No work today, stayed home sick. Figured that might happen after Kalighat. Backtrack to Monday noon.
Walked home after morning shift at Shishu Bhavan, had lunch at Blue Sky, and asked for directions to the State Bank of India (SBI). Had to go there to make a money transfer to Swati, so that work could begin on the bathroom. Found it after asking for directions 4 more times. Went in to find about 50 people in the waiting room, and when I got my number, realized others must be waiting elsewhere: my number was 322, electronic signs indicated around 240. There were 4 booths, but lunch break was from 2:00-2:30 (it was 2:00), so one or two were always empty. Chairs were full, so I stood for half an hour (was offered a seat, but kindly turned it down), then around 2:30 some spots cleared up so I sat. Was exhausted from my short sleep the night before, eyes were closing and head kept bobbing up and down. After sitting for half an hour (now just after 3), the numbers were getting close to mine so I played some Sudoku on my phone to stay awake. Wasn't going to miss my number after all this time! 322 finally lit up on the screen, and I told the man I wanted to transfer money from my Visa card to Swati's SBI account. He told me I needed to pay cash, not Visa. Sent me to the ATM around the corner, and I made sure I didn't have to wait in line again when I got back. ATM had a 6 person line-up, stood in the heat (bank had AC, thank goodness) for about 10 minutes, and got the cash. Went back to bank counter, and made the transfer. Had been trying for the past week through Western Union, but it never worked. Glad it was finally done. Back out into the hot streets, figuring my way back home after lots of turning around to get there. Back at Sudder street, used AC internet and went back to my room for a much needed nap. That day, for the first time since I've been in India, I got out my Purel and face wipes. Lots of slimy kids with skin diseases that morning. I had planned to go to Kalighat (home for the dying) for the afternoon shift from 3-6, but I was stuck at the bank and really wanted to get the transfer done. Relaxed that evening instead.
Alarm went off at 6 yesterday morning (had a very hard time falling asleep again the night before), and I stopped the beep, closed my eyes for a few seconds... and woke up again at 7:30 from the sound of an incoming text. Shit. Missed breakfast (hadn't planned to go to mass that morning, it's optional). I could have quickly gotten up and rushed over to Shishu Bhavan for 8, but felt really drowsy, and figured it was better not to push myself too much. No point going to work exhausted and risking getting sick. So again, I took it easy, shanti, shanti. Think I needed the rest, didn't wake up again till 11:20. Went out to internet then brunch, and decided I should really go to Kalighat that afternoon since I missed yesterday pm and today am. (You commit to certain times and shifts, but no one checks or takes attendance. If you make it, you make it; if you don't, you don't.) So I researched the center a little while I was at internet, since I was a little more nervous about this place than I was about Shishu Bhavan. Found great info and a detailed article about one volunteer's time there, and felt much more confident. At 2:30, hopped into a tuk-tuk for a 15 minute ride to Bridge number 4, which I'd then have to cross on foot to get to Prem Dan. (Prem Dan is a large building that houses other Missionaries of Charity programs, and the Kalighat patients are only temporarily located there while the original Kalighat is being renovated. The original was the first center Mother Teresa opened under the name of Missionaries of Charity. From my little MT booklet: One of the patients there said,"I have lived like an animal in the street, but I am going to die like an angel, loved and cared for." Goosebumps.) So, got to the bridge, walked across, and to my left was the worst slum I've yet to see in India. Haven't seen or smelled anything like it before. When I registered for Kalighat at the Mother House, the sister who did my paper work warned me against coming here on my own. She said the slum was quite bad and that the children could get aggressive. But hey, if I listened to people's warnings all the time, I wouldn't be in India in the first place. I was determined to go to Kalighat, so I went on my own. No problem as I bordered the slum across the bridge, seeing the big light blue Prem Dan building on my left, and when I slowed down, a little unsure about how to get to the main entrance (the slum was between the bridge and Prem Dan), a kind slum man assumed I was heading to PD and pointed me in the right direction. Took stairs down into the slum, walked along the train tracks, back into the slum, and walked along the tall concrete barb-wired wall surrounding PD until I found the main gate. Man let me in through a small trap door, asked me where I was volunteering, said Kalighat, and he led me to women's ward.
A kind Indian woman working there greeted me warmly, telling me to sit under the fan for a few minutes before starting, as the walk over in the heat had made me quite red and glossy. It was a small room, with just 12 little cots, 10 of them occupied. I'd say the women were between 30 and 80. Some were tied up to tubes, some just lying there with half open eyes. They were all extremely skinny and few of them had any hair. The hardest part about this initial sight is that I was reminded all too vividly of my mother in her final weeks. I worked hard at keeping my composure, not wanting to let these women see me break down when they were the ones suffering. After a few minutes of fan cool-down, the Indian woman started giving me tasks. (No other volunteers were in this ward.) Step one was giving the women their pills with a glass of water. The little pill cups were numbered, as were the cots, so I knew who to give what to. All were very cooperative at taking their medicine, some able to drink on their own, some needing help. I then helped lift one woman's legs as the Indian worker removed the feces bin from under her and wiped her. I did a few dishes after that (mostly water cups, not the feces bin), and then it was feeding time. The first woman I was assigned to refused to eat her meal, and kept asking me for chocolate. I gently persisted for the food, but to no avail. The second woman I fed cooperated, but ate very slowly, staring into space with half-closed, puss-filled eyes. I felt a little helpless when other women were requesting something from me in Hindi, and I couldn't understand. Did a few more dishes, then the Indian worker sat down at the end of a cot and motioned for me to do the same. She smiled and chatted with me, in broken but decent English, and when she was telling me about the daily schedule, and about lunch being at 11am, the woman whose cot I was sitting on the end of interjected, and said, "No, it's at 11:30," in what sounded like pretty good English. The worker told me this woman spoke very good English, and the woman was then happy to chat with me. She asked a few questions, asked me what I did back home. "I'm a teacher." She held my hand, smiled widely and thanked me (as the worker had also done earlier when I answered the same question). The woman went on to tell me that she had been a principal at Calcutta University, after living in London for 25 years and attending Oxford University. She told me her dream was that another big university be built in Kolkata so that more students could attend and be educated. Beautiful. As there was little else to do in the women's ward at that time, the worker brought me across the courtyard to the male side.
There, I was greeted by a few other volunteers: one white haired British man who was obviously a long-term volunteer, Donald from Ireland who had been there for 3 months, Jeff from Belgium who had been there a month, and 2 Asian couples who were also on their first day at Kalighat. Put my bag in the volunteer cupboard, put my apron on, and got to work.
This side was much bigger, with many more patients. Probably about 50. There were two rooms with cots, from which some able-bodied patients could come and go; a long, open corridor along the front of the rooms, and a garden area where they could sit, wander and chat. I talked for a few minutes to the high-spirited and sociable Raja, who had an artificial foot from a good hospital in Rajasthan. Then brought a glass of water to a few men who requested it. (Luckily, I knew what water is in Hindi: pannee.) Most could drink on their own, some needed a little assistance. Soon after, it was lunch time. We were to distribute the hearty plates of rice and veg stew to the men, spoon-feeding those who needed help. My first request for help was from a 20-something man with no legs below the knees, and limited use of his arms. He smiled a few times as I fed him, but also kept putting his hand against his chest, turning sideways and making groaning noises. Jeff peeked in and thanked me, saying this guy wouldn't eat from the men. But I think he liked the female presence a little too much, as he reached for my leg a couple times. I firmly but kindly said "no", pushing his hand away, and he nodded "ok" and stopped. Towards the end of the meal, when he turned sideways, he vomited his lunch. Oh boy. Ok. I went out and asked Jeff what I could use to clean it up, but he insisted on doing it himself while I took over feeding the guy he was taking care of. This guy was younger, about 15, and appeared only half awake. His eyes were half-shut and oozing, but he agreed to eat. Like yesterday's girl I fed at the orphanage, he chewed and swallowed in very slow motion and was the last to finish his meal, but unlike her, he never smiled. I then did a few post-lunch dishes and brought water to those who were still thirsty. One man kept pointing at his shirt and requesting something, but I couldn't understand. I went to get one of the sisters so she could tell me what he wanted. She grinned and said he wanted to wear a blue shirt - he was wearing a beige one. She said some of them were very particular. So I went to the cupboard, got a fresh blue shirt, and helped him change. He was happy. We then just had to walk around making sure everyone was ok and had what they needed. In the front room, I met the youngest boy in the ward. He must have been about 12. Most were middle-aged men. This boy's arms and legs were tied down to the bed he was lying on, and when I inquired, was told he was a little crazy and also had a very bad left foot which he would walk on and further damage if he wasn't strapped down. He motioned for me to sit beside him and smiled widely as he shook my hand. He had the most beautiful smile and eyes I've ever seen. He went on to make funny faces to make me laugh. He was in incredibly good spirits. One volunteer fed him a chewy toffee candy, which he gnawed at and tried to unstick from his teeth with his tongue for the next half hour. Did a final round to check up on the others, and the shift was just about done. I peeked back in to wave good-bye to him as we left, and noticed he was pulling at the knot that held down his right arm, trying to get it undone. He was crying. It was heart-breaking. I gently put my hand over his forearm to stop the tugging, smiled at him and said I'd see him tomorrow. I took off my apron, scrubbed my hands with soapy water, got my bag and water bottle, and made my way back through the slums to the bridge with the other volunteers. Along the way, slum kids aggressively grabbed at our water bottled, but again it is strongly advised that we do not give them anything, as this encourages begging and leads them to always expect things from foreigners. So I held tightly onto my bottle, firmly removing the little fingers that latched onto it. Not easy. We got to end of the bridge, bargained with two tuk-tuks, and hopped in. All in all, I was pleased with the Kalighat experience. I planned to do both Shishu Bhavan and Kalighat the next day.
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