Day 78, Oct. 27


I got up early (actually I have arisen before 6 am every day on this trip) anticipating the thrill of an actual safari. However, I was sure it could not surpass yesterday’s elephant encounter. The jeep driver arrived on time and we were off to the forest. Once there, we had to sign in, show poof of ownership and insurance to the officer as well as driver’s license, pay a fee, and employ a registered guide. We must have looked like a scene out of a real jungle movie. I now knew that some of the animals were not friendly in this forest and respected the environment I was in.
Right off the bat, we spotted to herds of elephants and some single males. Then, we saw a variety of game and tapirs, boars, peacocks (the national bird) and deer. We searched for tigers which were there. The closest we got was to see a fresh track in mud on the side of the road. That was it for the next two hours. Yet, every moment of careful searching while driving on a rocky, muddy track in an exotic forest was breathtaking and worth doing again. (How about Africa, anyone?) I enjoyed the experience thoroughly.
We returned for breakfast. It was superb - the best of my trip. We talked more about local culture, received a tour of the estate, and prepared to leave paradise. Our hostess refused to accept payment. We were like family.
It didn’t take long for us to make our first stop. We pulled into the parking lot of a Hindu Temple only to go to a park entrance and pay to walk to Irpu Falls. We climbed bit and soon heard water. The trail did not go to the bottom or top of the falls/cascades but to the middle where children and adults indulged themselves in rock climbing/bathing. The feeling was enlivening to feel cool even in hot weather. In fact, the ancient Hindu understanding of the place had to do with the presence of the living God. There is a mystic presence there. But my thoughts hearkened back to two previous trips which ended on a similar note. In Thailand, I visited and bathed in a waterfall. So too, while in Colombia, the whole group there for Fr. Miguel’s ordination wee taken to a thermal waterfall where I had a special trip and experience which included a dip under the falls.
When we approached another ‘Home Stay,’ Father recognized the name and decided to stop there to see if they remembered him. Of course they did. We had coffee with them and they reminisced. On leaving we discovered we had a flat. They hustled some men over to change the tire. Good thing. Father did not have the proper tools to make the change. They, fortunately did. Then we left for the town to fix the flat. The garage was across the street from a shop owned by the family we just visited. The brother was running it at the time. Father visited while the job was done. To fix and change the tire was 30 rupees (60 cents). Next to the garage was what looked like a nice liquor store. On closer view they sold their product by the glass and the small place was crowded with drunks. That was the second time I saw the problem up front and personal. Indian men have a propensity for alcoholism. We spent the next several kilometers of our tip discussing the reasons for this.
Father Anthappa is certainly a man who needs company. He had made plans (only revealed to me only during this leg of our trip) for us to have lunch at the rectory of a priest friend. We were already two hours late and I had to get back to Bangalore. Nevertheless, we arrived at this ramshackle church and rectory. It was rough. But the food was very tasty. I ate a whole lot more than I planned or thought I could consume. In the process I abandoned my expressed but ignored plan to take him out to a good dinner before hopping on a bus for Bangalore.
Unfortunately, the time did not allow even stopping for a drink. It was past six and the trip takes three hours to the city and two more (in rush hour) to St. Anthony’s. With that in mind, I was rushed to the bus station where, on the run, and got on an express to Bangalore which Father had hailed down as it was leaving. We said our good-byes by cell phone.
I also had to inform the people in Bangalore of the situation. They appreciated it; but told me they could not meet me at the station. I told them I could handle the problem. I already made the trip accompanied. I could do it now alone. Accordingly, I left my intercity express at one station. Determined the location of the city’s central bus station across that same thoroughfare I negotiated two days ago (doing ole`s with a herd of buses). At the station the hardest thing was to find the unnamed platform of bus 318. Each of the score of uniformed transit workers I asked gave me a different direction. I narrowed it down, asked a passenger, and found out he was waiting for the same bus. He cautioned me to be patient and smiled. It seemed thousands of buses passed by. After a total of about 30 minutes our bus came. It had no markings. Without that man, I’d still be there. I got on and within seconds a crowd of sixty or so follow me on until the whole bus is filled beyond crowded. It was like NY. The girl who sat next to me in the front of the bus (where I hoped to figure out where to get off or to ask the driver) was reading book in English. I struck up a conversation hoping he s getting off after me. She wasn’t. But it was good as it helped the time go by faster and let me endure of the pain of having both my big toes stepped on simultaneously by students. The riders were even more inconsiderate of others than the drivers are. Indians have the bad characteristic of not being aware of others. In some cases that helps. There is a selective blindness to people of other castes, religions, socio-economic status and many other divisions (such as where you are going in traffic).
Well, I got to my stop. Actually, the crowd had filtered out to the point where I could ask when my stop a coming up. Three people immediately told me this was it and I better get out before the doors close. In my one second scan from inside the bus this did not look like the place. One glance from the outside convinced me they were right. An auto-taxi was right there. Although he charged an outrageous price for the short trip, I took the deal and arrived at St. Anthony’ shortly before midnight.
No one was up to greet me until I put on the light to my room and probably made some noise by dropping my bag. One after another I was scolded o not calling them up or answering my phone to their calls. They were worried if I had gotten lost.
And so ended my last day in India before packing day and departure

Day 77, Oct. 26


This morning started with Mass. There were six sisters from the school and two lay women. It went well; but the nice conversation after Mass ended with us accepting an invitation for coffee at the convent after we ate the breakfast the rectory housekeeper was making. All was congenial and tasty; but the time for my dream trip was ticking away.
Then we learned the place we were planning to stay the night had become unavailable. We said a little prayer, Father called a young lady we both met at the lunch we had after he picked me up t the Ashram. He had to leave a message for her to call us.
Little did I know my host, who loves his native Mysore, just had to take me to at least two of the town’s attractions. We went to the bird sanctuary and Brindavan Gardens which rival the best in Europe. Both were very quieting to the soul and a good (if time consuming) way to prepare to go into the forest. Somewhere in the middle of these side trips the lady called and was happy to be our hostess at her “home stay” (the Indian version of B&B). We were set and on our way.
We crossed though seal country towns making our way though several animal herds until no getting close to 4 o’clock we reached the boundary of the National Park. It felt like it. The thick teak forest (it was too dry to be a jungle but the ambiance was just the same to me.) We had to sign in twice at guard posts and give our destination. I uses they lose people there. That idea merely added to my excitement.
The big question was, ‘would we find any wild animals?’ That question was answered two minutes past the second gate. A single male elephant appeared at the side of the road. I excitedly got my camera out and took some pictures. It was done. The trip was a success! That is until a few minutes later e come across a small family of elephants. I got out and was getting my camera ready when the male (a giant of a creature) started roaring at me and got up on his hind legs and made a move tht my companion considered to be the start of a charge at his car. He yelled for me to get in as he got the engine running. I hesitated a long nanosecond regretting the loss of this outstanding picture. I fumbled with the camera on the hood of the car and jumped in. I cared for his car and our lives more than that shot. I’ll think about that for a long time to come. Already it is a good memory.
Soon afterward a more tame family came into close view and I took my photos as a consolation prize. Then we went of to the house. It was in the park. (Like England, National Parks here include in their boundaries some private land including entire towns. This home had a 50 acre coffee plantation. It was a splendid home and immaculately clean. Guest rooms were above the rear stairway. We were close but pleasantly isolated. Actually, we were treated a personal guests and not as customers. That meant lots o conversation about the past and common friends. Fr. Anthappa was her principal in school. They reminisced though the delightful dinner which was in the local cuisine, and through the night. They only paused to make arrangements for a safari early the next morning.

Day 76, Oct. 25


Today I begin the last phase of my journey to India. All the goals I had set for the trip ha more or less been accomplished. I still had to analyze it all and put it all together in my mind so I could make some difficult decisions. In the very near future, I also had to work for those priests and seminarians who wanted to work in the United States. I will be contacting bishops in that regard. But now, I had a few last days to relax.
I did a lot and have loads of memories and experiences. Yet, among the few places I failed to visit was a jungle. I wanted to see some wild animals. That opportunity came in the person of Fr. Anthappa who is the priest I met on my second day in county. He took me to and from Anjeli Ashram in Mysore. I reconnected with him and planned a trip.
Sunday morning began with Mass at 8:30. It is the most crowded Mass of the day. It was in Kannada (the State language of Karnataka). Fr. Mariappa told me I was to preach. I spoke in English and he translated. It went very well. I was supposed to say the evening Mass in English but negotiations were been held telephonically about the trip to see wild elephants. Fr. Anthappa wanted me at his rectory Sunday night and that made sense. That’s what we decided that morning. These conversations had been further complicated by the suggestion (agreed to by the V.G. of the archdiocese) the night before that I visit the archbishop on Monday morning. That was scrapped at the last minute when we looked t his schedule and learned he was on retreat that week. So the rest of the morning would be spent catching up on my blogs (you could have figured that out when you saw I combined days) going down to the Bloggers’ Spot (which is the only connection to the internet available to the public here), and pack.
Now the problem was getting from the church to the bus station. Our pastor does not drive (a good choice with all the craziness that takes place on the streets here. He does have a car. Today being Sunday, his driver was off. But there were some young men working on the last details of the church building who volunteered to take me in the pastor’s car. He foolishly allowed it and, even more foolishly, put my bag in the back nod we left. The mad hatter’s wild ride with Alice was sane compared to a 20-something male driving on Bangalore streets. The CD was blaring on full mps (would you believe) music or Mass. The engine’s RPM’s were at the red line and the near misses were reaching the triple digit level. But, we reached the station and found nowhere to park. No problem or these guys. They found a dead end alley off a side street, park at a construction site and asked the workers to mind the car. We dashed across about ten lanes of two way criss-crossing traffic hopping median fences to get to the station where they found a bus pulling out. The conductor was still hawking for more customers. I became one of them. In two hours I arrived at Maddur, a town on the route to Mysore nearest Fr. Anthappa’s rectory. He arrived five minutes later and we were off to spend the night there before departing for adventure the next morning.

Day 75, Oct. 24


We arrived back in Bengalore early in the morning ready for another big day. This, I thought was the day of reckoning when I would talk with Sunder Raj about Love & Care and my involvement in it. I had replayed this conversation in my mind over and over for weeks. But first, I had to get off the train. We did that in the dark of the morning. The sun rises about 6am. It must he been 5:40 or so. This train came directly downtown. Devukumar lived there. I insisted that he go straight home after making sure I was on the right bus for St. Anthony’s. It happened to be the same bus. For 13 rupees I got to within walking distance of the parish. Not knowing how close, I stuck to the game plan and took an auto-rickshaw. It was less than two minutes.
Now, very light but still early, I found no one awake but the door unlocked and my room the same. My first order of business was to take a shower and get ready for the meeting I thought would take all day.
Sunder Raj did call. He just arrived from France and needed sleep. We left it he would call me when he started to come to the parish. The pastor advised me he would not all before 1:00pm. He proved to be correct. Fortunately, I followed Fr. Mariappa’s advice and used the time to get a hair cut and go down to the Cyber Cafe to check a week’s e-mail and, most importantly confirm my flight back to the U.S. All was well.
After lunch, with no news from Sunder Raj, a young man was presented to me who would like to become a candidate for the seminary in my diocese. He had already finished I Theology. H did have a problem which seemed easily solvable. I was interviewing him when suddenly Devukumar comes bursting into the room saying I needed immediately to come with him to see Sunder Raj. I ushered him out of the room; but curtailed our interview. It might be promising.
Devukumar had a car waiting to take us downtown. I was dressed or the occasion which would include a family party to which I was invited. The car took us to a small office where Lo & Care has a home (or rather an address). We still had to wait.
When Sunder arrived he was very gracious and apologized for his travel problems. We talked. He mostly listened. I said most, if not all, of what I planned to say. He actively listened, nodding his head in agreement at a few critical times. He never committed to anything nor did he rule anything out. He played his role well. I thought it best not to try to close any deal. And that was that. The meeting was underwhelming with a tacit agreement that we would continue this conversation later.
There was still time before the party. I went with his son to buy some stuff for the meal at the city market. It was a treat to check out the seemingly chaotic market for a decent price on commodities. I was observing a master. We got everything we wanted at a fair price in a decent time.
We reconnected with the ever-present Devukumar. He took me gift shopping. All we did is go to a government store where they sold craft items from various parts of India. I bought some trinkets I hope people will like and we left to find a taxi to the party.

Day 72-74, Oct. 21-23


The day began with me in a rectory half way between Mysore and Bangalore. The three of us returned to the latter. No sooner did we get back to St. Anthony’s than I had to start packing for another trip that night. I was to take the night train to Vailankanni.
Vailankanni is a pilgrimage city. It houses the site o apparitions of Our Lady in 1550. The number of people there rival the European shrines. Soon after the Portuguese arrived in India Mary appeared to buttermilk salesman and a rash of miracles ensued. It seems, from the many testimonies, they still do. People come looking for cures and wellness and babies.
The church tried hard but unsuccessfully t limit commercialism. For that reason they established a series of hotels with one main reservation shed. We waited our turn and, finally, obtained the keys to a room. It was large and marble, had a twin and a double bed and a lot of ants as well as flying insects. I didn’t like it. Devukumar didn’t either. He had thought he had a key to a better hotel. We would do our best. Then we went out to get me oriented and aware of the importance of the place. In the center is a large, Fatima-like church. Out from the main lines were the locations of visions and a Eucharistic chapel. With French gothic spires, the place is impressive.
Devukumar told me there was a priests’ residence; but it was dirty and wouldn’t be good. In the vicinity of the hostel, I went to see for myself if it were worse than what we had. In fact it was far superior. True, it was small; but it was very clean. It was also next to the main church. I took it instantly.
I concelebrated the 10:00 Mass with an Indian priest. It turned out well. However, the highlight cm eater Mass when hundreds of people come to the priest to ask a blessing. I ate it up. The Faith of those people seemed to enter me the more I blessed them.
We had lunch, roamed the commercial area, went to the beach where I body surfed for a minute or two, prayed, had supper, bought snacks and relaxed in the larger room or the evening. I returned to my room, prayed and fell asleep.

Day 71, Oct. 20


Today turned out to be a double moving day. In the morning I closed out accounts at the Jesuit Residence at Loyola of Chennai. Dr. Anthony picked me up and drove me to the Central Train Station where it was too crowded to do anything but let me out in front as fast as the traffic would allow. By now, I knew the routine well. Only now, I had a regular seat. I got right into the carriage (train car) and found that my ticket was wrong. The sets were three across and I had a window seat. But my seat number was on the aisle. As the seats all filled up, mine was the only one with one person for the three seats. So, as the train started moving, I moved over to the window. At the first station the other two passengers boarded. They didn’t mind a bit. India is like that. The people don’t sweat the small stuff. Fr. Mariappa had told me to take the next to last stop. It would leave me much closer to his parish. (Actually, it saved over n hour.) This forced me to ask the ticket taker for help and my two companions to help. One of them had been keeping his sizable luggage between his legs.
After an enjoyable ride, I arrived in Bengalore (there are many permutations of this city’s name, including Bangalore, Bengaluru, and Bangaluru of which all and more are correct. That comes from translating from different languages and alphabets.). My train was so long that I had to exit down to the tracks and then climb up to the platform. The intrepid Devukumar, who managed the itinerary, was in contact by cell phone. So, we met easily, left the station and found a three-wheeled taxi (auto-taxi, or auto-rickshaw are alternative terms) and, very soon, arrived back at St. Anthony’s where this Odyssey began.
It was amazing. The church was about finished. The dedication had been set for November 1st. The site was cleaned up, the neighborhood had its sidewalks finished, and the storefronts were in place. The area looked very good. I couldn’t believe all this was done in nine weeks. Tht gave me a different tool to measure the time I took to take virtually a lap around India.
Fr. Joseph Menizes greeted me with Fr. Mariapppa, the pastor. They announced that we could go to Fr. Ariappa’s parish for the night. I heartily agreed. The three of us, then rode down the road to visit our fellow priest for a friendly visit. We met an, instantly, our rapport came back and we conversed amid sips of Kingfisher and chips. Ecce quam bonum…

Day 70, Oct. 19

Today was a day I long awaited. Fr. Xavier, the professor of Sociology had promised me a meeting with the principles of an outreach program the University developed for the poor. I had hoped that this academic piece could be sewn on to the cloth that would be a comprehensive solution to a perennial problem. I had spent several weeks witnessing the Catholic Church of India grapple with the ever present scourge of poverty. Most bishops recognized the solution centered on education. Now, I had a chance to listen to what Catholic educators, whose field includes poverty, are doing. From what I heard that morning, they were doing exactly what the bishops thought had to be done. Houston, we have a fit.
Actually, the day began badly. I was supposed to have concelebrated a 6:30 Mass at a convent with Fr. Xavier. He did not show. Only later did I realize that the head o the College’s father passed away on Saturday and was being buried today. Father Xavier, as vice-principal, needed to be at the funeral and not at my meeting. His absence was felt.
The meeting started out with a language problem. I couldn’t understand anyone. They all had doctorates and therefore were fluent in English (the language of higher education in India). Their accents made their words unintelligible to me. After a while, I stopped the session, confessed my difficulty and, taking out a notebook, began to put the input of the group into a logical order. I’m glad I did this. We had more than a problem of accents. They weren’t following each other. I was being bombarded with each professor’s full load which may or may not have related to the others’. My intervention focused us. Everyone there was already enthusiastic. Now, as I showed them my developing chart of what I was hearing, they seemed delighted. I was tracking them. And, it came out that they did want to play a part in a grander scheme to attack the problems that result in continued poverty. That was the final (almost) result of the meeting. The College could call together a meeting of representatives from all the fields involved. This, we hoped, would inspire those attending to see the problem from several points of view and, perhaps, start to develop a comprehensive plan. We’ll see if that goes any farther.
Then, we went out into the field, visiting what they call a slum. This is one of seven to which Loyola sends its students. It was by a river. Having seen slums before, it wasn’t a whole lot different from every other one. It was just a bit more intense. We saw the horrible effects of alcohol causing strife, division and physical abuse to the point of murder. Of course, there were a multitude of medical problems. The problem is certainly multi-dimensional and calls for an inter-disciplinary response.
As the meeting ended, I was handed a proposal that Love & Care grant Loyola funds for a very good project. I said I would hand it on.
With the meeting filling my head with all sorts o possibilities of what could be done, I went gift shopping with Dr. Anthony and ending the day with supper again with he and Jenny. It would be our last time together until he comes to the U.S. for internship.

Day 69, Oct. 18


Today is a first for me. It told me that I am retired. It was Sunday and I had a restful, easy day. It began with morning Mass at the outstanding French gothic church on the Loyola campus. I did not preach. After Mass the choir and friends had a little outdoor birthday party or the young organist. They had a cake but no fire to light the candles. They sent a student to the sacristy to get matches. To the dismay of all he retuned saying they wouldn’t give them to him. I came to the rescue by running over and getting the matches to the applause of all standing there. S, I did my ‘boy scout’ good deed by 7:30 am. In the process, I made some new friends.
After returning to breakfast at the Jesuit residence, I called Dr. Anthony and, as planned days earlier we finally visited the museum. One way to spend a productive day at a museum is to go from exhibit to exhibit with a person who shares with you the love of talking art, history, mythology, development of peoples, and many other subjects. The two of us spent the whole open time of the museum with such discussions at most every section. I learned a lot about India that afternoon.
That evening we went back to his house, picked up his wife, and went out to dinner. And the Sunday was over. It was a day of rest, of sharing and of rejoicing. I may have to do this more often. Just think. We have a God who ruled that this kind of day be observed on a week.

Day 68, Oct. 17


At the dinner last night, we planned a course of action for the next day which was a national religious holiday, Diwali, the festival of lights. There was nothing scheduled for me. We had a perfect fit.
I got a good long night’s sleep. I concelebrated Mass in the morning and waited for Dr. Anthony to pick me up. He did and he drove me to his house where his wife was preparing a picnic lunch. By this time I was suffering from full fledged diarrhea. I did not want anything. I think I did make the same mistake twice and dink the water in a silver urn outside my door. It looked good and was so convenient and tasted great. All I wanted was a coke.
The trip was still on. I would act on my best happy behavior and not make it a bad day for the others. Our first stop was an hour away back across the State line in Andhra Pradesh. It was the new doctor’s family farm. It consisted of 65 acres of three year old Mango trees. The land was flat. It had a huge well in the manner I had seen several times now and a little farm house. We ate there with the caretaker and his wife. I only drank a small glass of lemonade and a cup of tea. It was enough to make matters worse for me. I had to go out to the back forty to make one of those Mango trees more productive than the others. I came back better but sorry for causing a fuss. I soon found out that Jenny had to do the same thing moments after me. Misery appreciates company in this case.
From the farm we all five started out (pretty late by now) towards the mountains to reach a State Park with a splendid waterfall. It was an interesting through rugged country and quaint (in an Indian way) villages. I got a coke and became a happy camper.
At one point we got to a most interesting building which called itself ‘The Oneness Center.’ It was an immense all marble structure in a beautiful combination of Mughal and Hindi architecture. We stopped and toured it.
By the time we got back to the car the sun was on its way down. Down by the equator the days are 12 hours year round beginning and ending at about 6. We made a mad dash to be at the falls before the sun passed the horizon. We got to the mountains OK. We got to the park; but had to argue with the rangers to let us in after closing time. For a handful of rupees they let us in. We got out at the parking area and walked up to the stream that flowed from the falls. The rest of the folks stayed there and got their feet wet while I (wearing my swimming trunks on all day) hiked to get as far as the Gold Cave which was close according to the sign. I was almost there when ranger urged me to get back. He was sent by the rest of my party who somehow thought that ten minutes was too long for me to roam away on a wilderness trail. By Tennessee standards there was absolutely no degree of difficulty. But, these were city folk and a couple who stay near a farm house all the time. They really were afraid for me. So, t the end, we never came close to the falls; but we had a good time.
The trip home was better. This was Diwali evening when everyone shoots fireworks of all types. Each town we passed though was crackling with explosions and alight with Roman candles and a few flares. The closer we got to Chennai, the louder the sounds and the brighter the bursts. In town every building had people sending off fireworks. As the night progressed they got bigger and more numerous until we were surrounded by bursts. None of the displays were spectacular like at Disneyworld; but they were steady and unending. From 6:00 pm to midnight, it was continuous. Neighborhoods were bristling with explosive sounds of multiple firecrackers. The skies enveloped us with sprays of color on every side. This was different and spectacular. It tested all the senses until you couldn’t comprehend all the impressions.
I wrote an ETC column while this was going on thinking it would have to come to an end by nine, or ten, or eleven. Every so often I looked out from the balcony of my third story room and saw more of the same endlessly and joyfully challenging my senses to stay awake. It won and I lost consciousness just before midnight.

Day 67, Oct. 16


The tricky thing about taking night trains is that it makes for oddly planned days before and after. There wasn’t much going on n Eluru after the World of Hope folks left. This ct offered me a rare ‘easy’ day and a good chance to sit down and really talk deeply with priests and others. Thus, I could start to interiorize what I as seeing and hearing. It also gave me a chance to work out the false impressions I had begun to form. It’s interesting how communication works. I was in India 2 months before the World of Hope people arrived. During our rides from one project to the other we talked. Many times I heard an opinion or conclusion that was incorrect. Each one of them I too had thought and had to dismiss as wrong. No, I was catching others making the same mistakes. I intervened at those times (charitably, I hope) and my impressions were mostly right. This confirmed that I needed to check all my ‘facts’ carefully. Meeting the twain, if it’s possible, is still very difficult.
My lower berth sleeping accommodation, I found on entering the train, had been commandeered by a family leaving me with an upper further on down. I could have made a stink; but I decided not to. Now, I would have an experience of what sleeping high as well as fast wo8uld be like. It wasn’t bad – even the getting up to go to the latrine at 2:00 am.
The hard part was the train was due in at 3:50 am. I hoped it would be an hour late. Oh, no! I came in at 3:23 am. I had not made contact with anyone who was going to meet me. So, I picked up my bag, got to the exit, found a cabbie who would take me to Loyola for a price that people had told me was reasonable, and arrived at the residence before 4:00. In act, I was asleep in bed before then.
I got up when my body told me and took a shower. It was cold but delightful. Eluru’s shower was nowhere as good and the commode did not flush completely. A good bathroom makes a big difference. By that time it was 7:15. Two priests were at my door ready to take me to the Jesuit mission about two hours away. One of them, Fr. Martin, let it out (by mistake) tht he was at the station waiting for me since 1:00 am to 4:00. Ouch!!
We went to Kuppayanallur. From the direction signs on the highway, I figured it was in the Chingleput Diocese not far from where I spent a few lovely days. I asked and was correct.
The school and 700 or so students were anxiously waiting for us. They were all assembled. Then, it happened yet again. I was told my part was to hand out awards the children (all of them poor) had earned by doing far better than average on the quarterly exams given by the government. Besides, it was the eve of the Feast of Diwalli. Then, I noticed the same clues I had discerned twice before. I was on the program as the main speaker for the feast and the rewards. The whole event was in English. So, I used the time consumed with praying and singing and student addresses to think up a speech. I did, indeed, come up with something and proceeded to change it when I got to the mike. The students seemed to smile at the right time during the first two sentences. So, I continued receiving applause at times. When I sat down, the principal translated my talk into Tamil. It was longer and the reactions louder. The faculty told me I did well. The kids’ enthusiasm told me, thankfully, they were right. I rarely had such those feelings in Tennessee except for children’s Mass. There is a difference between reactions in the U.S. and those in India. Or, the difference is explained by the poverty of the children in India.
We had dinner with the faculty where there were congratulations all around. Then we drove around the area observing the typical village the school was built near. It was pointed out to me tht the houses had no doors. They had nothing worth stealing inside. Besides, they welcomed everyone to come in. It sounded to me like a post-grad class on the “I come to the door and knock” passage in Revelation. If we had no doors, Christ would be automatically inside with us. Our closed doors make Jesus have to knock.
The Jesuits sure do things first class and build ride in the children for themselves and their school. I judge there is a place for them in any diocesan plan for evangelization. Both see education as the way to change society for the better and improve the church.
We got back to Chennai about 4:00pm. Waiting for us was Dr. Anthony. On my first stay in Chennai I stayed at his parents’ house in the room on the roof. He had come to take me out for supper. He drove me to his home, picked up Jenny, his new wife, and we set out for dinner.
Why did the day seem so long? At any rate, I was tired and beginning to feel symptoms repeating my miseries of a month or so ago. Nevertheless, it is a way to loose the weight I hoped to lose on this trip. Everywhere I went in India, people treated me the same way Italians treat me. They love, they welcome, and they feed. All the above are offers you can’t refuse.

Day 66, Oct. 15


Yet another travel day begins. My train is scheduled to pull in to the station at Vijayawada at 10:30 pm. It takes about an hour or so to get there no matter what means, car, train or bus. Every time we discussed the problem the more we put it off. Fr. Moses was busy all day but insisted I be taken by car to the station 60 kms away. I was tired of the trip. Two other priests got into the act leading to total confusion. Meanwhile, I’m catching up on blogs (I seem to get up to date and then fall back a week. I’ve done that several times already. This pattern tells me most of my days are chocked full of trips, visits and meetings. Even the not so full days are hardly enough time to write more than two or three days reports.)
The final result of the confusion came when we found out that the same train that I was to get on at Vijayawada stopped at Eluru. I could simply board it right here. I had been speaking with two priests most of the day. They would come with me and the driver to the local station. One of them had been conversing with me seriously about coming to the U.S. At the station he tells me he is going to take the train with me as far as Vijayawada. During that time we talked about his thoughts about what he would do and where he would do it in America. The miles flew by. By the time we got to the next stop, I found out he had no way to get back. Who knew when the next train or bus was? That’s the way of life here. No sooner than I re-boarded the train I found the keys to my room in the Bishop’s House in my pocket. It was too late. They were going with me to Chennai.

Day 65, Oct. 14

As arranged, Fr. Balthezar arrived at 5:30 m to take me back to the seminary for Mass. He had the same young driver who again had to start the engine by running with the taxi until the cylinders started firing. He also had to stop for hat appeared to be a bottle of Sprite. It wasn’t Sprite; it was gasoline.
Mass was great with the 11th and 12 graders serving and playing instruments. Their singing was enthusiastic but controlled. They were highly respectful and responsive. After Mass, we had breakfast and a round of Q and A followed by picture taking. I loved the opportunity to try my hand in a seminary atmosphere. I think I may have enjoyed living in that environment.
We came back to continue discussions with Father George who is a most valuable source of solid information and good ideas. He took my written synopsis of the situation and promised to work on it and e-mail his improvements as soon s he could.
Immediately after Fr. George left, another priest, whom I had seen on and off during my stay in Eluru, arrived. He wanted to talk. It turns out he wanted me to help him be accepted by diocese in the U.S. I encouraged him since he looked and sounded good and said he already had the consent of his bishop.
The rest of the day was spent getting ready to leave the next day. One of those tasks was to find out how to get to the 10:30 pm train some 60 kms from Eluru. There were many alternatives. The people at the Bishop’s House wanted to drive me to Vijayawada. I wanted to take a nearby train or bus there. We put off the solution to the next day.

Day 64, Oct. 13

This morning we gathered for the final Mass before the contingent from World of Hope started its way home. They would leave for the Philippines, Pittsburgh and Chattanooga. At breakfast, the Bishop’s House wished them farewell. Then, they gathered with all the leaders of the various missions they sponsor and held a final meeting finalizing all that had been decided. It wasn’t until the last moment that the last correction was made to the Memorandum of Agreement. These folks were sticklers for detail. That taught me good programs are those that have good oversight and lines of communication that are revisited regularly. Still, everyone was tired but happy. At the very end of the meeting it was announced that the $39,000.00 in special projects (that is, small building improvement items were approved by the World of Hope affiliate in Pittsburgh. These are facility improvements that the organization does not normally grant but can do so on the bases of need and the availability of funds. That announcement left everyone with a good feeling.
At about 11 am the World of Hope people along with two priests from the Bishop’s House and myself departed for the airport. Unlike my first filed attempt, I was able to get into the airport and say a last farewell. The atmosphere was heavier than one would expect after seven men finished a week of meetings. But, this was different as we visited children and projects that touch one’s heart and meet nuns whose love and dedication are overwhelming and make plans for the Will of God to come to pass.
After seeing them off, we went for lunch and returned to the House. There I as met by a persistent priest whom I could hardly understand. It seemed he was making important connections for me with people who needed to see me. He used all sorts of guilt provoking language. When Fr. Mike told me he did the same with him, I judged that he was a bit deranged. Later, I leaned he was a good man who did have an accident that affected his mind. What he wanted now was for me to come to a nearby seminary and also to see a retired priest. Having no other burning issues, I went with him.
Unlike my of my travels so far, he represented nobody. He had hired a broken down three-wheel taxi which he didn’t have enough money (one or two dollars) to pay for. We went to the seminary first. It turned out to be a wonderful visit as I got to meet the rector and one of the two other faculty members of this minor seminary. We had a good tour and I received an invite to concelebrate Mass the next morning.
Then, he took me on another scamper through country roads and herds of water buffalo to Father George’s retirement home. He had worked for 12 or so years in Corpus Christi, Texas and saved enough money to build a nice but simple place to live. We had a great conversation. He had worked on the diocesan level and had many wise ideas about twinning dioceses in India with counterparts in the U.S. We spoke at length and agreed to get together again the next day with our ideas written out.

Day 63, Oct. 12

The contingent from World of Hope (including me) had one more day of witnessing the great events that defined the Catholic community here. The first today was, of all things, the Dental College. It was a function of the Catholic Diocese of Eluru. Its chairman is the bishop; its administrative head is a priest; but, its academic hierarchy is entirely made up of dentists. The tour began (of all places) at the lab where the students had just been presented with their cadavers and were proceeding to open the skull to explore the brain. It wasn’t much fun for them. The tour group had varying reactions – mostly quite professional. We walked through areas dedicated to the various branches of dentistry. Fortunately, it was too early for the patients to arrive. Then, we were ushered into a small auditorium for the graduation ceremonies of the senior class. They received a Masters in Dental Science. From here they were heading to become interns at various places in a few countries where the rest of their education would be practical.
After a snack with the faculty, we headed for a parish with two large schools – one for boys another for girls. We were there for the ribbon cutting of the computer room. It contained three computers. Any of them would have been thrown out it were in the Diocese o Knoxville. But, that was a lot more than you could find in most other Catholic schools that I visited. This is the situation where about 20% of the students I unscientifically polled said they want to be working with computers when they finish school. In an India which aims at being high-tech, that is a realistic goal; but not if you haven’t seen a decent computer until college. We discussed how we could send our old stuff over to India.
The group then visited a place I saw on my first day, the school for the mentally challenged. A few of the students even recognized me. That made me feel good. However, I was studying the reaction of the group to the children. Their reactions were different from mine. The lay people were all engineer types. They analyzed. I tried to interrelate with the kids.
On the way back, Bob Leffew wanted to buy rupees through an ATM. I was there to help. He began to the same problems as I had. I tried all the tricks I learned before I finally got my card to work. They were useless. Finally, Fr. Moses got the director of the bank the Diocese uses to help us. Now, I knew it wasn’t my bank or the card that was the problem; but the machines.
We were invited to one of the convents which had a number of young aspirants there for dinner. The food was great, as usual. However, after dessert the group began to play music and then to dance. I had come to the dinner dressed for the first time in formal Indian dress. It consisted of a tunic coming to bout the knees and a loose pant that cinched up at the waist and clung to my legs to the ankles. Indians call all clothes worn as dress. Yet, this was a bit unisex as the girls were wearing a similar ensemble. Hence, several of the 17 year old aspirants welcomed me seriously with the complement I had never received before, “I love your dress.” By the fourth time, I got to the point where I merely smiled and politely accepted the compliment and the relationship it implied. I haven’t worn it since.

Day 62, Oct. 11


The highlight of the day, of course, was Mass. It was Sunday. We had awakened later than usual for the 9:30 Liturgy (my usual wake-up time has been before 6::00 am several times at about 4).
After Mass we did recognize the bishop on his 30th anniversary as a priest. But, the feature that highlighted that was the noon meal after it. We met in a large courtyard with many people and boarding students and gradually made our way visiting each of the 5 convents of religious women which are located very near each other making the area a Catholic compound of major proportions. The sisters were predominantly Indian, but the orders had foreign motherhouses. That’s important since one order were the P.I.M.E.’s from Italy. Those sisters learned to cook Italian and thee contribution to the feast was past dish that was perfect to my taste. After two months of a pure Indian diet, this treat was too good not to commit gluttony over. I didn’t go that far overboard. However, several other diners had less to share after the bowl was passed to me.
We rested a while and a few of us prepared for a long ride to the tribal area to visit a project at a village where a primitive tribe lives. We arrives there only a little time before sun set (since India is near the Equator, the sun rises at abut 6am and sets about 6pm). The government (like the TVA) moved this tribe when life for them became had to sustain in their traditional location. So they were relocated at a nice place where the homes, common planting areas and other features were nicely planned. The men could continue to hunt and gather in the forest. The indigenous tribal people are welcoming and peaceful. Each little village has its own council and tribal leader. The village where the main church is located (others have missions [called sub-stations]) has elected the pastor as its tribal chief. Among other responsibilities, all petty disputes are presented to him for judgment. He does so by asking questions of both parties until they come to an agreement.
We talked in the darkness with only a dim light coming from a generator (there is electricity there; but it operates a few hours a day). We learned all sorts of things. A priest who served in New Guinea pointed out that there still are cannibal tribes thee and that some tribes are now Catholic and are very good people. During the conversation Bob Leffew and I inquired if they grew tobacco there and f the made cigars and I they sold them. All the questions had affirmative answers plus the request if we desired to try some. We did so. In a few minutes, we had some aboriginal cheroots in our hands. I lighted up. The taste was pretty good…for a while. Soon enough I accidentally took a deep puff and got a bit too much smoke in my system. I became nauseous and sick. Fortunately, it was time to go home. Even more fortunately, someone put the A/C on to super cold. Except for the driver, I was the only person in the SUV to stay awake; but it was bearable. I wanted to run to my room and greet my porcelain pal for a long while. But, even better, a staff member asked if I wanted hot tea. (The others were going to receive a snack. I waited for it and then went to the commode. I made the room warm, drank the tea and sweated my symptoms away during the night.

Day 61, Oct. 10


The day began with a party. It was the occasion of the 125th anniversary of the Sisters of St. Anne. It started with a Pontifical Mass (the bishop/diocesan administrator was kindly, simple and to the point). Then the sisters, priests, guests and our American contingent went over for a gala breakfast. There was lots of laughter. The priests and nuns get along well together (although the sisters act and are treated as subservient. I don’t think either group realizes that).
After the joy of the happy gathering, the American group (consisting of three from the Philippines, one from Panama and me) met with diocesan officials to revisit and amend, if necessary. They were also going over their action plan to see how well it was followed. This is what I came to witness.
What I saw and heard was worth the time and effort. The discussion may have proved boring to any other onlooker; but I saw the nitty-gritty detail-oriented work that had to take place that makes both parties know the other cares and will find and fix all the problems no matter how minor. Everyone in the room became weary but never annoyed by the nitpicking. At the end all were satisfied with the results. In some cases, failure to report meant not receive payment. It everything was resolved in a professional manner. We also worked out the visits we would make to each of the projects making sure to inform them of the problem areas.
We had lunch together in the Bishop’s House and prepared next for the first of the visits. It was to a school with a hostel. The word ‘hostel’ is what we call a dormitory. It would house the children who could not otherwise get to school or whose parents may not be alive. There ae many stories of either child abuse, deaths of parents, and other situations rendering the child needing to be housed at the school. Uniformly, the children are happy where they are. This afternoon, we visited a school far from the town. The distinguishing feature here was the priest’s pet monkey. We were royally received and had a goo time with the students.
We returned to our headquarters where refreshments were served and hearty discussion continued into the night.

Day 60, Oct. 9

For counting purposes the day began at 9:00 pm the previous night. That was the time my driver picked up my bags to take me to the train station. The streets were by no means empty; but t was a far easier and speedier trip than I had figured. So, I arrived a little before 10:00 pm. My train arrived at 10:50 and remained at the platform until 11:15. I had plenty of time to figure the station out. (There are two main train stations in Chennai: Egmore and Central. I had arrived at Egmore and was leaving from Central.)
I got out of my car in the middle of a traffic jam at the entrance to the railway station. A policewoman refused to allow my driver to park. While they were arguing, I got out with my gear thanking the driver as II did so. The Central station was more like a London station than any one I’ve experienced in India. It had electronic signs that worked and a public address system that could be head distinctly. And, it had a stand that served cold Pepsi. The only source of minor discomfort was that my train’s platform number was not being listed. I wanted to get a head start finding where the train car I was assigned would alight. I spent the extra time, as I had hoped, praying the Liturgy of Hours (which wasn’t easy in a busy, loud station.
Soon enough the platform number appeared. I rushed to the track and tried to find the correct position to stand when the train arrived a bit early. It turned out to be too easy. As a crowd detrained, I walked a few more yards and found ‘B-1, entered and to my chagrin learned I was in a six bed compartment and four others were women. They were part of a family group that included about four others. Everything turned out very well. When the train finally glided out of the station, all of us silently and effectively went about our business, hanging the upper berth beds, making our beds, and climbing into them. In the semi-dark, there were no modesty questions. I stretched out on my couchette, covered myself with a heavy blanket they provide (they keep the A/C on very cold) and went to sleep.
My main problem now was getting off at the right station. The train I was on had another 600 miles to travel after my 0610 stop at Vijayawada. Sleeping past my station could have terrible results. I tried to program my body to wake up before then. That was easy because I’ve never arisen any later than that for my whole trip. Besides, my cell phone had an alarm set at 5:45 am. So, I was sufficiently confidant that I would do well. And I did. In fact, I was awakened at the previous stop an hour earlier, ascertained that the train was on time, and my stop was next. The train pulled into Vijayawada five minutes early and I jumped down to the platform a happy camper.
My next achievement was to make contact with my driver. I strolled to the nearest stairway got to the exit and waited. Unknown to me, there were three exits. Thanks to the miracle of mobile phones, my ride called me, told me they were running a bit late and were approaching the station. After a little further communication, they found where I was waiting and got m in the car for the 45 minute drive to the Bishop’s house in Eluru.
I was concerned about picking up the World of Hope contingent. Bob Leffew was accounted for as coming on the 12:05 plane from Bangalore. The others had problems with weather and their whereabouts were unclear. I thought we were going to wait at the airport for 6 hours. It was too close for that. The airport was half way to Eluru.
When w arrived at the Bishop’s House, I was shown my room, invited to breakfast at their normal time, and told everyone in the World of Hope contingent was safe, and back on schedule. Picking them up was another thing. The Prime Minister (President) of India had landed to view the damage caused by flooding in the area. So, we had to wait in a parking lot while the car picked up the group.
Here, I should explain the World of Hope Foundation and my desire to link with them. World of Hope (for the Tennessee followers of this blog) is the organization that sponsored Father Corapi in Chattanooga. That event produced revenue that went to support World of Hope’s efforts in Mexico. They support mission activities that care for children and the medical wellbeing of the poor. Although I am here under the auspices of another organization, Love & Care Missions, when I heard from the Leffews that the World of Hope was going to India to audit their activities there and that Bob might be in that delegation, I asked if I could meet them in India to see how they conduct their efforts. World of Hope is 12 or so years older and much larger. It has learned many lessons over the years that would save Love & Care a lot of anguish. Besides, meeting Bob and Fr. Mike would be a welcome respite from my living the life of a stranger.
For me, the moment of welcoming them on the side of a highway was glorious. Bob and Fr. Mike Semana were the first people I had known whom I met in two months. I was unprepared for the joyous feeling I discovered in my heart upon greeting them and their two companions. This turned out to be a bigger event than I imagined.
We all were driven to the Bishop’s House where the newcomers were given rooms, lunch and the opportunity to catch up on the sleep they all were deprived of by the weather. They got up in early evening, fed supper and we settled down to one of the liveliest and enjoyable conversations I had in months lasting into the night. That conversation included the Administrator of the diocese. The ordinary had recently passed away and the bishop of the neighboring diocese was named the interim administrator. He had taught most of the diocesan priests Indian spirituality in the seminary.

Day 59, Oct. 8

This was to be another fun day before meeting up with the World of Hope people in Andhra Pradesh. I thought the couple would come late in the morning. They did not. So, the day was very quiet. It began with Mass. The agreement I worked out with the Jesuit priests was for me to concelebrate in the chapel where the seminarians come for Mass. Mass is conducted in the style I learned in the Anjeli Ashram. When I arrived, I became the only celebrant and therefore the only homilist. It was one more time for me to speak extemporaneously to an impressive audience. I did my best; but the wind from a strong fan kept knocking off the shawl the presider wears. It was funny.
After Mass and breakfast (at which I was introduced to a ton of Jesuits with multiple doctorates n scientific fields) I met with four Jesuits bout hat could be done to solve the problems we all recognize. They outlined for me a number of projects they are now working on which can be part of the solution we are seeking. It’s interesting what some collaboration can accomplish.
After the meeting I waited in vain for my companion for the day and instead wrote my articles for the ETC, caught up on my blogs and packed for the evening train.

Day 58, Oct. 7

Another moving day! It’s as if I worked in the NBA moving all the time. This time I’m on my way back to Chennai. I’m to stay at Loyola University for a day and a half.
For so short a time in Dindigul it was a sad occasion to leave. I had developed a rapport with the nuns and staff at the Bishop’s House. Mass was said completely in English in my honor. The nuns sang English songs. They looked sad as well. The bishop had high expectations that I would be back bearing gifts. I let hoping and praying I could deliver something. The driver and the Superintendent of Schools stayed with me until the train arrived. I got on sad.
I was supposed to get a window seat. My car didn’t have such accommodations. It was a second class sleeper (six beds to a compartment). We stated out with seven in the compartment. He two who were sitting there with the wrong tickets wee allowed to stay the by the conductor. They soon left. It was still early morning (about 8:30). So the five others (a couple and a family with a teen and a two year old) started assembling the beds and offered me a lower berth. I took it and relaxed in it. I couldn’t do the typing my ETC columns I had planned to do. However, relaxing and cat-napping for a couple of hours was pleasant. At one time the train had an unexpected stop between stations. I took it that we were sided to wait for an oncoming train to use the one main track. I might have been right. However, I decided to us the time to go to the latrine. Just outside it a man laid on the floor as if he were asleep. I walked over him. He looked like he was enjoying his sleep. But, he was too still. Later, I took another walk and found official looking people talking over him. He was dead. At the next station they took his body and spent time on reports. I prayed for him privately.
We arrived only a couple of minutes late despite all the delays. I found out Indian trains can go fast if they had to. I got off the train with my two hay bags with the intent to catch a taxi to Loyola U. where I was to stay. Quite by surprise, I met Fr. Vijayan’s young doctor friend at whose parents’ house I stayed when I as last in Chennai. I had to find his phone number and when he called me the night before, my cell phone lost its charge an was recharging. Then I forgot to put the phone back on. Still, he persisted and found me at the station. H drove me to Loyola and looked up some professors he knew and introduced them to me. In the meantime some of the Jesuits who knew I as coming set up a meeting. They explained their interests in helping this society improve. They were pros. Their field is education and sociology. They can be very helpful with their powerful contacts to make our work easier and more effective.
After the meeting, the doctor and his wife joined me and we went out to dinner. I owed them. Then they took me to the beach after dark to watch the full moon illuminate the breakers coming in. After kidding them about going to a beach in the dark f night, I had to admit it was a nice experience. It seems to be an Indian custom to walk the beach at night. I’ll not that and apologize to the priest in Poolampatty.

Day 57, Oct. 6

Today was to be devoted to R&R. The bishop had the diocesan driver and the Schools head to take me to the mountains. I hadn’t known the climate I was in until e started to climb. It got progressively cooler. Now I knew the import of the question many people ask me when introduced. They ask if I’m adjusting to thee warm weather. I tell them I like hot days. I guess I do; but now I was experiencing the contrast. Indeed, I am much more used to a cooler climate. Going back down was oppressive.
We stopped a few times by the side of the road to take pictures. The first real stop was at the old Jesuit Retreat House. The Dindigul Diocese had their Priests’ retreat there a week before. T is a thing of beauty as the botanical classes from Jesuit Universities nearby grow flowers and trees there. They one had 400 acres of the best recreational land in the country. By mistake they sold some. But it is still worth in the hundreds of millions of rupees. The Jesuit in charge gave us a history and a thought that Jesuits could be of help in working with orphans and educational remedies to social problems.
From there we became tourists seeing the sights on top and looking at the wares for sale. There was honey, tea, coffee several exotic fruits and cheap stuff of all kinds. After checking out the sights, we reverted to our real selves and checked out La Sallette. It was a loose copy of the Basilica in the French Alps and with it one of the two places Our Lady is honored under that title. There are many Catholics in the area and it has a lot of visitors. Since the original missionaries here were French Jesuits, the connection is plain.
Following that we went for lunch to a gracious priest who was pastor of a large parish with a larger school. Of course, we did our usual tour of the school and interviewed some students. We learned of the need for computers in the Catholic schools. Knowledge of computers is the real ticket out of poverty. The kids know that.
From there we leisurely drove back to the Bishop’s House to get there in time for dinner. We had a great discussion on the bishop’s vision and the way to succeed in our quest. It would take an orderly relationship with bishops in several countries as well as religious communities. Their years of experience and zeal for educating children make them an efficient means toward our end. However, the local Indian bishop should be the overseer of the program.

Day 56, Oct. 5

The Superintendent of Schools took me around the diocese to several schools where there are many needs. It seemed to be a victory lap around his former parishes. He was loved in all of them and made a special impact on many. Even I was starting to get a little mushy as people remembered his goodness. We, as has now become SOP to me, entered classrooms and had some good conversations with the students through Father interpreting. I saw a lot of hope. I think the local teaches and priests saw my enthusiasm for the students and sincerely wanted the best for them.
We had lunch at a parish and plugged on until mid-afternoon when we returned to the Bishop’s House for a brief rest before gong out with the bishop. He invited me, I thought, to accompany him to an orphanage. There was to be a special program there with dancing and such. This was an important place for the bishop. H had put all his egg in one basket. The major thrust of his new diocese was to b4 this orphanage and the schools that support it. Through these functions, he would raise the status of Catholics to be an educated part of society. This trip meant a lot to him as he witnesses his ideas take shape in the person of grammar school students.
When we arrived, I was presented with a program and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible not upstaging the main speakers. There were three on the program but no specific names. Then, I was seated next to the bishop. I thought that was a privilege of traveling with him. Then, I was presented, as was the bishop with a garland and a shawl. I received those several times before. As the program moved along, I realized the main speaker wasn’t there. I had put a face to each participant except the speaker. At that point, I was staring at the obvious. I was the main speaker.
I hastily gathered my thoughts in case I was correct. All the announcements and presentations were in English. I presumed all the children from first to tenth grade knew English. In fact, the priest who spoke earlier was rather formal speaking as if to a board of directors rather than a bunch of kids.
Lo and behold, after a ‘man who’ introduction, I was named and raced to the mike as if I knew it all along. I spoke about the kid’s energy and enthusiasm and the faith, hope and love it6 would take to fulfill their expectations. The bishop, immediately after I finished, ordered the priest there to translate what I said to the students. He tried his best. That was the first time I realized the children hardly understood all the words that were spoken all night. Yet, they were so well behaved. I thought they were listening.
When the bishop got to speak he underlined the point I made. I guess he liked m speech. The program was followed by a tour of the entire facility including the kitchen closets and each dorm room. It was relatively new but basic. It was the bishop’s pride and joy. Then we had dinner and the trip home. It was a good day – even a break-out day when the bishop and I felt the same feelings and what I am to do began to come clear. I needed to try to put together a tea of donors, religious order experts, bishops and priests in both India and the US to work together for the development of the next generation of Indian Catholics.

Day 55, Oct. 4


I celebrated Sunday Mass this morning at Campion Senior High School. A driver picked me up at the Bishop’s House. This was a holiday weekend for the nation and the schools. Besides being the end of the scholastic quarter (last week was test week followed by a long weekend). Friday was the anniversary of Gandhi’s death. So, there were only adults in the chapel with a few of the boys (mainly athletes who had practice today for their team sports). The Mass went well under the guidance of an older priest who concelebrated. That part of the boys’ choir who showed up were OK but not great.
After Mass I had breakfast with one of the Montfort brothers who took over the school from the Jesuits who left decades ago. He was very good and presented a good case for using religious orders to help the poor. For the Montfort Brothers, education is their ministry and their livelihood. They know how to relate and motivate young students. For example, the brother who was leading me around was interrupted several by boys asking him for permissions. They looked up to him and respected him. That’s the kind o person I’d want my child to be guided by. Merely, giving money or a scholarship is not as good as putting a student in a caring environment.
While at the high school I as introduced to two fascinating things. On was cricket – the game. The boys’ team was practicing and they gave me some time at bat to try my hand at hitting (or whatever they call it. I thought I did well. The bowler was far more serious than the playing around I did earlier. It’s a good sport. The other noteworthy event was being taken on a tour of the high school’s zoo. They had a small number of exotic animals that I’m sure amuses the students. They certainly amused me.
Coming back to the Bishop’s House, I enjoyed a leisurely lunch with a few of the priests and a chance to do some writing as well as once gain packing for another leg of the journey (the trip must have entered its millipede stage by now). I am no headed for Dindigul. I was supposed to go by train. I checked it out and decided to go by bus. The 60 mile trip would take 2 hours and 64 cents (32 rupees) and buses let every 10 minutes. The bishop wouldn’t hear of it. Fortunately, there was a divine intervention. Quite by accident I overheard Fr. Charles saying h was going to Dindigul to present a counseling seminar to a group there. I found out when he was leaving learning it was just a hour or so later than when I planned to leave. He said he’ pick me up which he did and by evening I was having my 8th up of coffee at the virtually new Bishop’s House outside of Dindigul.
I had met the Bishop in Queens at the Love & Care shindig just before I left for India. He was most gracious. We got down to practical matters as he introduced me to his Superintendent of Schools who ha been for many years a parish priest. We became fast friends. (Days later I met the V.G. who helped design the building and who bought me my next train ticket. He verified an inkling I had right away. The place looked strangely familiar for a building I had never seen before. He told me he ha spent some time serving in Queens in the Diocese of Brooklyn. I immediately asked if he had been to Douglaston and visited the building there. He smiled knowingly an answered my next question as well. Yes, he did have that place in mind when he worked with the architect on this building. This is yet another “small world” moment. As a High School minor seminarian, I had a job at the Diocesan Building Office and ran off the plans and specs for that structure. I sort of knew my way around.

Day 54, Oct. 3

Today is a day of tours. I started out getting a tour of the Franciscan work in the diocese. It is a great effort to help the poor. The focus is on education of poor children and the organization of women. They can do for boys exactly what the young men in Poolampatty wanted – technical education. Instead of doling out haphazardly ad hoc tuition payments, Love & Care can fund scholarships that will be organized and monitored. It looks to me like a great plan, if we have the will and the money. The briefings I was given were excellent. The Franciscans and their friends have their act together.
After that work I got a brief tour which consisted in climbing to the top of the Rock Fort which overlooks the city. I was warned it was tough and I probably couldn’t make it. It had to be done barefoot. Looking up at it, the steep brown rock looked awfully hot in the burning sun. I went anyway. When we paid to make the trip along with sores of others I found that there was a stairway hewn under the rock that takes you up to the top. It was a piece of cake. The view on top was as good as the top of the Eiffel Tower (only the city didn’t come close to Paris, Texas let alone France.) Inside the rock a temple had been built. Now, the city was using it as a place to feed the hungry. The food looked good, plentiful, healthy, and clean (better than some restaurants I’ve eaten at in India).
Speaking of eating, Fr. Deveraj took me to a hotel he knows that had a great buffet. It was a super way to say farewell to each other. Together with our driver we enjoyed a fine assortment of food and desserts as well as some Black Knight ‘very strong’ beer. Strong in India (I was informed) means the beer is brewed like German beer. With that meal, I said my good-byes, was left off at the Bishop’s House less than ½ a mile away.
A short time later, I had a car pick me up to take me to the Capuchin complex. Once again, I was treated like a visiting dignitary. They sat me down, gave me a royal reception including a regal shawl (my sixth, I guess), some good books, and a packaged gift. The four people doing the briefing outnumbered me. But, to my joy they were giving me solutions to recent problems. The three boys who wanted money to go to tech school created a problem. These folks gave me a solution. They had a school, a student dorm, and experience working with such students. Their price was about the same. They have a history of gaining good employment for their grads. And, they know how to choose those qualified to enter and possess a preference for the poor. Contracting with such folks as the Capuchin’s could be the way LCM can screen candidates and insure constant oversight without adding a penny to overhead. The additional but necessary services are already in place. I made the briefings a dialogue, messing up the group’s timing. They got me back on track and we seemed to develop a good relationship.
Just before the briefing they sat me down for coffee or tea as is the national custom. (I’ve consumed a lot more stimulants in India than I have in many years.) I really came there to participate in the Transitus of St. Francis. I was invited by a man who was 1,000 mils away and felt like an intruder crashing a party. Jokingly the Provincial offered me the opportunity to be the speaker for the occasion. I laughed it off. After the tour, as we strolled into the sacristy, I found out the Provincial was serious. I was docile enough to agree. I did have an idea. So, the first Transitus rite I attended, I became the main speaker. The audience was mostly made up of the nuns who served as the faculty at the Nursing School that was pat of the complex. My judgment was to say something serious and (cough) insightful. Since I picked up some of the latter up in Calcutta at Mother Teresa’s feast, I compared he 20th century self-understanding with the similar experiences of Francis. It sounded OK, not great but not a flop. Then, we finished the service and retired for supper at the convent. The sisters were really sharp. Virtually all of them had doctorates of some sort including MD’s. The letters after their names did not detract from their hospitality, their humility, or their sense of humor.
After looking at our watches and realizing how late it was, we all went home. I had a 9:30 appointment with the bishop (whose room was down the hall from mine). We both had full days. But, I wanted him to help put a few things together for me. He sounded very much in line with every bishop and chancery official with whom I spoke. He wanted oversight of whatever monies come into his diocese. The one curve I threw him was about having religious orders do the work and receive compensation for it. He said he had a good relationship with the Franciscans and the Montfort Brothers (more about them tomorrow). Earlier in the trip, I was warned by a diocesan priest not to involve religious orders. The bishop wanted an orderly, transparent, and legal process. He, too, would be willing to enter into an agreement with a US diocese. Many other dioceses had relationships; but thee was no coordination. Maybe we can do something.

Day 53, Oct. 2

Yet another travel day arrives. It seems these days are getting more frequent as time rolls on. Either my schedule is getting tighter or my sense of time is changing as I get used to things Indian. So, I packed my bags in the morning and later put the in the trunk of a car rented to get us to the See city of this diocese, Trichy (or its official name of Tiruchirapalli).
Fr. Deveraj went along as he was sort of assigned to take care of me (seeing that I eat a lot and see a lot of sights). He heard of a magnificent new bridge the State built just a few miles out of our way and thought it would be a good diversion. There is a major road building project going on n Tamil Nadu for the last 2 years with one more year to go. The cost is rps.3,818 crore (one crore is 10 million). That’s a lot of money and it seems to be put into effect efficiently. The work looks pretty much up to US standards. The work seems to be going well. When we got to the bridge, we found it to be only a to lane concrete bridge spanning a ravine with a railroad track. It wasn’t much to see. So, we doubled back and hightailed it to Tiruchirapalli.
The Bishop’s House was more or less like every other Bishop’s House I have lived in. It was, as usual, historic (that is to say old and raggedy). But it is cheap and filled with ready made friends, namely the bishop’s staff. This stop was no different. The highlight of the supper was the Judicial Vicar. He had a happy professor’s sense of humor even though he has been working marriage cases for decades and was taking witness statements that evening in person. He taught Fr. Anthony and my host as well (a generation apart). Other priests took a shine to me and the time was well spent.
I was given a ride around the city observing what we might be visiting the next day. People drive more sanely here; but it’s still mad by US standards. When we returned, a priest saw me and stated his desire (approved by his bishop) to come to the States. He has been in charge of education for the diocese. I also tried to get in touch with the Capuchins to join in their Transitus festivities the following night as I hoped to do when I was in Delhi.

Day 52, Oct. 1


Today began with a group of youngsters (larger than on most days) hanging out in front of the rectory. They have to enter a quadrangle to do so. They are enthusiastic but speak no English. I took it on myself to teach them a game. The only one I could think up fast was tag. So I did. Less than five minutes later all of the children (mostly girls) were running around trying not to b “it.” I enjoyed running with them. I didn’t think could still run, changing direction and speed as I did. Nevertheless, I somehow lost energy faster than the kids. They didn’t understand why I left the game before they were finished. It’ll take them yeas to find out.
At noon I was to concelebrate Mass at a shrine to St. Thomas. I got there by taxi. The shrine was located in the mountains. These are a number of widely scattered hills each affording beautiful views of the farmland below. The reason I was sent there was to experience a charismatic Mass Indian style. Actually, it was pretty good. The music was more lively than average; but in the general area of what I would consider popular Indian music. Then, the priest got the crowd ( and there was a sizable congregation that comes every Thursday although not the 3,000 weekly attendance the founder of that Mass told me later) going with a spiel out of a rural Tennessee Pentecostal pastor’s repertoire. After that, Mass was pretty much as normal except for the 50 minute sermon on temptation. Not understanding a word, I dozed off a bit; but I wasn’t the only one. Actually, I as awake for the vast majority of the talk and the preacher did hold the people’s attention fairly well. The people came to be fed.
That evening there was a big affair in the town. It was a civic event: sort of a founders’ day. The town was celebrating the arrival of the first settlers who arrived there. N. Poolampatty was the leader and the man after whom the town is named. There were other families mentioned as well.
The ceremony began at sundown with a number of drummers coming to the church quadrangle to get us priests. We joined them and marched with them to the center of town (100 yards maybe) in font of an ancient wagon with relics of the old folks. The whole town was gathered around along with a huge number of flowers (on my walk though the fields I had noticed how many were growing flowers as a commercial venture. They grew them in rows much like one would grow cotton or peas. Now, I saw why. I it were the US, there would be several thousands of dollars of flowers sewn together in garlands.) Father Deveraj said some lengthy prayers out of a book of blessings (he later admitted that he wasn’t sure what to do because he never had this experience before). Then, everyone was sprinkled with holy water which had been blessed and the band blasted out some drum rolls and the loudspeaker played Indian music as food was offered to all. It was a sight. Father didn’t trust the hygienic integrity of the cooking and had our cook prepare our usual fare in the rectory.

Day 51, Sept. 30

Not much happened today. The only excitement was derived from two walks. One I made with Fr. Deveraj circumnavigated the town of Poolampatty in a small circle. I got to see mostly the industry of the little village. There was a linen mill which the government took over and is using it as a cooperative for women who both learn the trade and make some money doing it. There were also two brick yards where the production was high for the ages old methods they employed. It was like going back to Roman days. Then there were the rice fields. Rice is the main crop of the country. This year the yield is threatened by a significant drought (not withstanding my propensity to bring rain). But, there is a good (if ancient) irrigation system.
The afternoon walk circled the town in a wider radius. This time we were led by the man who was helping the pastor cook for us. This man did not speak English (as very few in the town did). However, he seemed extremely knowledgeable. He showed us crops and trees that were truly exotic. It looked and sounded to me s if these belonged to him. If they did he must be quite wealthy for that area. He led us well and joyfully through the fields. For a while we had a few children with us. They seem to enjoy being around priests; or they are bored during this quarterly recess from school.

Day 50, Sept. 29

Today, I was taken to see a school which currently goes from first to ninth grade. The man who is the founder/head of the trust running it/headmaster and chief salesman for it needs to expand it to 12th grade to make sure the students persevere to college. But, he, more desperately needs $19,000.00 to add three classrooms the State inspector says he must have by the next school year to stay accredited. It is a great school doing great things. It is a frustration to know Love & Care does not have that kind of money. In the real world that is not much of a request. I wish we could find someone or some organization to provide tht sum.
That evening, after the Mass for the Archangels, Father had a number of young priests over for supper. It was a rowdy bunch and, after a small period of feeling eh other out, we got loud and funny and sharp in our repartee. A good time was had by all. To boot, I learned a lot about priesthood in the Diocese of Trichy.

Day 49, Sept. 28

Back to work today. The ‘work’ isn’t much; but it is an imposing task. It’s imposing because I am put in the role of some important dignitary whose decision might determine the future of a program. Routinely, three chairs are set up in front of a school or building of the sort. The person who brought me sits in one; the leader of the program in the other; and I am in the middle. There may be a performance or group activity. And then I’m on. A child, as in today’s itinerary, would be brought to me who received some scholarship funds. I have taken it as my duty to ask some questions the answers to which would indicate if the money were well spent. I usually ask what their favorite subject is and what they want to be when they grow up. The kids are all uptight (as I would be in their shoes). So I try to lighten the tension and really find out if the students are going to improve the situation they are in now. They all are.
In the evening, I visited tuition centers. The term is misleading. These are places where students can come to do homework. Love & Care pays teachers to be monitors and mentors. The concept is to provide the students an environment where they can do their work. Almost all their homes are not. Here again the chairs are out and I get to play the part of the person who needs to be impressed. I always am.