Bengali Hospitality
Bengalis are known for their hospitality, I read somewhere. I arrived in Calcutta knowing no one; only through friends did I connect with the Word Made Flesh folks. I came also with two phone numbers in my pocket: for Dr. S.K. De and for Supriyo Mallick. On the Palace on Wheels, I met a delightful and very smiley doctor from Cleveland: he was born and raised in Calcutta. He told me to contact his good friend from his school days, Dr. De, and also his nephew Supriyo. "They will look out for you," he said.

So I called them. Both were expecting my call and wondered why I hadn't called as soon as I'd arrived . . . was I OK? Very sweet, if overly-concerned. I met Dr. De at his office off of Shakespeare Sarani Street; I was immediately greeted by his secretary Basanti, who offered me tea. After our lovely discussion, Basanti invited me to have dinner with her family to enjoy a home-cooked Bengali meal.

Basanti lives in a nice neighborhood called Lake Gardens, in a five-story rowhouse with her brother, his family, her sister, a cousin, a couple of kids I'm not sure to whom they're related, and two renters. I removed my shoes upon entering and they proceeded to treat me like a queen-on-display. At various points everyone in the house came down to inspect me, to ask how I was enjoying Calcutta, and to offer me tea. They had lots of questions and loved to talk and laugh. Sajal (Basanti's brother) and his son Swarnab wanted to know my views on any number of topics, and asked me to explain baseball. I showed off the few phrases of Bengali that I knew, and though I'm certain I butchered the words, they were absolutely thrilled.

Dinner was ready at around 10pm (they eat late), and though I was bloated from the tea that almost every person offered and I was too polite to turn down, I managed to make it to the dinner table. There was only one place setting. "You are our honored guest; we will eat later." So I sat at one end of the table while the family sat at the other, and they watched me eat. Was that uncomfortable: I had to really watch that I didn't spill anything, that I ate everything offered, and that for the love of God I didn't use my left hand (it's the "unclean" hand). The meal was wonderful, except for the weird fish side-dish that I smushed around to make it look like I ate most of it. Then Basanti's sister brought out the famous Bengali sweets; we all sat around talking and laughing and eating dessert. After dinner, Basanti's family presented me with gifts (!) and Swarnab walked me to my cab. They couldn't have been more kind. I thanked them profusely and they shushed me, as if they were insulted I was thanking them. "This is what is right, we take care of you," they said: they thanked me for coming to their home.

Dr. De and his wife Deepa took me for Sunday brunch at the Calcutta Club (their country club). We walked through the bar area, and I noticed someone eating peanuts. When we arrived at our table I asked the waiter for peanuts. The waiter and Dr. De traded words for what seemed like 15 minutes, and then Dr. De told me, "he is bringing your peanuts." Not sure why that was a big deal. After lunch they drove me back to their home in the suburb of Salt Lake, which is beautiful. I was offered tea, and sweets, and a comfortable pillow. How was I feeling? Did I enjoy the meal? How was I finding Calcutta these days? Is there anything you need? Then they brought me gifts: a beautiful Indian wall hanging, and, much to Deepa's delight and amusement, a large bag of peanuts. I'm still not sure why the Great Peanut Controversy was a big deal at the club; but Deepa thought it was funny so, hey, I'm happy to be the foreign white girl taking one for the team. When they drove me home, they too shushed me for thanking them: "It is our way in Bengal: you are our guest."

Supriyo is much closer to my age, so he had his driver take us to some of the more trendy areas of town to site-see. He showed me Park Street, some of the nicer suburbs, the office where he works. While driving in the Shakespeare Sarani area I saw something so shocking I couldn't believe it: a Baskin Robbins neon sign. "Pull over!" I shouted. And so I introduced Supriyo to American ice cream. The ice cream was just dreamy, but the chocolate syrup and whipped cream were unusually different than is offered in the US. "This is just a small token of my thanks to you for being such a terrific host, taking me sight-seeing and eating wonderful Indian food," I said. "You do not need to say thanks, as that is the rule of friendship," he replied.

About a week ago I had yet another sinus infection, and this one was pretty bad. I called Dr. De (handy that he's an ENT doctor) and asked him to simply recommend medicine. He replied, "Oh no, you will come to my office! You will now you will be my patient!" So he stayed late that afternoon just to see me. He gave me medicine that he had there in the clinic and offered me tea. I got out my checkbook and asked him what I owed him for the visit, and you'd think I had just insulted his mother. "No, no, you will not pay: you are our guest."

Dr. De, Basanti and Supriyo showed me not only another side of Calcutta, away from the squalor and suffering, but also extraordinary hospitality. They were gentle and generous, with great senses of humor. I was overwhelmed by their attention, their generosity and their concern for my wellbeing . . . and I was a stranger to them. I will miss them. Yet it's an astonishingly small world: turns out that Dr. De and Deepa have one child, who studied and currently lives in . . . wait for it . . . Dallas, Texas. Of all the places on earth . . . an incredible coincidence. So, when I get back home, I'll have a new friend that I had to fly to Delhi to board the Palace on Wheels train tour to meet a doctor in Calcutta who has an only child who chose Texas out of every place in the world, to meet.

Mo. T. and the MC's
Since I'm here in the birthplace of the Missionaries of Charity, a radical order of human beings, mostly women, who think, "hey, all these dying, poor and suffering people who have been utterly forgotten . . . why don't we, y'know, help them?" . . . it might be a good idea to hear what the MC's have to say, to explore further what they are about. So I witness how they live their lives, how they respond to situations . . . and I learn about Mother Teresa.

On a train ride from Darjeeling, Mother Teresa had long, vivid visions from God to start a new order in the church. This was over fifty years ago; now there are hundreds of MC homes all over the world, with thousands of MC sisters, brothers, fathers and "laypeople" who take vows to honor and serve God by serving the poorest of the poor.

The MC sisters are no-nonsense. They do not get dolled up, they do not have email or television, they wear only the MC sari every day, they read, they serve, they pray. They are gracious and grateful. Though they are still human: I wonder to what extent they bicker or gossip; to what extent do they have close relationships or friendships? Sister Arul Prakash told me that I was her only friend outside India . . . and she's lived in MC homes in several countries.

When I first arrived I marveled at how "cut off" from society they were, how much they were missing out on. Then I think about all the things "society" offers, so much of it crap and frankly not worth nearly as much as we think. To wit: my friend Denise is known at work to say in meetings, when there is arguing and disagreement: "We're not saving babies here, folks. Let's move on." I now understand that the simplicity of the lives of the MC's is actually quite liberating. And the character and humility that come from that simplicity is the real deal.

Mother Teresa made several trips to the United States in her lifetime, once in 1994 as the keynote speaker at the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, DC. The Prayer Breakfast is an extraordinary gathering of the most powerful and influential leaders in the world: heads of state, judges, leaders of Fortune 500 companies, parliamentarians and congressmen, presidents of non-profits and others who have attained high positions in governments. At the head table sits the President of the United States, the First Lady, and the Vice President and his wife. They all come here to a large hotel ballroom to eat together in honor of Jesus. Religion is immaterial: there are Muslims, Hindus, Jews, Catholics, Protestants, Sikhs, various regional or tribal faiths, or those with no structured faith. They keynote speaker talks (not preaches) about Jesus. And this year, it was Mother Teresa who spoke.

She began by saying, "We are reminded that Jesus came to bring the good news to the poor. He had told us what is that good news when He said 'My peace I Ieave with you, my peace I give unto you.' He came not to give the peace of the world which is only that we don't bother each other. He came to give the peace of heart which comes from loving." My friend Bill H. was at the breakfast and described the scene this way: "In a room filled with people who have all the power that the world can give, Mother Teresa, a tiny Albanian nun who had made her home among the poorest of the poor in Calcutta, was by far the most powerful person in the room. By far. Her moral authority outweighed any authority granted by political office or professional accomplishment. Her life lived of faithfully loving the poor for over fifty years, the first half in utter obscurity, gave her a gravitas that cannot be conferred by this world."

Mother Teresa was not perfect; she has her detractors. The equipment used and the medical treatments given at Kalighat and other MC homes in Calcutta are not the most modern, the most effective or even most beneficial. Yet the most advanced and shiniest technology cannot begin to replace the authentic love, respect and sacrifice the MC sisters make day-by-day, moment-by-moment. Mother Teresa had no idea that one day her vision would become a world-wide force, one of which hundreds of thousands of volunteers of all faiths or no faith would want to be a part. She would say she was "simply obeying Jesus, loving her 'husband'." She and the other sisters, fathers and brothers of Missionaries of Charity live out the words of Matthew 25: "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did for me."

I have a picture of Mother Teresa sitting next to me as I type, for inspiration. Her authenticity and humility inspire me. Thanks, Mo. T.