I think the home is wonderful, but I have heard that Mother Teresa will not allow anybody to adopt the children unless they are Roman Catholic Christians. I think this is a shame because otherwise they might be adopted by good Hindu families. Obviously the children must all have originally come from Hindu families, but at the home they all have to convert to Catholicism which seems wrong. It made me wonder whether Mother Teresa would do this charity work at all if she were not allowed to convert people! Imagine an orphanage in England where all the children are forced to convert to Hinduism and Christian families are not allowed to adopt them at all! This would not be allowed!
In India people are very tolerant and acknowledge all religions. The Indian Government is trying to encourage birth control as India’s population is growing so fast – it is said that in the year 2000 there will be a billion people in India. Mother Teresa endorses the view of the Catholic Church that birth control is against the will of God. There is nothing in the Bible that I have ever read that says this. I wonder why church leaders have such strong views about things like this. It seems to me that birth control is the only thing that can save India from so much poverty. It is so terrible for women who are already so poor to keep having babies that they cannot support.
Of course, the Salvation Army are also doing good work among the poor in Calcutta – with the same idea of also hoping to convert people to Christianity! The guest house is called Red Shield Hostel. It is at least clean and they serve big breakfasts in the comfortable, though Spartan-looking lounge, even though it is quite expensive here. It is run by a middle-aged English woman who seems to be somewhat neurotic, over-fussy and conservative. When I arrived she was scolding one boy for going into the girls’ dormitory. In this Christian-run mission hostel, this is strictly forbidden. I think he only went in there to talk to his girlfriend. She even pointed at me on the other side of the room, when talking to the boy, saying that as a girl alone, I would not like the idea of a boy going into my dormitory! It would not bother me at all, but I didn’t say anything. In most places there are no restrictions like that.
I was very surprised when I found out later today that she is married to a dark-skinned Indian – also a member of the Salvation Army – who looks quite a bit younger than her. She has a dark-skinned teenage daughter and I heard her shouting at her, forbidding her to do something. In some ways she seems so typically English to me; perhaps it is just the English accent that is so familiar to me – I rarely hear it here. She is nice to me but I feel sorry for her daughter as her mother seems to be constantly nagging her.
After we returned from Mother Teresa’s children’s home, I was told at the guest house about a ‘feeding centre’ set up by the Salvation Army in Calcutta, so I went there later this afternoon to see it. It is run by a certain Major Gardener, a retired Major from the Indian army at the time of the British, and I found out that he is as famous as Mother Teresa in Calcutta, and a film has been made about him, showing his feeding programme for the poor which he operates all alone.
He is an enormous fat man with a beard – not fat because he overeats I am sure, as he says he eats only once a day. But he has a disease which has caused his legs to swell up terribly and he can only walk very slowly as they are completely bandaged.
I felt really honoured to meet him. He is one of those characters you can never forget – like a kind of Santa Claus. He was very friendly to me but when I first arrived he said to me, “You have come just at the wrong time, as I’m just about to start feeding people.”
Actually it was just the right time. I saw a lot of poor people come into the large hall, queue up and receive large helpings of the soupy curry from enormous pots on the stove. The Major called me over to talk to him while he was dishing it out. Some mothers received large bowls of food for their whole family. The soup was very thick, containing vegetables, chicken, wheat, vitamins, etc.
Afterwards the Major said I can go out with him in the van on Thursday evening when he takes out food to feed the people in the slums. In anticipation of this, I have booked my train ticket for Puri, the next step of my journey, for Friday night.
Friday, 7th May 1976
On Wednesday I walked around Calcutta all day. I spent hours wandering around one fascinating market nearby, bargaining but buying very little. There are many cheap restaurants in Calcutta. Nearly every restaurant is an open air restaurant full of people, and there are street stalls selling food everywhere. There are barrows full of green coconuts. When you buy one, the stall holder chops the top off and makes a hole in the top so that a straw can be placed in it and you can drink the creamy coconut water inside. It is delicious and very good for health. These coconuts cost 75 paisa (about 4 pence). There are also stalls selling freshly-squeezed fruit juice – pineapple and orange – with ice for one or two rupees. I am a bit dubious about drinking from these stalls. They have only one or two glasses which they wash in a bucket of water under the counter. It does not always look clean and the ice cannot be drinking water either, but I get so thirsty in the heat that sometimes that I take the risk. Luckily I have not been sick again.
Cows and bullocks wander around the streets as they do in all Indian towns, eating anything they can find, sometimes off the stalls. There are many curd and lassi shops. The lassi in Calcutta is especially delicious, and the restaurants seem cleaner than in the country towns so I don’t mind eating in cheap places here. I have been very, very lucky – I have had no more stomach trouble at all – so far!
However, the muscles of my left leg have become painful because I have been doing too much walking after I sprained my ankle. I have not rested it enough! Finally my leg refused to go any further and I was forced to rest it most of yesterday morning and afternoon before going out in the evening. I had to force myself to stay in the hotel. I can’t bear to waste a moment here. Most of the time I have one little thing wrong with me at a time. I had a septic thumb for a while which was really painful. I merely pricked my finger when I was darning a small hole in my skirt. I must have got an infection in my thumb. You have to be so careful with minor cuts and abrasions here as the streets are so dirty.
I have met so many travellers with infected wounds and even boils, as well as amoebic dysentery. One westerner I met had a swollen foot which he said had begun as a tiny heady spot – perhaps it was a mosquito bite. Wounds on feet are quite dangerous. I took the utmost care of my infected thumb – I bought antiseptic cream, bandaged it, and when the pain went away, I broke the skin of the swelling and let out the pus inside. It had swelled up quite a lot. After that and with regular cleaning, my thumb healed up quite quickly.
In one street, I saw Paul, a boy from Bath whom I had met on the Magic Bus. It was a nice surprise to run into him in a cafe. How sun-tanned he is.
Going out with the Major yesterday, Thursday evening, was an experience I will never forget. When I arrived, some of his helpers were playing draughts, and then later, when he came and before we went out, he made me a cup of very sweet tea and got out a large tin of biscuits, urging me to help myself. Then he said to me, “Tell me about yourself.”
Somehow I felt shy with him, but then I feel shy with everyone. He is such a kind man. He introduced me to his ‘sons’, two adopted Indian boys who live with him in the hostel where he lives. They helped him carry the huge pots of food out to the van. On the way we collected more food left out by the canteen of some office blocks, and then went on to the slum areas.
The van stopped in about six different areas altogether and each time small groups of poor people queued up with their cards. The Major cannot feed everyone – as it is he feeds six thousand people per day and the cost is eight hundred rupees per day which is supplied entirely by voluntary donations. A social worker goes out to check on the most needy people – ‘eligible’ people are mothers with large families, old people, and those who cannot work. I watched from the van as the people took the food
to their little street corners and sat on the pavement sharing it out. On one occasion a little boy climbed up into the van and Major Gardener picked him up in his arms. The people were very happy because there was more food that evening – one office canteen had left out a great pot of rice, and apparently rice is rationed in India.
Eventually the trip was finished; just one evening’s work out of all those evenings in nineteen years since the day when the Major, who must be over sixty-five years, walked into the Salvation Army headquarters and asked if they had any work for him. He is not paid for his work but lives off his pension with which he also educates young Indian boys. The lady who runs the Salvation Army hostel told me this. He wears very loose white cotton clothes – much like Indian men wear. When they dropped me back at the hostel later, the Major told me to come back and visit them on my way back to Calcutta, which I would do if I returned this way. Everybody I meet asks me to visit them again on my way back!
It is wonderful what the Major is doing, but how terrible that people are living in such conditions and such poverty as this in Calcutta. The government of India needs to do something about it – needs to care. I feel that the caste system is at fault. Calcutta should not be like this, like a hell hole. How did it get like this? Hundreds of years ago I bet it was different – more countryside, trees perhaps, and far, far less people: that is the secret.
I wonder whether the Major is a lonely man – but perhaps not. He seems to own nothing and has no real family here – his life is his work, but I think he is fulfilled. He told me he is looking for somebody to carry on his work when he is gone. I wonder if his sons will do it. I had the feeling that he was thinking of me. At one time I had thought that perhaps I could stay and do charity work in Calcutta, but Calcutta is such a terrible place. It depresses me so much that I know I can’t stay here long. It is not my destiny and I am restless to go on travelling further.
Even though I am religious – I believe in all religions – I don’t believe in missionaries. I don’t believe that people should try to convert others. It is beautiful to help others, but for their sake only; not to change their religion − that is aggression. I do not feel that Major Gardener is doing his wonderful work for the wrong reasons though. I feel that he genuinely wants to give of his love, although I suppose his religion influences him, as Mother Teresa’s does. There is nothing wrong in this. Whatever influences us to do something beautiful is good, as long as our ideas are not forced on others.
Chapter Nine
Puri and Hindu Temples
Tuesday, 11th May 1976
I am now in Puri, a little market town on the north-east coast. I have so much to write about. It is slow and peaceful here with its golden beach – so different from Calcutta – and it is refreshingly cool by the sea. But my time in Calcutta was very interesting. When the time came, I was even quite sorry to leave the city with its bustle of life and many markets.
I have had a lovely time here in Puri. My ankle is also much better now. Right now I am sitting in Santana’s restaurant near the beach. It is a lovely friendly little place and I have just had breakfast. Every few minutes I stop writing and chat to people here – young Europeans and some American travellers. I don’t mind sitting here inside, because the mornings are so hot. It seems to cool down in the afternoon. Some of the other travellers are sitting here reading too. The sweet peanut and coconut balls are really delicious. They are handmade and are sold in large glass jars in the shops.
I have so much to write about the three days that I have spent in Puri that I don’t know where to begin, or whether to start now or write in here later, but as it is still early and too hot to go out, I think I shall stay here in this cafe and write now.
The journey from Calcutta to Puri took twelve hours. I very nearly missed the train as I went out to eat with Harriet and my room-mate first, and then caught the tram to the station. Of course the tram was jam-packed as usual and then a terrific rainstorm began and traffic everywhere was held up. I was on that tram for about an hour and then had to squeeze out with my haversack. At least the rainfall brought the temperature down in Calcutta. I read in the newspaper afterwards that they had two inches of rain in two hours and there were floods in Park Street. The streets all have English names – so much is written in English in India. I arrived at the station two minutes before my train went and was helped again by a really nice man who found my carriage for me.
Again I was in the women’s carriage but this time it was a drag. It was the only compartment in the carriage with a sliding door which cut it off from the corridor and one lady in there said she had just recovered from measles so she wanted the windows and shutters closed all night. She was very nice to me, offering me chocolate and telling me to inform her if I needed anything in the night, and so I didn’t have the heart to complain about the windows at first, but it was so stiflingly hot. Worst of all I suffered from claustrophobia being shut up in that small, hot carriage, and eventually I got up in the night and opened the window.
Finally I arrived in Puri and I got a rickshaw to the youth hostel, a beautiful new building right on the golden beach. The address of it was in my guide book. The youth hostels in India do seem to be very nice. Most of them are quite new. Here I have met two American girls that I made friends with in Darjeeling. They missed out Calcutta having been there before.
Puri is a lovely place, full of Hindu temples. Unfortunately, non-Hindus are not allowed inside, but the outsides are interesting enough with huge domes and carvings and bright paintings of the gods. Very often it is possible to see inside the entrance. The idols here are so primitive-looking and sometimes look like brightly painted dolls or papier-mache models – like those made in English primary schools!
Here in Puri the most famous temple is that of Lord Jaganath – a god with a face that looks as though the features were drawn by a young child. He has a mouth which is a line turned up into a smile. He sits with two other gods, a small one being in the middle. I must find out more about this god. The Hindu religion is fascinating and very symbolic. I know that in Hindu philosophy the many gods are supposed to be symbols of the many facets of personality of a supreme God or Divine Spirit over all, but many of the ordinary people take them literally and worship the idols. In Hinduism, all beliefs are accepted because God, the Divine, is omnipresent and omnipotent. He is everywhere, in everything, and can take on any form.
I have been swimming in the sea here but it is very rough which is a pity. I have also been a couple of times to the huge market square where the large temple is. The market here is the most fascinating that I have yet seen in India, with its many handicrafts so beautifully made. I wish I had money to buy more.
Yesterday I was talking to a middle-aged Indian man while I was on the beach. I told him I would like to see inside the Hindu temples where non-Hindus are not allowed to go, so he told me he would take me inside one of the temples as his converted Hindu wife. He said the priest would allow me if I was with him. I got dressed and put a scarf over my head and we went into one of the temples. We had to take our shoes off at the entrance as you always do in holy places in India. I was so excited to be able to go into the inner sanctuary. Inside there was a man beating a drum and an elephant.
When we came out, my friend invited me to lunch at his hotel, saying he was alone and merely wanted company. First of all I was dubious but he was so insistent that at last I agreed. I enjoyed the meal and we chatted in his room. Afterwards, when I could see that he might get a bit randy, I made the excuse that I wanted to go to the market. He was leaving by the afternoon train which was the only reason why I agreed to have lunch with him!
He at once said he would come to the market with me on his way to the station. He took his luggage with him in the rickshaw. When we arrived at the market he started buying me lots of presents in spite of my protests. However, I finally accepted them. He told me how much pleasure I had given
him just talking to him that afternoon. He bought a little stone statue of a god for me, and then straw mats, a basket and some bangles.
When I went to buy a couple of wooden toys that I thought I might send to my nephew, he paid for them. Probably I won’t send them – they are so heavy, but it was a lovely thought. He would have bought more for me but there wasn’t time anyway and I ushered him away to the station where I insisted on buying him a cup of tea (30 paisa). There I saw him off. I must say, I am glad he didn’t stay longer. I would have felt obliged to spend more time with him as he had given me so many presents. He gave me his address in Amritsar but of course I shan’t go and stay there!
After that I returned to the market place where I got pestered by many young boys, one who stayed with me all evening showing me around. There is a festival going on here for a few days and we are in the middle of it. Every evening from one of the temples they carry some of the gods high on platforms covered with flowers, rice and fruits. I stayed to watch this last night. It was fascinating. The streets were crowded with people – pilgrims, tourists and street sellers selling balloons, flutes, snake skins, handmade drums, all kinds of foods and sweets, and a thousand other things.
The Road East to India Page 10
