Kalighat- home for the destitute and dying. That is where I spent 7 days volunteering. Kalighat, Mother Theresa's first love is something that cannot be put into words but I will do my best. On my first day I went to the Motherhouse, paid my respects to Mother Theresa, ate breakfast, prayed with the group and went off to our sites. We took a local bus to get to Kalighat and the first thing that struck me upon entering the crumbling building was the smell. The smell of death permeated the walls, the furniture, the skin, the air. 80 dying men and women lay in beds helpless. The smell of death, because I have no other word to describe it, come out of every single pore in there body. With every cry of pain they communicated death. There bodies were the size of a small child. The arms of all the women were the size of my wrists. There flesh had given up. No longer was it holding on to the bone, it hung ready to be put to rest. The women were in pain and a lot of it was unavoidable because nothing could be done. At first, I didn't know what to do. A very small women grabbed my arm and motioned for me to scratch her head. I don't know if she had scabbies because the bed was covered with ashy skin, but I did it anyway. I left that day in a daze. What I saw was so incredibly raw, so real that it seemes like an illusion. Like it was so real that it wasn't.
Another day at Kalighat: The smell again. The smell of decay and stale sickness mixed with antibiotics and cough syrup stuck to my clothes and hair. It smells clinical. But I walk in smiling and humming. I put my bag down and get to work. I dried metal bowls and stomped on mounds of nightgowns, pants and blankets wringing the water out trying to get them clean. I was dripping sweat all day eventhough I did nothing out of the ordinary. After that, I made my way around the maze of battered women in the overcrowded hall that reeked of bodily fluids. Hunched women, crawling women and limp women filled this room they called home. Cots and cots followed each other and the women were very territorial of there space, beating others if they got too close. Two women urinated on themselves today and another women was brought in that was burned with hot oil by her husband that didn't want her anymore. We are all there to help and try and make them feel comfortable. We help by washing clothes, cleaning there cups and bowls and by cleaning up after them. We help by bathing them, bandaging there wounds and rubbing lotion on there legs. I don't let them see how sad and frightened I get when I hear them wail in pain or see a wound. I show them a smile and I pray under my breath. All I can do is show them love, give them love and expect nothing in return.
Well, this is India in its most horrific state. You ask yourself how can a government allow such defilment, such sickness and wretched filth to harvest? How can they sleep at night in clean scented sheets and feathered pillows while there fellow brothers and sisters lie in there own waste?
