Meeting the Twain

2009-10-28T02:06:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-28T02:05:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-28T02:02:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-25T03:23:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-25T03:22:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-25T03:19:00.000-07:00

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…

2009-10-25T03:18:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-25T03:15:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-19T04:34:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-19T04:32:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-19T04:30:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-19T04:27:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-19T04:25:00.001-07:00

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.

2009-10-19T04:21:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-15T02:47:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-15T02:46:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-15T02:44:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-08T08:30:00.001-07:00

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.

2009-10-08T08:27:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-08T08:25:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-08T08:24:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-08T08:23:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-08T08:20:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-08T08:18:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-08T08:17:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-08T08:14:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-01T06:45:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-01T06:34:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-28T10:25:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-28T10:24:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-28T10:22:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-28T10:21:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-28T10:19:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-28T10:13:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-28T10:09:00.000-07:00

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.

Day 41, Sept. 20

2009-09-28T10:06:00.002-07:00

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.

2009-09-28T10:06:00.001-07:00

2009-09-28T09:54:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-22T04:16:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-22T04:15:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-22T04:10:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-18T02:18:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-18T02:16:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-18T02:14:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-18T02:10:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-16T08:54:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-16T08:49:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-16T08:46:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-16T08:44:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-11T19:51:00.000-07:00

2009-09-11T19:50:00.002-07:00

2009-09-11T19:50:00.001-07:00

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.

2009-09-06T11:47:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-06T11:46:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-06T11:44:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-06T11:42:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-06T11:41:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-06T11:39:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-06T11:36:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-03T03:20:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-03T03:18:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-03T03:16:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-03T03:14:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-03T03:13:00.000-07:00

Days 12 & 13
Aug. 22 and 23

There was one more place to visit in the center of Bengaluru before departing for Calcutta. It was going to be a 48 hour day and I didn’t look forward to another 11/2 hour trip from St. Anthony’s to the city. It was noisy, dirty, congested and, now, boring. By this time I was becoming able to discern some method to the madness of local traffic.
But, this trip was to be different. We ended up in a part of town I hadn’t seen yet. It’s called Doddamangala. It took us a few stops to ask directions as to its precise location. Every time we asked the person knew exactly what we were looking for. We got out at a vacant lot and found a side door. Inside was a narrow hallway I think I had to walk in sideways to get by. On each side were two rooms abut the size of a walk-in closet. Those were classrooms and this was a special place.
A lady named Bridget Tauro established this shelter and named it St. Casper’s. Besides herself and her 90 year old mother whom she also cares for, Bridget is the legal caretaker of 16 orphans ranging in age from 3 to 12 years of age. The children all attend school and live right there at St. Casper’s. Four teachers live there as well, helping in the care of the children as well as teach the six grades that are offered there. It’s like living and working in a submerged submarine. They can’t even use the vacant lot for recreation.
Nevertheless, the home regularly passes all their inspections and even wins competitions with other schools. Their trophy case is full. Across from that case is a blackboard with the schedule of every class. There’s no nonsense tolerated. Yet, there re a lot of happy faces. They are a happier than average group of kids.
Most of the money to run the house is earned by Ms. Tauro herself. She is a teacher in a government school. She is efficient, kind, demanding and extremely loving. She is a great leader. Love & Care gladly gave her a sum of money that was generous but not very much.
A switch went off in my head. I may have come to realize what Love & Care does. It’s an incubator for fledgling operations that are too small for the big NGO’s (like Catholic Relief Services) and foundations to fund and too big for one small group to fund. This is a needed mission.
After we arrived back at St. Anthony’s we started to prepare for evening Mass. The pastor set the Mass for Mary’s Queenship instead of the Sunday. The decision was made due to the devotion the people have for Mary and the saints. That is becoming obvious to me as a trait of the Catholics throughout India. The love of the parishioners for Mary came out in the singing of the Marian hymns and their voiced prayers.
After the Mass we had dinner with good conversation (as always) and time for me to pack for the flight to Kolkata. The flight left at 6:30 am on Sunday. But, I had to be there 3 hours early and the drive to the airport would take an hour. We decided that a taxi would pick me up at 2:15. That gave me ample time to reorganize my belongings and repack the bags. Wisely, I decided to shower first. This refreshed me. It took all of the extra time to work with my ‘stuff.’ I finished the job with only15 minutes to spare for minor things like sleep.
I may have been one of the first five passengers to arrive at the airport that day. Many airline personnel were at their posts but the posts weren’t open yet. Neither was the coffee shop. I was a zombie and acted the part going through all the gates a passenger has to negotiate. My flight was on Kingfisher Air. I’m told seriously it is the same company that brews a very good beer in Bengaluru. The Kingfisher Brewing and Airline Company: think about that.
The plane made an intermediate stop at Hyderabad. This resulted in continuing passengers like me receiving two meals, breakfast and lunch on a three hour flight. The experience was good. And we landed at Dum Dum airport exactly on time. As I got to the baggage claim area my contact, Peter Rao was waiting.
Peter took me to my base of operations in Kolkata which was near the airport. It was a kind of retreat house named Proggaloy, which is supposed to mean Wisdom. I met its leader Fr. Susai Manickam. He is the Dean of the Deanery and a man who is very knowledgeable and busy. He proved to be a wonderful host. As such, he fits in well with all who took care of me.
Peter then proceeded to take me to central Kolkata. To spend the rest of the Sunday seeing the sights and getting me to the church Fr. Susai arraigned for me to celebrate Sunday Mass.
First, Peter took me to the Motherhouse of the Missionaries of Charity. They were busy and we were obviously in the way. We would come back the next day or so.
The alternative was to see the sights. Within easy distance were the Indian Museum and the Victoria Monument. Both were crowded and sources of first rate historical, artistic, ethnic, and geographical background for me.
We, then, proceeded to St. Anthony’s. Arriving about 30 minutes before Mass, I was invited to preach. I told them I would and searched for a lectionary. Thank goodness, I easily remembered what I wrote in my ETC article and strode out comfortably as the main celebrant. The associate concelebrated, just in case. I was satisfied all went as normal. I regretted what I now saw as normal in India. The priest returns immediately to the sacristy after Mass. There’s little interaction with the people. I have come to need that.
What I needed more was some sleep. It was a long day of more than 48 hours of activity. Peter and I still had a 90+ minute ride back to the Proggaloy. My host was there to offer a meal (a bit of which I took) and all the amenities I would need for the night including bottled water. I went to bed tired and happy.

2009-09-03T03:12:00.000-07:00

Days 9-11, Aug. 18-20

During my time at the Ashram, my time was strictly allotted. There was no time to even keep a diary. I could have, of course; but I chose to keep to the discipline of the Ashram as closely as possible. In return I had a wonderful experience. I went in with a need to find out what I would do with my future. That question, with which I had been struggling, went unanswered. Instead, I left with a joy that God was with me and would use me as He saw fit.
The presence of God was for me (and, I think is supposed to be) the essence of the Ashram experience. The day is highly structured. We rise at 4:30 am. Morning prayer, Mass, and breakfast follow. There is personal meditation and community prayer and a discourse before lunch. The afternoon includes meditation, a major lecture, and community prayer. There supper is more individual. Community prayer closes the day at about nine o’clock; and then it is time for bed. Yoga was an option for the afternoon; but I skipped that opportunity as I quickly realized the exercises were beyond my ability level.
The instruction was not. I had no trouble grasping the concepts. As Fr. Louis told me upon arrival, he would give a recap of the previous week of instruction to the novices. By the time he was finished, I was right in step with the group. H also explained that the founder started the Ashram as a way of implementing Vatican II and a new evangelization in India. There had been little or no connection between Catholic and Hindu before. Yet, there was a spiritual richness which could serve s a link between us that promised closer ties and greater understanding. The Ashram would serve to find the connection, build on it and make it known.
The first two days there was complete silence. Meals and all gatherings took place without use of chairs. Instead, all sat on the floor n the lotus position. All, that is, but me. Without asking, I was gifted from my first session with a little stool. I felt awkward. However, that was better than feeling the pain in my knees. At dinner, plates and cups (both shiny metal) wee placed on the ground. One marched single file to a place and sat on the ground. About nine of the forty or so participants served. They would have to bow and bend to place the item on your plate. The drink was hot water. The portions were more than ample. I some food were left over it would be distributed so nothing went uneaten. I always had to signal off my second spoonful of rice (the basis of every meal including breakfast). It was too much for me. Neither I nor anyone left even a speck on our plates.
By the end of the second day I tired of being treated like a baby needing a stool. Instead, I placed my body carefully and uncomfortably on the floor trying my best to keep my legs out of the way. My gesture was noticed. Fr. Louis at the next Mass made a public statement about it and invited me to light the ceremonial Mass candles at the start of the Liturgy. I had noticed how the women at the previous Masses had done it. I did need to be cued as to go clockwise or counter around the circle. As a concelebrant I was given a saffron shawl-like vestment to wear and I did have a speaking part in the Eucharistic Prayer. The Liturgy was specially approved for use in India. I am led to believe it is only used at the Ashram. It is beautiful.
On the third day, the last for most of the novices, silence was relaxed. I was surprised to find out how many had figured me out without saying a word. They leaned my eating habits and personality. I was astounded. I was more astounded by how much praying and living together bonded us.
That afternoon the novice directors had planned to take a shot journey to the top of the mountain that overlooks the Ashram. It is the site of a noteworthy ancient temple that is still in use. It was a five minute ride by bus. There are two buses in town: one with A/C for 10 rps; the other without for 4rps. As a sign o poverty the directors had us wait for the less expensive. The wait made us arrive just after the temple closed for lunch. We had time to wait. I should tell you during the wait for the bus and all during the wait on the mountain (in a little commercial and dirty town) the novices flocked me asking all sorts of questions. I enjoyed it (who wouldn’t). At one time, I left the group for about five minutes to see if there were a better (cleaner and shadier) place to wait the hour. When I returned, the sisters were gone. I soon found them and received a benign scolding from the mistress of novices. This cemented the bonding I had enjoyed with the young sisters.
We took the brief tour of the temple dedicated to Gnassei, the elephant-headed goddess who saved the area from an evil god. Then our novice mistresses bought everyone a cup of ice cream and decided to have us walk down the mountain. That was a very big mistake. As we descended by means of a 300 step staircase (each riser about one foot down) it started to rain. The young women each had brought umbrellas to keep them from the hot sun. I got drenched. (Sounds like a parable about five wise virgins, doesn’t it?) When we got to the bottom, we should have been about ten minutes from the Ashram. I was among the very last to reach the bottom because of the conversations I was enjoying with the novices. Those ahead of us seemed to know the way. Presumably (wrong!) the mistresses were in charge. We were just following dutifully. Half an hour later I notice the mountain is far behind us. We had gone in the wrong direction. Now we were approaching rush hour in a congested area with no sidewalks to protect us from the rush hour traffic. My paternal instincts immediately arose and I started trying to take charge. Unfortunately, the front of the procession was far head. So, I became protective of all around me, especially the older mistress of novices who seemed to have trouble crossing the streets with its chaotic traffic. About five miles later, the back of the line came in to the Ashram. All were accounted for. I now have a verbal invitation to the first profession of my new friends (and soon to be sisters) next April. I’d better not lose their address.

2009-09-03T03:10:00.000-07:00

Day 8, August 18

Today, upon awakening, Fr. Anthippa and I celebrated Mass at the parish church for four of the sisters who run the school in this exurb 0f Mysore. No lay people attended. The parish has only 18 families. It’s a shame the bishop has assigned such an intelligent and community-minded priest to this backwater town. After Mass, we dined with the sisters and I received another tour of another school. The vast majority of the students are non-Christian; yet, they pay great respect to priests. Neither of us wore clerical garb and they still recognized us as important people. In no time, the students here as in the previous two schools I visited learned to receive and give high fives. Soon, they became enthusiastic for them.
Later that morning, Fr. Anthippa put me in his car to take me to my five day stay at an Ashram. On the way he wanted to show me one of the splendors of medieval India. Way off the beaten path past a few remote villages, lies the 12th century Buddhist Temple at Somnathur. It was exquisite. The outside was thoroughly immersed in detailed miniature statues. Inside, there was a forest of pillars. Each of them was produced by spinning on a lathe. All of them were granite. There were three shrines inside (a kind of Trinitarian theology perhaps?). It taught me that India certainly has a rich heritage.
Leaving the twelfth century, we drove not to modern Mysore, but to Anjeli Ashram. In one sense it can take one back to the fifth century BC. Or, it could be a vision of the future when religious people recognize and accept each others’ spiritual wisdom. The latter is why this Ashram was founded.
So, like a child brought to his first day of school, Fr. Anthippa dropped me of at the Ashram. Both of us spent time talking to Fr. Louis, the guru-ji of the ashram. He proved to be a kind and wise man and a great leader. I was shown to my room by Brother John, a Montfort bother, who was to remain my guardian angel taking me to all the sessions, meals and gatherings. My room was no more Spartan than at my previous stays in India so far. It had an en suite bathroom aw well. I soon found out we all sit (lotus style) on the ground including at meals which are silent.
Present at the Ashram were novices from three convents. A ten day experience is part of their preparation for profession. There were two groups of Pralines and one group o Franciiscans. The novices had to be 19 or 20 years old. Fr. Louis said I was lucky. At this time he was recapping the previous week. I could get all that in one day and then continue to the conclusion. So, I settled in with the girls and started learning. It proved, as you will see, educational and fun.

2009-09-03T03:08:00.000-07:00

Day 7, August 17

This morning Fr. Marriappa and I celebrated Mass in the parish church for the sisters and the parishioners. It was a good turnout. The Faith seems to be strong in India as the devotion to the saints and Mary are held in high regard. Priests are respected to a degree that makes me uneasy. In some parts the people put their head to the priest’s feet as they petition for a blessing.
As was expected, we retraced our way out of Bengalore on the way to Mysore. Only this time we took a main road. (There seems not to be any equivalent to an Interstate Highway in India. All the roads are congested to a degree when in populated areas. Every vehicle tries to go as fast as it can; but the result is everyone going at a reduced speed. Foot propelled three-wheelers vie with heavy trucks and all sorts of autos and dilapidated buses for room on a single lane. That one lane (out of two or four) may have cars going both ways. And, yes, there are many accidents.)
We finally arrived at Fr. Anthippa’s rectory. He is a clever man who spent three years as a priest mostly in Lancaster PA. After dinner, he took me on a walk through the few streets of his small town. Although small and seemingly backwards, the five blocks of commercial business had at least two electronic shops each. The one we entered was busy. There Father took out a mobile phone which I would use throughout the rest of my trip. He bought and inserted a SIMM card. We also had to buy a charger for it. They had virtually very size and shape of charger in stock. The clerk found ours easily. The price was 30 rupees. That’s about 80 cents.
Earlier, I had told Father about my toenail problem in answer to his question if I needed any medications. He called up a physician and got a verbal prescription for a regimen that was not topical but by mouth. I had been asking about such a pill for years from MD’s in the US for years. Again, at one of those third world kiosks Fr. told him the prescription. Presently, the pharmacist (one of many in the town) came back quickly with the pills. The cost was about $5.00. Fr. Anthippa thought it might be too much!
After the walk, we returned to the rectory where we continued conversing until time for bed.

2009-09-03T03:06:00.000-07:00

Day 6 – August 16

Today was my first Sunday morning in India. Much the same as in most parishes in the US, the pastor and I awoke and started preparing for the first Mass. The Mass was entirely in Kannada, the native language of the people of the State of Karnataka. Bangalore, now changed to Bengaluru, (spelled in different ways) is the state capitol. They have their own language with an alphabet and calligraphy of its own. Since consonants include vowel sounds (so, ba and bo are two different letters) transliterations ae difficult. To boot, Indians were taught hw to pronounce English by the English for whom vowels sound nothing like vowels in American English. Add to that my pain in recognizing an English word spoken by an Indian because we accent different syllables. This all means that it is hard work to make out what people are saying. Worse, they have to decipher my New York accent. The twain, if it does meet, only does so with difficulty.
Back to the Mass. The Church was beyond packed with the crowd overflowing. The music was enthusiastic. The choir was small; but everyone n the congregation took up any slack. The instruments were n electric guitar and a synthesizer. The sound was distinct but surely modern/popular. One major shock for me was that the celebrant received by intinction. Otherwise all was totally familiar to me. The lectionary was British. I liked that translation better than our own.
After Mass, as usual in the US, we enjoyed breakfast together in the rectory dining room. The rectory had a staff including a young man who performed all sorts of menial tasks and a cook/housekeeper. I believe there were other workers as well who also hve duties at the school. There is a guard at all times.
Today we visited another project. This was a home for children (from new born to teens) who are HIV+. Now, they also take in women with HIV/AIDS. The Servants of the Poor (a religious order of women formed in Kerela, India in 1969. They now have 652 nuns serving in 62 homes.) started the house in 2001 because no one would touch them. They would find these children abandoned in the gutter. First, there were two; now there are 74. Most of the 74 were abandoned. The sisters give them a home, love, care, milk, food, and whatever medications they might need. It costs 50,000 rupees (a little more than $1,000.00) a month to keep their ministry up. Sister Veronica, the superior, told me her greatest joy comes when she embraces children whom others, including their mothers, are afraid of. Her sadness comes whenever a child dies. She and the staff do get attached to the children. For her, serving the children is serving the Lord. And, there is no indication when another death will occur.
We watched the little toddlers play with one another. There was a great deal of interaction. When a one or two year old enters for the first time, he or she is extremely fearful. In about a day, they change. The happiness of the other children draws the new child to come and play together. It’s true. I witnessed that phenomena in progress.
The treasurer-for India of Love & Care presented Sister with a check from the donors in the US. It was generous. However, it covered only 2% of the home’s budget. They need more. Their greatest need is food.
That visit made the day.

2009-09-03T02:59:00.000-07:00

Day 5, August 15

Today is Independence Day in India. Traditionally, the festivities begin in the morning. Since it is also a solemnity of Mary (yes, it is a day of obligation in India too) we celebrated Mass early in the morning and followed up with an outdoor event with every grade in the school participating in dances, pageants, an clever gymnastic exercises. Every class was great. Mixed in were speeches. And then came the climax. O all people, I raised the flag of India and released a dove. With Father Mariappa serving as interpreter, I gave the main address. I was asked to and I complied with combining Independence Day thoughts with those of the Assumption. I did so and added some American history in as well.
The program with all its events continued longer than anticipated. I had to close my remarks fairly quickly since my interpreter thought we were in hurry. So, I was whisked off in a car to the inner city of Bengalore. We were to have breakfast with Devakumar, the man who managed my itinerary. That gave me the opportunity to see the inside of a middle class city apartment. It was small especially since besides he and his wife, his son and daughter-in-law live there also. The younger couple (well educated) is saving for an apartment of their own.
Following the late breakfast, we drove to a small village on the road to Mysore. In the village was a former bank manager, a Mr. Renttih who, after retiring, settled n the country to try his hand at farming. What he accomplished is the establishment of a very progressive (for India) chicken farm. He’s made go0od profits in the venture. But, he noticed the children of the area ere not going to school. They couldn’t afford to. So, he set up a scholarship fund to entice them to stay in school.
Fr. Mariappa and I were there to present the students (with their proud families) cash or their work in school. The kids wee proud as they received their ‘earnings.’ It was a scheme to reward them for their work and instill in them the virtues needed to be successful. The ceremony was a bit over the top as I was seated above the students and their families. As their names were called, the students came forward signed and received a receipt. Then they came to me for the money. Their thankfulness came near to an act of worship as they showed their appreciation with bows and other gestures that made me feel as queasy as Paul did when he was worshipped in one city.
Fr. Marriappa came from nearby. That gave us a chance to visit his home and see a rural home. It was modest, decorated with religious art and family pictures. Of course, the people were delightful. The scenery was awesome.
We mad the long journey home knowing I’d pass by there the next day.

2009-08-22T08:00:00.000-07:00

Day 4, August 14

Today was Fr. Mariappa’s turn to take me around town. It is interesting to note how a priest’s understanding of a town is different from a layman’s. The first venue for this day was the Silicon Valley of India, a group of very modern office buildings called ITPC. We then went to a Hindu Ashram called Satyashaibebe. It was large complex with a great deal of posters of the swami who is its central focus. Interesting to me was the similarity between it and Catholic structures I have been visiting. Asking questions of the young people there, we found him to be revered but not thee at this time. The largest buildings on the site were hostels where the visitors to the Ashram stay. Everything seemed clean and proper.
After changing money at a very good rate from a money changer, we went to St. Mary’s Basilica, the other great Catholic site in Bengalore where miracles are common. Fr. Arulappa, the rector, saw me for a second since he had a couple in his office. We went upstairs into a common area where two priests were relaxing after hearing confessions. The chat that ensued was no different than any I have had with priests in the U.S.
That’s one place where the twain does meet. Certainly, the English language does not unite us. Our pronouncing of the words is quite different. We accent different syllables and our inflections differ as well. But priests’ conversations are happily a place I felt at home. Our seminary education, or our common experiences, or the unity of the Church, or other factors overcome the East-West dichotomy and, for once the twain met.
I enjoyed a whole evening of this unity at St. Anne’s rectory in Mestripelya. Fr. Chinnappa, our host invited us and some other priests over. He brought out some Kingfisher Beer ( the local brew in Bengalore; and pretty good) and snacks and we shared stories until time to go home for the night.

2009-08-22T07:49:00.000-07:00

[Dear Friends, if any of you are still around. Upon arriving in India, I found two major problems. First, I do not have as much leisure time as I anticipated. This is good for my style o travel. I like filling the day with exciting stuff. That, I'm experiencing. Second, internt access is not as available as I thought. As a result I'm days behind. Here are the first couple of days entris. I assure you there will be more to follow.]

Day 3 – August 13

Having arrived at midnight and driving for over an hour to get to the parish at which I was staying, St. Anthony’s. still I arose at a relatively decent time in the morning. I had the privilege of saying my first Mass in India concelebrating with Fr. Maiappa, the pastor. He was at the airport to pick me up. Originally, I took him to be a teen along to help with the baggage. It turned out he was 47 and a priest of some distinction. He has proven to be a wise man, a good guide and a comrade.
After Mass, I was given a tour of the school. The school has about 375 students ranging from 1st level standard (5yrs, 10mos) to 11th. I think I made it to all the classes. In many of them I had a good time to interact with the students. The rooms were ill-lighted and obviously low-tech. I saw no computers or labs. Yet, the students were highly motivated to learn. The vast majority of the student body was Hindu and not Catholic.
Before the tour, I had breakfast with the nuns who run the school. They were Sisters of St. Anne, a large Diocesan Order. In fact, there are six houses of religious within easy walking distance of St. Anthony’s. I quickly found out that the Church in India is rich in vocations.
After the tour, the man given the responsibility of coordinating my trip, Devakumar, arrived to take me to lunch and a brief tour of Bangalore. He came in a car rented with a driver. This method seems to be ordinary. I, for certain would not want to drive in urban India. The streets are filled with vehicles whose only aim is to get to where they’re going. Staying in lanes is scorned. I haven’t yet discovered any rules except the use of the horn. It is a useful tool to communicate to other drivers. When you are approaching another vehicle with the intention to pass, you should honk at him. He will honk back letting you know I it’s OK or not. Other traffic situations have their own honking patterns. This ‘system’ makes for very few accidents but an extremely loud street scene. As a pedestrian, the honking was unbearable.
After a fine lunch, I was taken to the Cathedral which is the sight of miracles. A billboard outside along the road read, Jesus Heals – For information inquire at the Catholic Church. Inside was a scene of great devotion. It seems the Church in India bases its evangelization on the miracles that I am led to believe occur often here. Actually, I think they do everywhere; but here they are advertised.
Later, we spent the late afternoon at the very pretty Botanical Gardens. His was next to last day of a special flower show. It, indeed, was spectacular. Besides wonderful trees and beautiful floral arrangements there was a large lake and a tribe of monkeys. It was a good experience to relax at after a long trip and before eleven weeks of purposeful touring.
From there we walked in and around the Legislative Capitol Building of the State of Karnikata. Then, we made it back to the rectory.

2009-07-21T20:10:00.000-07:00

Welcome to "Meeting the Twain." This is my first attempt to blog. Actually it's my second. I tried to get one going about an hour or so ago and it just disappeared after an hour of crafting a long introduction. Obviously i hit the wrong key. For actually more than an hour I tried to retrieve it. Then I switched to Google. I feel a lot more comfortable here. You now have a ringside seat not only at my very first blog but also my first lesson learned in the (brand-new for me) world of blogging.

At this moment you are reading the newest blog from the newest blogger in the world. Oops, by now someone else has usurped my 'newest' status. Sic transit gloria mundi.

We begin at the beginning with my 92 year old aunt (and godmother) needing some rehab after a shoulder operation. When she met the hospital chaplain, he told her he was going to Tennessee for the weekend. Then, she informed him she had a nephew who was the pastor of a parish in the city where he was to land (Chattanooga) on his way to Athens TN.

He called me and I offered to meet him at the airport and host him the night before his return trip. During that visit he told me his story. That included his first love. He hailed from India. His heart is still there with those who have a great deal of difficulty coping with life. He told me his work caring for them. Now that he was in the US he was helping them by supporting various institutions that help by establishing schools, hospitals, orphanages and other programs. They help families about to sell themselves in indentured service, those with HIV-AIDS, orphans, and many other folks who cannot help themselves. Later, he found others who were doing the same. They joined forces and organized what they dubbed, "Love and Care Missions."

I became very interested in their work and invited him to speak at St. Jude Church. Everyone was impressed. His message struck a particular chord in me. Since grammar school I wanted to be involved in the foreign missions. Of course, I was joyfully redirected to parish ministry. The Lord did move me from my native Brooklyn to a different culture in Tennessee. Yet, I was still in my own country. At this time, I was contemplating retirement and I was looking for a direction for the rest of my life. Could it not be supporting the good work sponsored by "Love and Care?"

Fr. Anthony later invited me to attend a Board meeting in Queens. After that I was asked to join the organization. They asked me to join in soliciting funds by speaking at parishes that favorably responded to their solicitations. I told them I would under two conditions. The bishop would have to allow me to retire and I would have to go first to see the projects in India first hand. I wanted to make sure they were doing good and there was no waste of money. Besides, I could speak in the first person when I begged and could reliably answer most of the questions that might arise. The conditions were accepted and, when a bishop was named and installed, he gave me the permissions I sought.

Now, I was about to prepare for the journey of my life. I'd like to take you along with me through the medium of this blog. Bob Keeler, a classmate at Cathedral Prep, demanded I do so at a reunion we had this summer. I couldn't refuse. It might even be fun.

In the course of time, I expanded the time I would spend on this trip and its scope. The Board members who rejoiced at my second condition advised me that eleven weeks would be a good enough time to get to know the country, its customs, its way of thinking, and all the projects that would give me a good overview and taste of what we are doing. But, the objective also expanded as my contacts increased.

I wanted to experience the culture. As opposed to that old voice of the nineteenth century British colonial viewpoint, Rudyard Kipling who penned, "East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet." I am a twenty-first century American who thinks all things are possible especially people of different cultures meeting and engaging in dialogue and coming to a mutual understanding. That's one additional accomplishment I hope to attain.

Another new goal I have added has to do with another priest I met in New York. He was a protege of Mother Theresa. Indeed, she handpicked him to go to the Pope with her to help lead a movement of diocesan priests that would be based on her theological and spiritual insights. I have read his initial book on the subject and am extremely impressed. I would like to learn more about it. It seems it dovetails nicely with some ideas of parish ministry I developed as I was working on my D. Min degree. I'd like to write a book outlining a pastoral theology based on the major themes of the movement and some of my own insights that compliment those ideas very closely. That justifies a trip to Calcutta and a further ride from there to Darjeeling, a trip Mother made that opened her up to a new vocation. Who knows if the Holy Spirit strikes twice on the same train?

I also have some misgivings on the way "Love and Care" solicits funds. It does work. However, even my bishop echoed my thoughts when he was wary of their method. They call up parishes until they find a pastor that is willing to allow them to preach about the program on an agreed upon Sunday. At that time the distribute envelopes. That idea has about saturated the country. Instead, it has dawned on me from various discussions that it might be better if we could bring together bishops in India with their counterparts in the USA. Both would gain much. The Indian bishops would find a site for funding their charities. The Americans, based on what I was told about the state of vocations in India, could tap in to a source of priests who may want to come here as well as a good number of seminarians. it may not work; but, it's worth a try. So, I'll work to get a few good interviews. I have at least one important connection already thanks to a St. Jude parishioner.

So, I'm about to embark in a couple of weeks on a monumental journey. I invite you to join me. If my new electronic notebook works and I can figure out how to take pictures, import them into my computer, and post them on this blog, then you can share my experiences and help me sort out all the many lessons I'll be learning.

All aboard!!
Fr. Joe Brando