Last Rites

Dishes clanging, water splashing, people yelling up and down the hallway. As the floor is finally mopped clean, the dishes put away and the water let out the drain, the chaos is suddenly intruded upon by a mournful silence. Silence is never to be found in this city, and yet today silence has found us here. Patients gather 'round the bed, prayers are lifted like incense to heaven as tears roll drearily down our cheeks. A brother. A father. A son. Now Spirit. From the centre of the semi-circular crowd, a future priest leads in a prayer of thanksgiving, of loss, for this our dearly departed. Lying in our midst, body covered in hand-woven linen, flies buzzing about and spirit fleeting, we remember who he was to us. Perhaps the few things we were able to do for him while he breathed his last breaths in this place. My throat chokes up. A tear traces my cheek like so many others. I did not know this man, and yet at the time of his last rites, I recognise in him, myself. I too am frail. I too will die. Whether indistinctly in a hospice bed or not, my life too will expire. When that happens... When that happens, I wonder what people will say. I wonder what they will do. Will they too gather around my bed and say "I didn't know him well..." or "He was a good man..." or "His last days were so hard - he's in a better place..." Who knows. We'll leave that for the appropriate juncture in history. His eyes are made to be closed. The linen bedclothes raised over his head, flowers placed lovingly, one by one upon his chest as we pay our last respects to one like us. A human being. Our kindred. And as the last of us walk by, prepare to leave this silence for the chaos outside, we commit his spirit unto Your care... In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

What am I doing here?

In the past months I've been considering this question. What, in all reality, have I done for Kolkata? I've tried to love it, to understand it, to feed it, clothe it, shower it, help it go to the bathroom. I've massaged its cancer-strained legs, bony back, its arms, head and feet. I bought it a newspaper and gave it some batteries. I've engaged in conversation and sat in comfortably contemplative silence alongside it in its pain and misery. I've laughed with it, cried with it, been sympathetically angry alongside it in its frustration. As I've wandered the chaotic city streets, I've prayed for it, and prayed with it for healing, renewal and for life. I've prayed for the bad parts to die and for the good parts to become moreso. In short, I've done nothing. I've done nothing but what God's asked me to do in the moments I've spent here. And you know? Maybe that's enough.

Cold in Calcutta

Not really cold, per se. But I gots one. It must be a combination of the pollution, the humidity, and my recent lack of sleep that are keeping me a bit under the weather. At least it's not so bad as the food poisoning fiasco from a few months ago. After taking yesterday off to recouperate from my increasing sickness, I spent today at a leprosy centre run by the MoC, and then sleeping the afternoon away. I feel ten times better than I have been feeling, and really, that's important. It's hard to lead a group from underneath the sheets, and I'm glad that things are getting better. A little more sleep tonight will help. Let's just hope the cup of coffee I drank tonight (first in several months) doesn't totally screw with my ability to sleep. Even as I'm typing, I'm resigned to the fact that I will be up all night. Curses. Calcutta is much the same as it was before, 'cept things are a little different this time, as I carry more responsibility. That being said, the group is incredible, and we're having no problems. It's so amazing to be here to watch their transition from merely one week ago when they stepped off the plane, dazed and exhausted, to the energy-filled, incredible group that's out there working hard every day at the MoC centres. These kids got spunk.