India
Continued from Page 1
Teresa and see her work. So, 1 find
her house, the “Mother Mouse.” It is
the main convent for her order, the
Missionaries of Charity. It’s a very
modest, large concrete building — a
sanctuary from the numerous disrup
tions of chaotic Calcutta street life.
There I sit, rehearsing what to say
to Mother Teresa.
Wait a minute, I think, w hat do you
say to a modem-day saint'’
I wait in line to meet her and as I
get closer, I sec the people in front of
me stand in awe. They struggle to say
a few simple words of praise to the
woman and then kiss her feet. Is this
an Indian custom or is this what ev
ery good Catholic should do when ap
proaching a saint?
I rehearse what to say many times
and am ready to convince Mother
Teresa I am different from any other
journalist and worthy to take her pic
ture.
“Yes?” questions the short,
hunched-back, 83-year-old woman
dressed in a simple white sari with a
single blue stripe.
She struggles to peer at my at 6’2"
frame as she walks to greet me. I opt
not to kiss her feet Her humble am
bience hints she doesn’t like celebrity
treatment.
For a short, but seemingly hour
long gaze, 1 swallow and think to
myself: Oh my God, this is her, the
saint, the Nobel Peace Prize winner.
This is Mother Teresa of Calcutta.
It's amazing when life surpasses
your dreams.
I freeze for a minute.
“What is it you want?” she asks
kindly, yet boldly. 1 must say some
thing quick. I introduce myself and
explain I would like to document her
work.
“How can I allow you permission
w hen I have turned away so many oth
ers?” she asks.
I tell her I work with a photo
agency that caters to humanitarian and
religious organizations.
“Put something in writing, and I’ll
see what 1 can do,” she says.
1 write as I’ve never written before.
I explain in the one-page note my
struggle to make a difference through
photography. “It’s my calling,” I write
anxiously.
At this point 1 am upstairs, just
outside her office. After reading my
note, she walks out and writes a note
to her fellow sisters telling them to
let “Mr. Saheden (even saints make
mistakes) take photos if he wants
Mother Teresa, MC ”
Sisters close to Mother Teresa tell
me how rarely she gives photographic
permission to anyone. They tell me I
am only the second journalist to pho
tograph her during a regular mass at
her home.
“Mother must see some good in
you — in your eyes,” a sister explains
with a large grin.
The next day I am allowed to pho
tograph her during mass. A sister at
tempts to chase me away at first be
cause no pictures arc allowed. 1 flash
my permission note and say, “Mother
gave me permission,” as if I knew her
on a first-name basis.
Following mass, Mother Teresa
places her thumb and index finger on
my forehead, makes the sign of the
cross, flashes her sparkling smile and
says “Bless you, my child.”
Anything seems possible at this
moment.
The following day I head out to
document Shishu Bivau, an orphan
age, and Nirmal Hriday, the home for
the dying.
At the home for the dying, about
10 Missionaries of Charity sisters and
about 15 western volunteers clean
wounds, comfort crying women and
men, administer first aid and feed frail
Indians brought in from the street.
The love and care the volunteers
show to the frail and dying people
amazes me. At times, the home of
dying becomes the home of the liv
ing. Sisters and volunteers play flutes,
rub patients' temples and sing — pour
ing out their hearts and disregarding
risks to their own health to make the
last few hours of someone else’s life
a little better.
Witnessing such noble acts of per
sonal sacrifice amazes me in a town
where the people have little or no hope
for the future. Calcutta is suffocating
“There is no hope for Calcutta,”
says a 20-year-old hotel manager.
Hopelessness frustrates me be
cause I've grown up with the Ameri
can dream If you work hard and keep
dreaming, you will succeed Not in
Calcutta.
“1 do not dream because 1 know it
won’t come true in India,” a rural
schoolteacher in Southern India says.
I have gained much respect for the
Indian way of life. They don t have
the materialistic pressures and rapid
paced lifestyle we do in a 1-900
FONESEX, unisex, drive-by, drive-in,
fast-food. Miller-time, convenience
mart, new-and-improved America.
Americans must remain focused
on deeply held beliefs. If we don’t,
the rapid-pace and “what’s-in-it-for
me,” mass-consumtive attitude of our
country can make us what many for
eigners already think we are.