MotherTheresa

MOTHER THERESA - CALCUTTA, INDIA
For the Idaho Catholic Register - by Marge Prothman
(Volunteer) October 1994

CALCUTTA…….A teeming frenzied city where life and death collide at every corner. Children sleeping beside a busy six lane road, autos, busses and motorcycles honking constantly and spewing out black fumes of pollution. Dirt, decay, bodies, everywhere - a crowded noisy city, that neither sleeps or sweeps. Everything appears broken, the roads are broken, the taxis and busses are broken. A place where the human life does not seem to have any value and is indeed broken. In my travels, I have never experienced a city so dirty and so noisy as Calcutta. The smells and noise of this city have been impregnated in my mind and no doubt will be there for some time.

Marge and a co-volunteer on the back streets of Calcutta.

Situated in a run down area on one of the busiest streets in Calcutta, on A.J.C. Bose Road, is the Motherhouse for the Missionaries of Charity and Mother Theresa. It is a three storied building with the entrance off a dark alley at the side of the building. It houses 226 Novices made up of six classes and a number of Sisters who are in final vows. There is a large Chapel where Mass is said each morning at six a.m. and Adoration each evening at six p.m. - no kneelers or pews - just the floor. There is also a small room for volunteers, this is where we check in with the 'Sister in Charge' of volunteers. Each morning after Mass we have 'sweet milk tea and bread' and in the evening at five p.m. we all come searching for mail from home.

What makes a volunteer? There were approximately 40 men and women volunteering while I was there, most between the ages of 20 to 40 years, from all walks of life and with assorted religious beliefs. I was the exception being somewhat older. There are numerous Missionary of Charity houses in Calcutta; including the Motherhouse, there are facilities to house Lepers, the Dying Destitute, TB Patients, Mentally ill, the Handicapped, the Abandoned or Orphan children and many more. I chose the Dying Destitute house called NIRMAL HRIDAY located in Kalighat.

I was in Calcutta for four weeks as a volunteer, my young friends as I got to know them, were there for four months to a year. I asked what had motivated them to be a volunteer. Most, could not put it into words, some just shrugged and said why Not? A few replied in one word 'GOD'. When the question was then put to me, I became one of the shruggers and a phrase my Spiritual Advisor has been saying to me over the past few years suddenly made sense…THE LORD IS IN CHARGE OF MY LIFE AND I HAD BETTER LET IT BE THAT WAY.

Street Scenes - Life on the street - live on the sidewalk, the gutter is your bathroom and the pumps located every few blocks, are your water supply.

A day in the life of a volunteer starts early, up at five-thirty a.m. and to Mass at six a.m. then back to the Monica house for breakfast at seven a.m. I stayed across the street from the Motherhouse at an Anglican Mission house called Monica House. Later, I moved to the Baptist Mission house, it was located off the main road and was much quieter. In Monica house there were a number of volunteers, and we were six to a room. I was put on the verandah room and the street noise was so loud we had to shout at one another in order to be heard. The price was right $3.00 per night including breakfast. Lunch and dinner were available for a reasonable price and you were assured the kitchen was clean and healthy.

At seven-twenty a.m. each day I caught a local bus to Kalighat, about a 30 minute ride and what an adventure. The busses are very crowded, especially at this time in the morning. It was to the point where my face was jammed into your armpit. I caught the same bus each morning and they began to recognize me, and before the bus ever came to a full stop, I could hear them calling “Aunte, Aunte come". I was hauled onto the moving bus, pushed and pulled into the section that had a seating area reserved for ladies, and most mornings there was a seat available for me.

The Dying Destitute facility at Kalighat is part of a complex of buildings which make up the Hindu Temple of Kali. Pilgrims come from all over India to worship the deities of Kali and Shivra. Most of the patients cared for by the Sisters and Brothers of the Missionaries of Charity and the volunteers are either Hindu or Muslim. The facility is divided into half, one side for men and the other side for ladies.

We had 40 to 50 ladies on our side and they probably had every disease known to man. Most everyone had TB or some type of cancer, Aids, malaria, dysentery, infectious scabies and a number of unknowns. Our job was not to diagnose but to give them breakfast, wash and bathe them, assist with dressings and medications, and spoon feed those too weak to feed themselves. We also had to scrub the beds down each day and do the washing of the sheets and nightgowns. After we had served them lunch our time was finished and another group of volunteers came on at 3 p.m. to help with the evening meal and bedtime.

Marge and Friends in the Dying Destitute Facility

Although I do know First Aid, and have raised 3 children through all sorts of childhood diseases and broken bones, I had never seen bed sores like a number of these people had. Sores so large and deep you could put your hand into the cavity almost to the bone. Some of the volunteers were nurses, and they along with the Sisters would do the dressings and give the various shots to the patients. My particular job for many days was to sit with a Indian lady who had many of these sores, and also what appeared to be a large burn or knife wound on her back.

While her wounds were being dressed each day (and it took over an hour to do this) I was her comforter, and she was mine. This lady was so brave and in so much pain that when it got really bad, she would squeeze my hand and I would squeeze hers and we would grunt our pain together. Her head was cradled in my lap and we would talk for that hour, she in a Hindu dialect that very few understood, and me in English that she could not comprehend. We took turns talking until her terrible sores were all dressed.

From this Indian lady, who lived by her wits on the streets of Calcutta, I learned how suffering can be endured with no complaints.

From Sister Lourdes I came to understand the dying. Sister was 10 years my junior and she had black and blue knees from praying. She also had a quality of spirituality that radiated to me. When the ladies died, and some did each week and I objected to that, she would say 'now Marjorie' in that wonderful Indian lilt of the English language, “Do you not see, they are now with GOD.” Then she showed me - a lady whose face had relaxed and was smooth and young looking - no more pain - the limbs were now straight. Even though this lady was still breathing you could see that the struggle was over and she was indeed with GOD.

It appears to me the struggle is here in life, and why do I make it so? Dying with dignity took on a new meaning for me. It means dying with someone holding you, either praying or singing to you, rather than dying in the gutter alone, broken and dirty. My time in Calcutta was well spent, perhaps just maybe, I gained in personal growth - I have varied memories:

The humidity and I did not get along too well, I became known as “Melt down Marge” I was constantly soaked.
I was told one lunch time to give a certain lady bananas for her lunch (if they have dysentery you do not give them rice, only bananas). Well this lady was tired of bananas, and she promptly hurled them right back at me, she was a good shot too.
The sharing and the laughter at the midmorning tea break on the roof, with volunteers from all over the world, we were family.
Sunday morning Mass at the Dying Destitute facility with the Brothers doing the drum music and singing in the Indian language.
My first few days in Calcutta I was scared to death and just wanted to go home at once, later I found out this is a typical reaction and I was not alone in these feelings.
The Novices, they were indeed my favorites, they were happy, smiling and full of fun, and many times I would get a ride back to the Motherhouse with them and Sister Lourdes. They would say their noon office on the return trip in the Van, and one of them would share her prayer book with me so I could participate. They sang beautifully at the morning Masses, and again that wonderful Indian dialect made the words LORD and MARY sound so real.

I did not get to see Mother Theresa, she was in Rome while I was in Calcutta. Once you get involved with the workings of the many facilities she started, it does not seem important that you actually see her, you know you have become a part of her and her work.

I have heard Mother Theresa had a yellow business card and it reads:

The Fruit of Silence is Prayer
The Fruit of Prayer is Faith
The Fruit of Faith is Love
The Fruit of Love is Service

Mother Theresa and her Missionaries of Charity have sisters all over the world, in 110 countries and 500 houses, about 4000 sisters, homes for the poor, the dying, orphan children, mental patients and homes for Aids patients. One of the newer Aids homes is located in San Francisco.

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