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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.