Khaligat, Daya Dan, and McDonalds

Hey everyone! Sorry its been so long (as in two days...it feels like forever and just a second ago all at the same time to me) since my last post! Things have been very busy, but after friday, things will calm down quite a bit, as choir practices will be over, international volunteer mass will be over, and Tuan and Caitlin will be travelling.

So, the last time I posted about my first day at Shishu Bhavan, if I'm not mistaken. Well, the next day was Sunday, and I went to Khaligat in the morning and Daya Dan that afternoon. I took the bus for the first time, which was rather interesting. I also got to see a new part of Kolkata and new streets, but best of all, I got to see the first house mother ever started in Kolkata for the Missionaries of Charity - Nirmal Hriday (better known as Khaligat). I didn't actually get to volunteer. The sister there was being very strict on visitors having volunteer cards even though it was Sunday. I did get to talk to a patient, though, and see where all the men and women sleep, and the laundry room. It was very interesting and humbling. I at least wanted to see Khaligat while I was here, because that was the place I was most aprehensive about working. I did get to see it, I did innitiate a conversation with a sickly woman, and I had to guts to walk around and smile and say hi. That was more than I was hoping for.

Because both Caitlin and I couldn't volunteer (and completely forgetting about mass at 10:30), we walked the streets a little and looked around, and caught the bus back to Bose Street by the Motherhouse. Neither of us having been to Khaligat before, this was a little...interesting, because we followed people there, so we had to keep our eyes peeled for where to get off. Getting on the bus, I fell and bruised my knee, tearing a hole in my pink skirt that I bought for Sundays here the first time wearing it :( It should be easy to fix, hopefully. We came back and ate lunch, and then we made our way to Daya Dan, where Tuan and Caitlin work regularly, just in the mornings, not in the afternoons. It was a pretty cool experience, seeing the different layout of the house, and the different abilities and ages of the children at Daya Dan versus the children I normally work with at Shishu Bhavan. Most, of these children were amblitory, and many of them could either understand us or the Masis enough to know what they were being told, where in comparison the children I work at at Shishu don't know what you're saying to them unless its their own name, most of the time. Most of the children at Daya dan could feed themselves, as well, and all of the children that I work with at Shishu have to be fed (as a reminder, at Shishu there are handicapped, non-handicapped (active), and aids children. Some of the active children have disabilites like Down Syndrome, but for the most part are normal kids). There was this one girl in particular at Daya Dan named Maga, who is definately a ham for attention. She doesn't seem to have any mental disability, is very sly, and speaks very good English and Bengali. She reminds me a little of my cousin Elyssa; she knows what she wants, and if you don't know her well, she knows how to get it ("Aunty, Aunty! Can you open this for me? Lean a little closer, just a little? Sit down right here! Right here, I want to talk to you, please, Aunty!) I have to admit, she was absolutely adorable, and it was very, very nice to have a conversation with a child here who isn't trying to pick your pockets or smile and puppydog-eye their way into getting chocholate (which they think all foreigners have, for some reason...why we would carry chocolate in our pockets in this heat...).

Oh, random side note: all the children on the streets call you "Aunty" or "Uncle", as do the Masis in the houses, at least the houses with children.

Anyway -

Oh. Masis are the other care-takers who are there every day to help the sisters. If it was an orphanage, they would be the workers who come in every day. The Masis at Shishu Bhavan do a lot more with the children than the Sisters or Trainees do. As a matter of fact, at Shishu, I haven't seen the sisters or trainees work with the children at all - the Masis (pronounced Moss-ease) do most of the work and tell the volunteers what to do.

Okay, so thats all about Daya Dan and Khaligat.

That afternoon, walking back from Daya Dan to the Metro (the SUBWAY - really awesome), I was feeling really tired and irritable. As soon as we walked out of the house, being pestered by beggars and dodging cars, the nearly overwhelming smell of exhaust and the CONSTANT, UNNECCISARY HONKING, I wanted to go home, and I wanted to go home NOW (home being Hotel Maria). I wanted to lie down - It had been a very long day, the alarm going off at 5am, going to breakfast at the Motherhouse, going all the way to Khaligat and then all the way in the opposite direction to Daya Dan, I started to feel really, really tired. The exhaust started to get to my, or my chest, rather, and my asthma started to act up. It had been a little testy that morning, but with all the exhaust around anyways, and all this humidity, plus the always overwhelming smell of India in general, it was just a twinge worse than normal for here. But walking back, feeling irritated on top of everything, I started to take deep, quick breaths, because my lungs just couldn't take everything at once. Then, of all things to happen, a man comes up to us holding out his arm and crying, and there is blood all over his arm. He had managed a cut about an inch below his elbow-pit, and stuck it right in our faces. It scared me and Caitlin so much that we both made noises and took a few steps back. Tuan, seemingly unphased, went straight to his bag. As a result of paying so much attention to a poor man, people started to gather in a circle around us. While Tuan was wrapping his bandana around the mans arm, Caitlin and I were being herded away by a man saying, "Keep moving, he wants your money, don't stay, don't watch, " and things of the like. We kept saying, "Thats our friend, the guy in the grey shirt, he's with us," but the man unceasingly said, "Keep walking, go away from here." Tuan finally finished and the crowd dispersed, and after that little incident, I was very proud of Tuan, but that man made me more irritated than ever, herding us away from our friend like that. We got to the metro station to wait for the train, and I decided that I wasn't feeling up to going to mass. I had a hole in the knee of my shirt, I had heat rash im my elbow-pits, under my watch, on my right elbow and allllllll over my back, I felt dirty and gross, and to tell you the honest truth, I had chafing and heat rash on my upper thighs from them rubbing together while I walked, and decided that if I was walking anywhere but Hotel Maria, we were to stop there first so I could at least change to pants, or put my shorts on under my shirt.

When I told Tuan and Caitlin this, they finally accepted it after Tuan had said, "On Sunday? Alright..." When I got back into the room I changed straight away and put baby powder on my thighs and elbow pits, and laid down. I felt a little guilty, but not horrible, and having got a gatorade on my way back, and a sprite to settle my stomach against the exhaust fumes I was trying to overcome, I felt a little better after the Albuterol kicked in. That is, until what Tuan had said rang in my ears again..."On Sunday? Okay..." I felt SO HORRIBLE. Before feeling homesick or ill or lost or worried for my saftey, I felt the most guilty I have since before the last time I went to confession (SEARCH Retreat). His words rang again and again in my ears, and I cried I felt so bad. It was interesting, though, because I was looking for comfort in something, and had grabbed my necklaces, my rosary, the blanket I stole from the plane, but nothing was working, so I put my forefinger and thumb on the charm I got for volunteering, my 3rd degree Mother Teresa Relic, and my heart was instantly calmed and I stopped crying. I let go and felt myself well up again, so I just held onto that until, when I let go, I felt calm enough to control myself. When Cailtin and Tuan arrived just after 7, I asked how mass was. Turns out, Mass started at 6, not 6:30, so they missed the readings and arrived at the tail end of the homily. Feeling much better, and knowing I would have very much regretted walking there, feeling sick and in pain, I put aside my guilt and accepted that I missed mass, and that missing mass on Sunday here was no different than missing mass at home, which I did frequently with little or no guilt.

The next day I resumed my regular schedule by working at Shishu Bhavan in the morning. I mainly worked with Deepa, who may be my favorite child at Shishu. She is also blind, or mostly so, and can almost walk on her own. I fed her breakfast, took her to the potty, and then did PT with her, which was a lot of fun! It was more like playing for both of, us, I think. We walked to the mats and I tried to get her to bounce on her legs with my support, but she really didn't want to, so I moved on to the next exersice, which requires a ball. I got the ball and she LOVED IT! She layed on her stomach to gain control and balance, and then I had an idea. I sat her on the ball so her feet were touching the ground, and using my hands solely for balance, not support, she bounced up and down using her leg muscles as she was supposed to. I switched back and forth between these exersices and we played with different rattles, then it was time for volunteer break, so I took her to the potty again and left her with the Masis. I fed Johny that afternoon, who was much more willing to eat, he ate all of his food. Then I stated my walk back to Hotel Maria. I very much like returning to the Hostel before Caitlin and Tuan to have that time to my self in the afternoons. When they got back, we went to lunch with Mazie and Zach, who Tuan and Caitlin aren't going to see again. Then, that night, we went to McDonalds....it was amazing.

I will finish this later, so If you come back to read before I finish, read this one again! or start where you just left off. I have to go to choir practice.

EDIT: CONTINUE READING ABOVE (McDonald's, Mother's Tomb and Singers from Madrid)