Lost.

A flurry of activity. The head-throbbing pain of incessant honking. Hand-drawn rickshaws, donkey-pulled carriages, elephants, auto-rickshaws, cycles, motorbikes, buses, and trolleys. Stalls and stands selling everything from food to bicycle parts. Street corners laiden with shoe pollishers and beggers. Throw in a few million people and you have an average street in Kolkatta.

But this morning the streets tell a different story. It's five o'clock as I make my usual brisk morning walk from the hostel to the Mother House where if you're late for mass, you're locked out. The sun hasn't crepped over the horizon yet but already the heat and humidity have invaded the narrow street, swooping in like the parent chaparones at a high school dance when you get too close to that new crush of yours. A respite from the heat is impossible. The streets are still lined with men, women, and children sleeping - some underneath make shift tarps and others on top of their food carts. The drug addicts are passed out, their empty bottles and used needles lie next to them. Even the dogs are still sleeping.

Shop gates are just beginning to open. The owners stare out into the street, groggy eyed and tired - perhaps thanking God for the simple miracle that they woke up to see another day. Their faces all express similar emotions - what is this white person doing up so early? The street begins to fill with delicious smells and the crackling of grease as dough is dipped into the frier to make roti and somosas, kotis (a fried sweet shaped as a pretzel) and other baked goodies. Men bathe near a water spout which continually pumps water into a type of bath; small children - not more than seven or eight - are carrying and caring for even younger children, just infants...washing them and feeding them and holding their hands as they walk, preventing them from running off.

As I turn a final corner, a familiar sight greets me - a family of five; a woman and five children. Samil, the oldest at 13, greets me. He and his sister, Rani, act as translators when we run a street clinic in the evening, serving the homeless and drug addicts. They run to me and jump on me, treating me as a human jungle gym as they usually do. But their mother expresses a different look. Her face is grave, and Samil quickly explains to me that two days ago their younger sister who is mentally challenged wandered off and they haven't seen her since. Although she usually wanders off, she always returns within a few hours, but this time is different. They suspect a man, posing as a "Missionaries of Charity" worker who was driving around a van the previous day claiming to be picking up children for one of the MC orphanages, has taken her. I explain again to the mother that MC does not do this and this man is not who he says he is. But to what avail? Although she has reported her missing daughter to the police, there is no picture of her, and little to no chance of finding her. This was three days ago...

Call me calous, I don't care. And yes, perhaps I have grown hard to some of what I have experienced because I myself have no other way I know how to handle it. But such is the life in Calcutta for the average family on the street (many of whom in this small area I have gotten to know personally). All you can do is continue the daily fight for survival, hoping against hope that you will have enough food to feed your family, and that tomorrow, you will wake up to see another day...

CM

Without Words.

I am truly at a loss for words for much of what I experience, and even if I tried, I don't think anyone would understand...so I'll stop trying.

We've had a great time meeting many new people here from all over the world. In just a short week I have met someone from all six of the inhabited continents - from Brazil to Ireland to Korea to South Africa to Australia (and even one from Burnsville).

Today was our day off, but instead of sightseeing we just took a personal day and sat in the room - relaxing and reading and playing cards. It's exhausting work. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. And this is after one week. I truly don't know how I will make it another two.

It was good to recharge today though...hopefully I will have so happier news in the coming days. At least the people are awesome - I am surely making friendships that I can take home with me to the US and also the world in general.

CM

"That's Jesus your holding!"

Talking with one of the nuns yesterday, she was telling me a story of one time when she herself was working with Mother Theresa on the streets one day (just a few years ago, of course). They came across a man who was clearly near the end, and one of the nuns with Mama T was helping this man up as he vomited all over her. Turning to Mother, she said she couldn't do this. And Mother Theresa replied, "Yes you can Sister! That's Jesus you're holding!"

The only way I can get through this is to imagine everything I'm doing to/for these people, is to/for Jesus...He will be my strength.

CM

Missionaries of Charity (MC)

The multilingual chatter of Spanish, French, Korean, English, Hindi, and "Australian" is heard above the roar of the fans as we sip chai tea despite the sweltering heat. It's not even 06:00 am and already I am soaked through my shirt with the intense humidity and temperature rising above 90 degrees. A woman with many years of life experience in a white sari with blue trim successfully manages to get everyone's attention, making the morning announcements and handing out assignments. Mine is "Prem Dan" - is this a name? an assignment? a bus route? a place? My ignorance is quickly noticed by someone who is clearly more seasoned than myself here. Pointing me in the right direction, I find myself walking down the street with a group of people - some look like me, some don't. Some speak my language, many don't. But we are clearly going to the same place. The sidewalk is still lined with people sleeping, naked babies lying close to their mothers, and men bathing in the streets. We flag down a bus, barely coming to a stop we jump on and are amid the hustle and bustle of the Calcuttan morning commute. I am able to at least locate one familiar face and make a mental note of where they sit so that I may be able to get off at the right spot. I sit, exhausted, mentally and physically. It's 07:30, my first day as a volunteer through the Missionaries of Charity, and I haven't even started my first four hour shift.

**After three days...**

Arriving at Prem Dan, I am initially surprised with the cleanliness - this oasis from the dirty and busy streets of Calcutta. In its most obvious form, it is a Nursing Home, a place for those to go who have no family or anyone to take care of them. In the mornings I shave the men, who now recognize me and soon line up to be shaved. I worry I may cut through their loose, delicate skin, and work slowly at first - this irritates them. They tell me to hurry up as they have "things to do." "Things to do" involves sitting and waiting for food and nap time. After shaving many faces, both young (a boy as young as 15) and old (and really old), we serve lunch and put them down for naps. The time in between is spent doing everything that one might need to do for an 80 year old man who can't see, move, or talk - yes, everything. I will save the details for your imagination...

In the afternoons I work at Khalighat, a true home for the dieing. Here the mission is only to provide a place of peace to the dieing, so they may die with dignity and surrounded by love. As hard as it is to go, it's even harder to imagine not going.

"...that with the simple faith of a child, I may rely on Him."

CM

"All Aboard."

After spending a final night in the busy streets of the Indian capital, we boarded a 21 hour train ride to exchange the hot, dusty, auto rickshaw crazed busy streets of Delhi for the even hotter, humid-er, taxi crazed streets of Kolkata. The Muslim influence is much more obvious here, reminding me of Cairo on many occasions. Even the streets, much smaller than in Delhi, remind me of Cairo as there are more taxis than rickshaws and the streets are much narrower making there seem like even more traffic. Kolkata, the second most populated city in India, is obviously known for Mother Theresa and the work she accomplished here. But this is to the grave dismay of many Kolkatans (and Indians alike), as Kolkata represents the art and culture metropolis of India, and was the capital under Imperial British rule. Kolkatans feel Mother Theresa, although doing great things, further underlined and emphasized the worst part of Kolkata to the world, leading to the very one-sided international view of Kolkata that exists today.

But enough history...

Our train ride was long. and hot. and long. Very long. My only relief was opening up the train door as we barreled along allowing more breeze to enter the train car and cabin. The Indians taught me how, so it must be safe... Along the way we met a family from Bangladesh who helped us a find a good hotel in Kolkata for one night before we spent a lot of time looking for a permanent place to stay. We also met an Israeli woman traveling alone who we had dinner with. It was very interesting to talk with her about her knowledge of the latest incident between Turkey and Israel and how much different her account was of the situation than what we believed it to be through an American news source. Later in the day we found a very nice place which we will stay at for the next three weeks.

This afternoon we were also able to locate the "Mother House" - where we will need to register at to begin our work at the "Missionaries of Charity" for the next three weeks. We start tomorrow morning at 06:00 with mass and breakfast. I have no idea what to expect, but I am hoping to find a very rewarding experience (and no doubt will).

CM

Trickster or in Sincerity?

This is an add-on from my previous post dealing with my surprise to the sincerity of our rickshaw driver:

It was to my surprise because it seems everyone here who approaches you and tries to be helpful "Yes sir, what can I find for you?" "Where are you going, sir?" "What do you need, sir?" is just trying to turn a dime and is taking advantage of our American (perceived)ignorance; such that when a person such as this driver is actually acting out of sincerity, you feel bad for assuming the worst. This is something I have noticed in all places of my travel, and is just a frustrating part of foreign travel I think that I cannot quite get over, or moreover have a solution for.

CM

धन्यवाद "Shakria"

After returning to New Delhi from the North we left our guest house morning eager to finally be on our own in India. With the help of new words such as "Shakria" (Thank-you), "Ha" (yes), "Ney" (no), "Hanjib" (yes sir), etc. our fluent Hindi was sure to take us far. After finding a cheap hostel ($4) and buying train tickets to Calcutta ($30 each for AC for a 24 hours ride - we felt it was worth it given the time), we set out in search of the most authentic Indian experience - that of food.

We found Subway.

Try two: after flagging down an auto-rickshaw we learned the driver had been a resident of Sacramento, California for six years and had the driver's license (or at least a good fake) to prove it. Seemingly trying to cheat us, he asked us what we had seen in India. At our hesitation thinking it was a ploy for him to take us on an expensive joyride, he quickly interjected that was not for money but that he wanted to show us his Sikh temple. It (surprisingly - I will address this in a brief follow up post) was a fabulous and sincere experience. The temple was beautiful, and afterward brought us to the Jama Mosjid Mosque, our original destination. We had visited the largest mosque in India once before while we were here on Global, but wanted to see it again. It was wonderfully worth it - this time we climbed the minaret as well.

We then returned to our hostel which is located, believe it or not, very close to where I met my cousins, Morgan and Alexis, here 18 months ago. We are headed to dinner to the same spot in fact...

Tomorrow, off to Calcutta to work at Missionaries of Charity for a month or so.

CM

Oh, hello Himalayan Mountains.

After a few days in Ludhiana we traveled northeast into Himachal through Parwanoo and Kasauli deeper into the Himalayan Mountains. They look nothing like the Rocky Mountains and are much grander, more elegant, and include people living within every nook and cranny. It is hard to imagine why someone would choose to live here - perhaps they do not have the economic resources to live anywhere else.

The mountain roads are hardly considered a road and are one lane wide, but here we drive close to 30 or 40 kph on them and they become three-lane highways. (See mom, this is what you should be worried about - not Pakistan!) After an exhaustively beautiful drive we arrived at our mountain guest house, provided - yet again - by the Trident Group and complete with its own cooking staff who had prepared tea for us upon our arrival.

We took a short hike up into the mountains to watch the sunset. Along the way we met many children who lived in tin shack "homes" built into the side of the rock, and had somehow managed to clear an open and (relatively) flat area to play cricket. Seeing the setting sun dip below a far off range of mountains, the magnificence of it all made it easy to understand why so many people lived here, even if not by choice.

CM

Pakistan looks a lot like India... ((sorry mom))

After traveling North from Ludhiana to Amritsar, we continued North to visit Attari which is on the border between India and Pakistan (sorry mom, I have now been to two of the two most volatile places in the world, the other being North Korea). Our visit was quite an event but was very unique, interesting, worth while. There was a flag lowering ceremony which took place with Indian and Pakistani guards parading around in a choreographed display of "machoism" - each trying to out do the other. Thousands of Indians and thousands of Pakistans cheered as announcers led chants in a typy of high school "pep rally" - I'm sure this display of strength does wonders for the day when these two countries will see peace.

After the ceremony we went right up to the border and, under armed guard, were able to take pictures. Afterwards, we were taken away in the back of a police jeep, most likely due to our VIP status as PK and Durga had arranged for this visit. All in all, it was a very interesting experience - we even saw white people in Pakistan, but when we tried to talk to them and ask what they were doing the guards sent us away...

CM

Welcome to India.

Stepping of the plane I was hit with stingy 100 degree humid air and that smell...that smell that cannot be described and is yet in its essence India. Immediately it felt like home, like a welcoming arm had been extended and was pulling me in. After an 8 hour layover in Chicago and a 15 hour flight, I was once again in New Delhi, India - where a "personal bubble" and a line does not exist; where you step of the plane and already surrounded by people - it's as if they are unwilling to disperse because they are not comfortable when surrounded by so many.

After changing my US dollars for Indian Rupees ($241 = 11,086 /r), and having waited for another four hours for Carrie to arrive, we were off with our driver. For the first week, Carrie's step-dad's friend/business partner "PK" has taken care of all our arrangements. Well, actually, to say he has "taken care of us" is the understatement of the century. We were picked up by a chauffeur from the airport and taken to the guest house, where the next morning we were taken to the train station and were informed PK had purchased first-class tickets for the 4 hour train ride North to Ludhiana, where we have been booked (all expenses paid) at an incredibly classy (possibly the nicest hotel I've ever stayed in) "palace". Perhaps in the US a hotel costing $30 a night does not seem like much, but in a country where you can eat for a mere five cents a day, a hotel like this is accessible to only the richest and most wealthy Indians. Needless to say, we feel like royalty.

We were able to have dinner with PK and his family (wife "Mrs. PK" as she called herself, and daughters "Vee-new" and "Sha-new", not sure on spelling but that is pronunciation) last night and they are such wonderful and generous people. Tomorrow night we will be staying with them. In the meantime, PK has arranged all of our travel and sight seeing. Today we visited the Golden Temple and the Jalianwala Barga Memorial in Amritsar, and tomorrow we will visit the textile factories.

PK himself is the owner of the Trident Group (http://www.tridentindia.com) and associates himself with the likes of Durga Galbha, who was at one point the Police Commander for all of India, and is now the Prime Minister's First Officer. Yes, we have been well taken care of.

After Ludhiana we will be heading back to Delhi and then to Pushkar and then to Calcutta where we plan to spend a significant amount of time.

CM