I started sponsoring Maria Kanji when she was 4n while we were in the process of adopting Leo. She is now 30 with daughters aged 14 and 10. Maria exemplifies the adage that "when you educate a girl, you educate a family". Maria's #1 focus is her daughters' education. She and husband Paban were able to step out of grinding poverty in the inner-city bustee where they grew up. Their daughters will no doubt live with greater opportunity and security once they are grown.
We took Maria and family to breakfast at the legendary Flury's on Park St. in Kolkata. After a delicious English-style breakfast, we enjoyed yummy pastries before going our separate ways. Who knew you could get a decent chocolate croissant in Kolkata?
Peter really enjoyed getting to know "big sister" Maria, who had already met Leo and Annie, and playing Dada to Sweety and Riya.
We met my newest sponsored child, 5-year-old Moutushi, at Children International's Kolkata office. She and her mother had come in to the city for the first time from their remote hamlet south of Kolkata.
Moutushi's father is a day-laborer, doing physically punishing road work when he can get it. He is blind in one eye and terrified that the road crew bosses will find out and declare him unfit for work. Moutushi's mother Poornima stays home to care for her and her baby sister.
Before seeing Moutushi, we had tea and extended conversation with the director of the Kolkata program, who turned out to be an adoptive parent! Peter was exhausted and slept soundly for a long time.
When Moutushi and her mother entered, they bowed low to touch our feet as a sign of respect. Moutushi's family belongs to the Santhal tribe, the same as our daughter Annie. I chose Moutushi because she reminded me of Annie ... and in person, the resemblance in appearance and personality was simply astonishing.
I couldn't wait to give Moutushi her gifts. She loved her brown Barbie doll, her kaleidoscope, her Dora the Explorer doll, her Dora underpants, and her Dora coloring book. But what made her jump up and down and giggle was her pink Dora backpack. She put it on immediately and wouldn't take it off even when she went to the bathroom.
After we enjoyed Moutushi's antics for a while, the staff ushered in my former sponsored child Partho. I wasn't sure they'd be able to find him, so when I caught sight of his face I was absolutely blown away. At 25, his liquid brown eyes and sweet smile were exactly as I remembered.
I last saw Partho in 1998 when he was 11. On that visit, I went to his tiny rural village and met his family. Walking along a "berm" between paddy fields, I slipped slightly. Partho grabbed my elbow exclaiming "Aunty, Aunty!". For the rest of the visit he never let go of my arm.
I continued sponsoring Partho until he finished high school and -- amazingly -- entered university. I helped to buy his books and the other things he needed for college. At that point, I lost track of him.
I've always had a special place in my heart for Partho. His semi-annual letters were full of questions and wishes for his brothers Leo and Peter, and his sister Annie. He always ended with "I love you, Aunty".
As soon as we saw each other, Partho and I crushed each other in a big hug.
"Ohhh! Partho! My college graduate!"
"Aunty, oh, Aunty ... no graduate. My father, he died in first term and so I go home to take care of family".
Partho's eyes filled with tears as he told me this. I held him close and whispered "Oh, Partha, I'm so sorry, so sorry ... but I"m so proud of you".
It turned out that Partho's father had been electrocuted in front of his eyes in a freak accident while he was on a brief visit home. Partho tried to revive him, but there was no hope.
Partho took over his father's role as a subsistence farmer to support his family. He said his dream was to complete his degree one day, or start a business of his own, but for now he had taken a part time job selling life insurance on a commission-only basis. Had he received his degree, he would have been eligible for a salaried position.
Partho pulled out a small bunch of pink roses for me, plucked from his own garden. He had also made beautiful cards for Leo, Annie and Peter. I tucked $100 in rupees into his shirt pocket. He kept a tight hold on my hand while I pulled out my Blackberry and showed him photos of himself as a child and teen. He remembered every detail of every letter I'd ever written him, and asked lots of questions to catch up on the latest family news. It was an extraordinary connection. I felt as if the 12 years since our last visit were only seconds.
During all of this, a reporter and photographer captured everything that was going on. I am being featured in the spring issue of Children International's subscriber magazine. Maria and Partho were both interviewed for the article, and I wrote thousands of words to answer a long list of questions before I left for India. It's an honor to help Children International in any way I can.
We all piled into cars and went to a Pizza Hut near Park Street for a celebratory lunch. I ordered pitchers of Pepsi and 7-Up, several plates of garlic bread, and 4 large pizzas. Moutushi wasn't thrilled with her first taste of soda. The bubbles made her tongue sting! Moutushi's lovely young mother had tasted soda once before, and she enjoyed her glass.
Most everyone enjoyed the garlic bread. The vegetarian pizzas without Indian spices weren't a big hit, and Moutushi's poor mom obviously felt embarassed to not finish what was on her plate. When the chicken tikka masala pizzas came out, I whisked away her plate and put a slice of the spicier pizza on her new one. She seemed relieved when she recognized a familiar flavor.
After the pizza, I ordered ice cream all around. Moutushi and her mother ate theirs cautiously at first but then with great enjoyment. I sat next to Partho and enjoyed urging him to eat more just the way an Indian mother would. At one point, I teasingly fed him a piece of chicken from my plate. Later, he got my attention and fed me a bite of ice cream from his bowl. These little gestures are iconic of the intimacy between mother and child in India.
Partho and I reminisced together, sang Bollywood songs, and talked about the past and future. He noticed the tattoo on my wrist and showed me his on the opposite wrist, whispering that it was the name of his high school girlfriend. But alas -- she was Christian, and a marriage was unacceptable to both families. He said he wanted a girl with a sentimental heart like his. He likes the Bollywood actress Preity Zinta, who has a cute "girl next door" persona.
Then it was time for us to go, literally. Our flight to Mumbai was in a few hours. Partho put his arm around me.
"Aunty, you come my house next time".
"Yes, Partho, I promise. Stay well, beta."
"Stay well, Aunty. And Aunty? I love you".
I kissed his forehead and put a hand on his head to bless him. We won't lose touch again; I now have his email address.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
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