Gibi is one of the founders of Shishur Sevay, a permanent home for 12 orphan girls led by my peripatetic friend Michelle Harrison, a.k.a. "Mummy". I stayed with Gibi and helped Mummy at Shishur Sevay last year. Since Gibi is known as "Choto Ma" (little Mummy) I was teasingly known as "Lambu Ma" (tall Mummy). But the girls know me best as Chris-Aunty. We were so happy to see each other! I couldn't hug them enough.
We spent our first day in Kolkata mostly hanging out at Shishur Sevay, which meant finding spaces for ourselves in a real-life old woman's shoe. 8 older girls ages 11-14. 4 severely handicapped younger girls. 4 massis (ayas) to care for the youner girls, who need help with every aspect of their lives. Therapists (physical, occupational, speech) to work with the younger girls. A roster of teachers and special educators. A cook and driver. A "housemother". A guard just inside the gates. A loveable watchdog and two rabbits. Did I forget anyone? Oh -- Mummy herself!
Before settling in at Shishur Sevay for the rest of the day, we piled into cycle rikshaws to do some "errands". Kamini's measurements were taken by a nearby tailor for a custom-made sari blouse to match her peacock-colored Mysore silk sari. At Behalla's traditional covered market (a rabbit warren of small shops specializing in different kinds of merchandise) we bought Kamini a cotton petticoat for under her sari. We found coordinating fabric to keep on hand for a second sari blouse in case Kamini grows out of the first one.
Karen and I bought long brightly-colored cotton nighties of a kind not available in the U.S. Gibi bought a new pair of everyday sandals. Peter bought soda and candy, which he shared with everyone. (The joy of buying and sharing helped to distract Peter from his monstrous sensory overload and claustrophobia. All and all he handled it well. The tranquilizer I've been giving him twice a day has really kept him from "freakinf out" in a country with too many people, too little space, too much movement and color and noise for a boy whose emotional stability is tenuous.
Later thaty day, the Shishur Sevay girls asked Mummy if they could get out their collection of pretty saris and dress up -- a favorite activity. Peter immediately sent me to Gibi's for the Indian outfit he brought along -- a gold silk kurta and cream pyjama. The girls decided to keep their saris on for their dance practice. It was great to see the pride in their eyes as they performed their best for us.
Sunday morning, we got up early and came to St. James Church on Park Street for morning service. St. James was the Anglican mother church for all of the Indian subcontinent and Burma until the 1970's. It's a lovely old edifice. I was a practicing Anglican myself for many years, so the order of worship was very familiar. Peter listened to his iPod quietly (I must interject that he has NEVER been able to tolerate this kind of thing at home) and followed me to the alter to take communion. (Yes, friends, I am an atheist, but the pull of familiar ritual was just too great).
Peter kneeled with me at the alter and followed my example in that grave little way he has when he's feeling proud of myself and knows I am too. The priest paused briefly when he came to Peter and laid a hand on his head for a blessing. My eyes misted. Later, they misted again as I listened to the birds chirping a message of hope and peace. India is so full of birdsongs.
After church, we went back to Behalla to spend the rest of the day at Shishur Sevay. Initially we had planned to take the girls on an outing, but Michelle had to drive an hour south to visit one of her girls, who had recently been hospitalized after a violent episode. Michelle's girls have been through so much in their lives, more than they can articulate. Some of their many scars are visible on their bodies, but the worst are invisible.
We had brought quite a few books for the girls from our kids' collections and donated by friends. I read to them and they read to me for a couple of hours. They were avid to continue, but I needed a break so we watched Bend it Like Beckham together. Then we blew up 3 sizes of beach balls and had a rousing game of "keep the balls moving while trying to whack each other on the head". Peter was right in there!
Dinner that night was at the home of another Shishur Sevay board member, Seema. The kids had a particularly riotous time being utterly silly with Seema's two young adult children. Peter and Kamini, both vegetable haters and not fond of spicy food, did incredibly well throughout the trip in finding something to eat and not whining when only Indian food was available.
Peter loved stepping into a readymade extended family in Kolkata. He was a Dada (elder brother) to some and had other Dadas to look up to. Every adult was an Aunty or Uncle except Mummy, who was, of course, Mummy. To the adults, he was Beta (son). This is the Bengali way. More than any other people in India, they relate to each other -- even when barely acquainted -- as family members. Peter has always attached to people quickly and is rapturous when they return his affection. In Kolkata, he found his emotional home. Peter is a Bengali through and through.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
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