Getting in the Groove

After spending close to a week in Kolkata, I'm surprised at the adjustments, both conscious and subconscious, our group has made to the environment.  At the conscious level, we've just become more savvy in regards to street navigation; we know how the culture works more every day.  This was the sort of change I expected.  More interesting changes seem to occur at what I'll call a subconscious level.  To site a trivial example: Kolkata's average temperature ranges from a humid 90-105 degrees, after only a few days none of us notice the heat near as much as expected, and we hardly sweat.  On a more interesting note, we have gradually becoming less aware of the many things we initially found quite appalling.  Take the poverty for example.  Initially, a feeling of tense nervousness accompanied every journey we took outside the walls our lodgings.  Now, the poverty seems more ordinary.  Feeling comfortable amidst the poverty really allows one to see the humanity amidst the destitution.  The more we pass boundaries such as these, the more we're able to understand the people we serve.  Anthony brought it to my attention yesterday that although most of the people we encounter have very little in the way of material possessions, most of them seem fairly  happy.  I offer this cliche reflection simply to affirm the old maxim: money does not equal happiness.

Both Anthony and I have spent the majority of our time volunteering at Khaligat, the "Home for the Dying."  Many of the patients brought in off the streets resemble pictures of men and women I've seen after liberation from Nazi concentration camps.  Skin and bones is the norm.  Working is such an environment has forced us to really be thankful for basic things like health and material necessitities.  Most of the dying men only speak broken English, but those who can are more than happy to converse with us volunteers during their last few days/weeks.  These conversations can be quite illuminating, shedding light on those things which are universally felt, cherished, feared, and loved in the human experience. 

I could ramble about Khaligat for hours, but now I'll just cite one memorable anecdote.  Some say that it's impossible to bring an Indian to an authentic understanding of what we insular westerners call Christianity.  Some contend that Christianity with its Greek influence can find no context atop the philosophical underpinnings of the eastern mind.   Several experiences I've had over the last few days seem to say otherwise.  Though the cultural, philosophical, and language barriers separating the average American Christian from his brother on the streets of Kolkata are strong indeed, they do not seem insurmountable.   On Wednesday a man was released from Khaligat to re-enter Indian society (a rare occurrence considering the nature of the institution).  Before the man left he hugged several of the sisters.  During these final interactions with the sisters he kept gesturing and pointing to a crucifix hung on a nearby wall.  At first I could not quite out what he was attempting to communicate, but as he passed my way he pointed again and said, "Jesus save me."  Incredible.  Experiences such as this seem to indicate that the barriers can be crossed, or perhaps there were never any real barriers in the first place.