Auntie Arrives

Were it not for my sense of smell, I would've sworn my midnight ride into Calcutta, India was merely a roll of tape at the movie theatre. But my olfactory glands are intact, or they were, rather, on May 18th when I landed in sticky, stinky Calcutta, the biggest villiage I've ever imagined. Sadly after I've lived almost 5 weeks in downtown, the sight of a rickshaw driver asleep in his vehicle or a group of men bathing publicly at their water spicket no longer seem cinematic to me. On the other hand, it seems that the people of Calcutta will never get used to the sight of me, the girl with yellow hair. Perhaps it is my occasional exposure of my ankles that warrants the attention, but my western upbringing says that at 100F and 100% humidity it's permissable to show my ankles. I don't mean to say that everyone gawks at me; I've met very warm, loving people randomly on the bus or visiting West Bengal's folk art collection. Most are curious about America or my work at Mother Teresa's homes. One little boy standing in line at a chicken roll vendor's informed me "Every young Indian wants to go to the United States. Why did you come here?"
On bad days I ask myself the same question. Why did I come here? A "drop in the bucket" might be a generous description of my contribution to the summer wave of mostly 20-somethings who came to volunteer. Ultimately, though, I know that the person who will be touched most by my summer in Calcutta is myself.
While th Christian population of India is about 2.3% most people smile at the mention of Mother Teresa's name. What started with Nirmal Hriday (meaning Pure Heart), the "Home for the Dying" in the southern part of the city is now a ministry of 7 different homes for orphans, battered women, mentally and physically handicapped people, the elderly, and the destitute throughout the city. But even with these 7 homes and countless other NGO's and charitities, this city of 20+ million people continues to lack everything but need. West Bengal, the only communist state in India, seems to have no proviison for the beggars who literally make the sidewalks their homes. In fact, only recently has a law forbidding public urination and defecation been passed. Unfortunately for me, it only becomes effective in 2010. So each morning on my walk to Shishu Brevan orphanage, the orphanage where I teach 5-10 year olds, I excuse myself as I walk through the dwellings of big-eyed, often bony families. Some sip chai or wring out laundry as I pass; others just sit quietly or roll over, attempting to sleep in another hour amidst the rising sun and temperatures, and the rising frequency of taxi horns. A wave of relief always greets me at the gates of the orphanage, signaling the end of my short, but often depressing walk. The call of "Auntie, Auntie" floods the classroom along with children at 8:30 am. And thus begins my day.