m only beginning to understand how things work here. Suffice it to say for now that people can get by on that amount but not very well.
We had lunch back at the parish. After about an hour of housekeeping in the cozy bin that serves as my room I was off to the Motherhouse to participate in another day of the novena before Mother Teresa’s feast day. I got there in time for the rosary and concelebrated Mass with three other priests. One was Fr. Eric from Lisbon whom I met yesterday. The other was Missionary of Charity (MC) Father Steve. He hails from Australia mate. I asked him if I could see him the net day. He said 2:30 is the best time for him. I agreed. However, there was another priest whom I met at St. Anthony’s ho came with me to the Motherhouse. He enticed me into going with him to his parish in which there was a leper colony. My time is flexible; so, I agreed to go with him. I thought his place was somewhat close. Now during the negotiations for time, h had a say. We would meet with Fr. Steve and then hurry to catch a bus. That done e returned to St. Anthony’s or supper and bed. Supper is about 8 pm and bed soon follows t 9 or so. Usually, by that time my body gives out. I’ve been walking a lot as I hd planned and the humid heat takes my energy away. That is the way I planned to get back in shape. I hope to keep to that regimen for the rest of the trip.
Day 21, Aug. 31
The train was supposed to come in to Howrah Station at 5:10 in the morning. Thank goodness it was over an hour late. However, it did cause me some apprehension. I had awaken in plenty o time to g down the hall getting ready for the morning. I returned to my berth and slept a bit longer. I re-awoke at 5:13 and saw countryside gliding by my window. It couldn’t be I slept through my stop? After all, Kolkata was the last stop. Tht thought scared me for about a half hour until I noticed everyone was still aboard. This led me to meditate on fear. I have tended to be afraid of shadows in most all of my endeavors. Being fearful is not the mark of someone in the Kingdom.
When the train actually did arrive, I was on my own in the crowded depot along with thousands of passengers and as many hawkers tying to get someone to hire a taxi. I knew they were cheats who would charge more than double the right fare. I was going to the pre-paid booth where one gives the destination and the agent gives you a slip to hand to a cabbie. Then you pay the agent and go to the cab # assigned. I found a booth with no one in it. About 10 cabbies told me the office was closed today and could they help me. I chose one. We settled on a price which he jacked up when we made it to my destination. I was taken again.
I had lunch at St. Anthony’s (my new home for the next 5 days) and was given directions to the MC Motherhouse for rosary and Mass (part of a novena before Mother Teresa’s feast day. The directions were sketchy at best and, later when I showed them to others a source of laughter. I made it on time. But I was off by about 2kms. At the end I was on the correct street but going the wrong direction. When I asked yet another person where the Motherhouse was, he made his son drive me on his motorcycle. He didn’t seem to like it at first. By the time we arrived he refused my offer of money and l0oked as if he were proud 0of doing a religious act.
I was welcomed immediately into the Motherhouse once I mentioned I was a priest. They pointed me to the upstairs chapel where lots o people wee gathering. I asked if I could concelebrate. My question was met with a “why do you have to ask’ look. I prayed the rosary fearful I was to be the only priest there. At the third mystery another priest did come. Later a third came. He, like me, was a foreigner from Portugal. The Mass as always was special as fearfulness was a minor theme through the homily. I remembered the train incident and smiled. I just got a message I have the power to do something about.
The trip back took a more direct route. Yet, toward the end, not wanting to tackle a tangle of little twisting streets with no signs filled to the gills with humanity at its lowest, I hailed a rickshaw driver he should know thee neighborhood and get e home expeditiously. Wrong! He ran pulling the cab at a pretty fast pace. However, despite his assurance, at the end he went around in circles. We were both asking people where 19 Market Street was. Finally, I gave up, exited the rickshaw and paid him more than e bargained for. H started arguing with me for more money. Unfortunate for him, I heard those arguments before from the cabs. I thought this poor driver w0ould be different. I didn’t give him what he wanted. About 40 minutes later I found my way home for dinner and bed.
Day 20, Aug. 30
I had a longer sleep than usual due to the fact I was scheduled to say the second Mass at the Cathedral. The first one was in Nepali, the local language. This is an 1 hour and 45 minute Mass with a lot of chanting. Darjeeling is very British, however, in its manner and style. It is also a military town. Just 5 kilometers, the road is closed for military operations. There seems to be infiltration of soldiers or arms going on. It’s not a joke. But, there is no tension.
Mass was quite nice with seminarians leading the Music. Guitars, bongos and a synthesizer were enough to lead the relatively small congregation. The people gather include tourists from France and a newly married local couple who just got back rom their honeymoon in Thailand. They stayed on an island I spent a day on two years ago.
After the Mass I was invited to tea at the Loreto Sisters cnent which is attachd to the Cathedral. The newly weds were there and she told me of a project Love & Care might be interested in. Then I went to the rectory for a final meal and some help getting a vehicle to take m down to the railway station 65 km. awy. It cost me 1200 rups to come up. The price going down came to 180 rupees. That was paying for two seats to he the front seat of the SUV to myself. The SUV only went to Siliguri. So I had to sspend another 150 rps to go the rest of the trip.
The train was on time. I found my car easily. And the first person I saw in the train was the Muslim who helped me on the trip to Darjeeling.
Day 19, Aug. 29
Saturday stated out promising in Darjeeling. Fr. Swed was going to Sikkim where he has a parish that he serves on weekends. He offered to take me; but we couldn’t get back in time to make the train I had a ticket for. I really would like to have gone. It’s a new place for me even higher than Darjeeling and the parishioners are tribal folk. Too bad. We talked about my return in October if possible.
No sooner had he left than he called me saying the hills were visible. I had to finish something first, then I gathered my stuff and headed out. By now, I knew my way to some viewpoints. When I got out, it my have been too late or the view was on another viewpoint. I chased the elusive mountains for a few miles and gave up. I did see some trainees learning to climb the major league Mountains. Even the simple maneuvers were beyond my capacity. So, I went back to town and shopped for trinkets to take home as souvenirs.
There as a shop that a Jesuit helped establish. It sold the products made by tribal women and other women who had no other source of income. They knitted in a style peculiar to this point on the globe. I wanted to support the program and get some lightweight (and easily shipped) goods with a story. That done I looked or myself. Yesterday, I realized (duh) that the natives of Darjeeling are Ghurkas. There were signs all over supporting secession from its State (West Bengal). They wanted a State of Ghurkaland. The priests all supported the effort and there are compromises in the works. And, yes, to all you military these are the most respected soldiers in the world with accolades for deployments in wars throughout the last century and this. I began to covet a famous Ghurka knife, especially when I found they were plentiful and relatively inexpensive. I had promised to go back to a store that would sell me a current army issue knife for less than a nearby shop. I went back and he had jus closed for the weekend. To make the story short for the sake of time I found the same knife for only a little more than the one I found. Later, in the old bazaar section o town they had an older version of the knife, also Army issue but from WWII vintage for half the price. It’s coming back by mail. I don’t think I can get away from some transportation agent not letting it aboard a train, plain or a bus.
For the rest of the evening I had supper, good conversation in the Bishop’s house and I packed for the long trip the next day.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Day 18, Aug. 28
When I arose, the chill was gone from my body but not from the weather. The day started out with rain and chill. I was asked and enthusiastically agreed the previous day to say Mass at a convent. I didn’t pay attention because of my slight illness. This morning, I realized I was being led to the Loreto convent where Mother Teresa spent her novitiate, was professed, and went for retreat. It was located just across the street from the Bishop’s House where I am staying.
A seminarian from the John XXIII Center, next door, led my way at 6:15 am. He crossed the street went past the Cathedral (which is little more than a chapel. In fact, it was the Sisters of Loreto chapel until they gave it to the new Diocese of Darjeeling.) The sisters’ residence is connected to the Cathedral. That’s where I was led for Mass.
The chapel there looked like it had been a living room of sorts where guests were met. The sisters sat on stools and there was a low (coffee) table for an altar with a small chair behind it where the celebrant sat. They gave me a saffron shawl (much the same as at the Ashram) instead of a chasuble. Remembering the Masses at Anjeli Ashram, I said Mass with the same intensity and devotion. The sisters appreciated it. There were only five or so of them.
They invited me to breakfast. It was not the fare I’ve come to expect in India. It was a typical Irish breakfast. It was great. So was the conversation. They let me know this was the place Mother Theresa spent a lot of time. Then, they proceeded to give me a grand tour. I was shown the choir loft (on the side of and above the main altar) where the sisters and novices attended Mass. (Lay people sat on the pews down below facing the altar.) Looking down from the loft I could see the floor Mother prostrated on before being professed. Later, I was bought to the place she lived and the summer site of the novices’ quarters. It was a tin shed with nothing to keep it warm. The whole experience there (including the mandatory tour of the two schools on the premises [one private; the other a government school both run by the sisters] was marvelous. That was the main reason I wanted to come to Darjeeling. The other was for a retreat-like experience. I was receiving that at the Bishop’s House. All that remained was to see some of the spectacular scenery for which this town is noted.
That came 15 minutes after I returned from the convent. Fr. Swed put me under the guidance of a worker there. Just at that moment, the sun made an appearance. I got a glimpse of the hills and the tea gardens with their bushes geometrically dotting the hillsides. As we drove, some o the more distant mountains appeared from the clouds. The similarity to the Smokies was uncanny except for the 8,200 meter (25,000+ ft) snow covered heights dimly teasing me in the distance. I barely saw them; but the postcard photos pod they are real. My trip here was indeed a success. If only the ‘toy’ (small gauge) railway were functioning it would have been perfect. How could I have missed learning not to expect the perfect in this world? I will gladly accept what I have received this week.
Later in the day I was guided on a shopping expedition. Theology books are cheap here. There is a mostly religious bookstore with a Catholic section that features some deep and narrow topics. I could have bought them all. At those prices, ($2.25 to $5.00) I could have but I would have to drag them all over India for two more months. I’ll find more of those shops later, I hope.
The day ended with another priest guest joining us. We had dinner together followed by an evening of great conversation centering on the concept of forming base communities in our parishes. The conversation included many an anecdote (most of them funny). Parish priests are connected, I relearned, all over the world.
Day 17, Aug. 27
Before I went to sleep, I thought I had a version of the flu (it had killed 26 people in Bangalore since I arrived). Now, I awoke from the longest sleep I have taken while in India quite refreshed. The only problem was the constant hard rain. My host insisted that today be spent resting. Since I needed an excuse to start catching up with at least 10 days worth of blogging, I took the advice. This would be a complete day of rest.
I came to Darjeeling as Mother Teresa did in 1946 for a retreat to discern her future. The weather was a message to remind me of my mission. I did want to see the beautiful mighty Himalayas. From all reports, the rest of my time would be spent in fog and rain. I resigned myself to this fate and hoped to find time to return in October when the weather is much better.
Besides the blogging, I found some good literature especially on John Vianney and did what I was told to do.
Days 15 and 16
Aug. 25 and 26
The day began with an unexpected continuation of the previous day’s joy. I celebrated Mass at the Missionary of Charity’s Novitiate not far from where I was staying. The Mass proved to be another memorable experience for me as I looked at the sixty or so novices and sisters with aces representing every continent but Antarctica. Another of Mother’s legacies is bringing the whole world together at one event, namely the giving of one’s life for the poor and suffering. Here was yet another focal point. At this Eucharist, the world came together to experience its redemption near the cross of the thirsting Christ.
After Mass, as usual on this trip, I was served fine breakfast by the sisters with good conversation. One again I was given a tour of the spacious grounds. Mother loved to be here. One of her greatest joys, if not the greatest, was being with the novices. Her presence is still here. More than a novitiate, Green Park cares for mentally disturbed people of all ages. They are separated into various groups such as women, men, older children and younger. In one way it could have been an ordinary mental health hospital in the US. In an important way it was not. The clients knew they were loved and acted accordingly. When I arrived in a sector, I was met with smiles and requests for blessings. I even started giving the adults high fives. They loved it. Sister smiled. I hope Mother did too.
Returning to Fr. Susai Manickam’s Proggaloy, Father, like the excellent host he was, made sure the next leg of my trip would be enjoyable. I wasn’t sure where I would stay in Darjeeling. He made all the arrangements necessary telling me it was better for me to stay at the Bishop’s House. The bishop was in America and his secretary was in charge. He would take good care of me. (As I finished that sentence, that same man just came to my room and poured me a glass of Indian red wine. He has taken excellent care of me, indeed.)
Now, all I had to do was wait for Peter. He sad he’d come at 11:30. By 2:00 he was still delayed. I had to move my baggage to St. Anthony’s and get to the rail station to catch the 17:45 train to Darjeeling. I needed to get there early. I knew the station would be a mass of humanity and I wasn’t sure how to negotiate one of the largest stations in the world. I needed Peter and I needed him fast.
He arrived at 3:00. He then hired a nearby taxi. The driver was an old, slow, and extremely dirty man with bad body habits and a dilapidated cab. But, he managed to get us to town in time to stow my bags at the church and race to the station. We got there with time to have a snack. My train was not on track 29 but on platform 8. I found my name on a list indicating my car and seat/berth assignment. All was well. Finding my place was a bit of a hassle made easier by Peter. Before I realized it, the long train was chugging its way out of the station.
In A/C First Class one might expect serenity and luxury travel. Of course not! The sea of humanity was lessened. (There was no fighting to get on board as there was for the lower class cars. I would not have been able to survive that.) As it was, my compartment comprised four beds. Before I got aboard, a large Muslim man had already sprawled his belongings into my area. He spread his supper on half his seat/bed and his ready-for-bed self on the other half. Know that another passenger had a right to half that space until nightfall when the beds would be deployed. By the way, Ramadan (Ramzan in India) began a day ago. He could not eat until sundown. He kept looking to his watch in between prayers. The other two men sat on my side. One of them left for a while. I took out my Liturgy of the Hours to pray. My remaining companion noticed it and asked if I were a Christian. When I answered in the affirmative, we became friends. He, too, was Christian. He worked for a gas company. When the conductor arrived to check tickets, I had a question to ask him that I had trouble asking. The Muslim answered my question and saw to it I would get off at the right station.
Speaking of the station to which I as headed, it was New Jalpaiguri. My ticket said I was to change there for the toy (narrow gauge) train to Darjeeling. In fact that train has not been running for months due to landslides in the mountains. Fr. Susai had prepared me for this. What I had to do at NJP was to hire an SUV to take me there. He gave me a price range that would be reasonable.
Before that critical moment, I had another problem. Before I left Tennessee I knew I’d get sick. I was told it would be in the second week for up to seven days. After my 14th day I thought I had it beat. As soon as we got into our berths I realized I was in trouble. Whoever is the Indian equivalent of Montezuma was having his (o was it the goddess Gnesei) revenge on me that night. I made my way to the end of the train car (a buggy in the local lingo) to reach the toilet. My hopes were shattered. I saw what I feared most – the toilet was Indian and not European. That means it consisted of a hole, two foot pads, a sink and some handles to draw water. I held on, stooped and hoped for the best. I’ll spare you the details. It wasn’t pretty; but it went better than I feared. I only had one more round with the necessary room that night. Thank God for the small packs of Kleenex tissues. Toilets d not come with paper.
It was now the next day. The train arrived at 6:15 right on time. The Muslim made good on his word. He did tell me the right station to detrain. He even assured me the previous stop was not my station. Only a few got off. The haggling I expected among the SUV drivers for fares to Darjeeling seemed not to exist. Finally, descending the station steps a little boy and a young man with an older companion did approach and asked if I were going to Darjeeling. I seem to have been the only customer for the morning. Father told me not to go over 1200 rps. That would be a fair price if I were the only passenger. I was and I was sick. I didn’t want to haggle. So, foolishly, I accepted. Later, I found out I could have lowered the price considerably. At any rate, the scenery was spectacular; there were many landslides; the toy train’s tracks were in bad shape; and we had a flat tire. But, they got me to Darjeeling only a five minute walk from the Bishop’s House.
No one was there when I arrived except the caretaker. After denying that I was expected, he showed me to my room and gave me the key. Strange! Feeling a little better, I decided to see the amazing views my guidebook had promised. The caretaker told me which way I should go. I found out the weather had changed for the worse with cold dark clouds obscuring most overlooks. I went on anyway. Without knowing it, I stumbled upon the zoo and mountaineering school. The experience was good. There was a great museum of the mountains with the actual equipment of Hillary’s climb of Everest. The founder of the school was Hillary’s guide hen he climbed Everest. Then, the rains came down. I was dressed for the rain; but it still penetrated my clothing and I was drenched. All my clothes were wet. Back at the house, I began to shiver. I was getting sick for real. I showered and came down for dinner. It was good. My new host proved Fr. Susai a prophet. I excused myself and used all thee of the heavy blankets on the bed as well as the heater and some Tylenol.
Day 14, Aug. 24
My first reason to come to India was to learn about the projects Love & Care Missions funds. My secondary reason was to find Mother Teresa’s spirit. I came upon it for the first time in Skopje, Macedonia, where she was born and in Litnice, Kosovo, where she discerned her vocation to be a Loreto nun. Now, I had the motherlode at hand in Calcutta. Yesterday, we arrived at the wrong time. Everyone was busy; and it was a Sunday. Today promised to be more successful.
Peter and I hired a car and driver for the day. We aimed at visiting three places of importance to feel Mother’s presence. They were all scattered around town. The first place was the Motherhouse where she is entombed. Hr resting place is simple but powerful. It’s located in the chapel where she prayed for so many years. The spot where she usually prayed now has a realistic statue of Mother in her usual prayer pose. In a room nearby there is an exhibition of the highlights of her life. However, the focal point for me was the chapel and the words, “I thirst” next to the crucifix. That was her life in one gaze. Her room where she slept is there and the office from whence she oversaw the work of the Missionaries of Charity.
There is a sign which I still up proclaiming the Mother is “in.” That is, she would see all who wanted to see her in the order of their arrival. If she were out of town the sign would say “out.’ Now and for always she is “in.” That, too, was powerful.
The second place was the Kalighat. This is the famous home for the destitute dying. It was part of a temple dedicated to the goddess Kali. The best part of that temple is still in use. In fact, its presence is felt in the neighborhood by means of the many shops that cater to those who need offerings or mementos of their visit. When we entered, the scene was familiar from all the pictures I have seen of it. Nevertheless, it was new as well. The first room housed the men. It was a few minutes past three when we arrived. That was the start of a new shift following the midday break for lunch and prayer. Volunteers were starting their care-giving. An older man, slim and sporting with a professorial beard, came to give a cup of water to a dying man. Both had smiles of deep pleasure as the volunteer lifted the cup to the poor man’s lips.
We noticed the Sister who seemed to be in charge behind us. We reported to her. Peter introduced me to her. Being a priest here does have its advantages. Having someone else announce me as a priest from the US is even better. She proved to be frank, earthy and helpful. She told us that this morning they had three deaths. That was about par for the day as there are six to nine deaths each day. Some patients are discharged. They actually recover from their illness under the effective care of the sisters and volunteers.
The next room housed the women. There were much less of them. Unlike the men who were all lying down on pallets, some of the women were up. Up stairs, there were more women. Even further up, comes the roof with a chapel on it. There was also a great view of the neighbohood. Kaligat is an inspiration.
The third place in my quest for Mother Theresa was Sishu Bhawan, the home for the children who are abandoned or dying from AIDS or some other disease. We received VIP treatment here as well. The children appear very happy. The babies looked bright and the youngsters, as all the children I’ve met in India respond well to high fives. Even the sisters looked happily surprised at this phenomenon.
That was more than a full day for me. I was satisfied. One place that I was advised to see that was nearby was the Rama Krishna Mission. This is a cultural center promoting understanding among people of all religions. It is mostly academic. It did have a museum that we visited. It was a small scale reminder of the Indian Museum except it had more folk art. It helped me put together a picture what India is all about.
Now, we headed to St. Anthony’s Church a few kilometers away. I had celebrated Mass there on Sunday afternoon and promised to do so again today. There were about 30 lay folk present. Mass proved joyful that afternoon although the priest there who concelebrated told me Mass should be short without a homily. I complied and all went well. We decided that I would stay with them when I returned from Darjeeling since it was near the center city and I wouldn’t have to spend time and money on a taxi.
The car took me back out to the Proggaloy where I was greeted and preceded to bed in expectation of another bib day ahead.
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