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