Shishur Sevay

Durga, having arrived the evening before, rises early for her bath.  Her day is spent in rituals of worship of nine plants that represent the Gods who gave their combined strength to Durga in her fight against the demons.

Gibi brought the girls to her home for this day, a special day of celebration.  They dressed in their fine clothes and spent the day with her family.  Her daughter is Didi (big sister) to them, and her son is Bai (brother).  They are with us often when their school is closed or they are not studying.  And I am really grandmother to them.  This is especially important if they are not studying, when a simple call from me will send them immediately back to their books!  Having the girls there is a matter of pride for their family, including their extended family.

I was high on our pandal stroll the evening before, ready to blog about it all.  I had planned a quiet day, and time with the choto bacchas.  The logistics of taking them there for the day were just too difficult, and I had some special ideas I wanted to try out, working on motor and cognitive skills.  Gibi came by early though, to tell me about a phone call she had received that morning from someone "in the know."  After that, I can only describe the day as "lost."  I worked at the computer, wrote and re-wrote documents, letters.  I stopped long enough to visit the girls and Gibi’s family for lunch.  In the evening Gibi and Bijoy took the girls for their pandal walk.  I had managed to twist my back while washing a diaper in the morning – one more added stress — or probably one more result of stress.  But I completed my work, and located a 24 hour courier service for the next morning.

We are getting wonderful offers of support from many areas, but it’s just not clear what will be most helpful.   I will write more about that as it gets clearer.

The girls came home from the day at Gibi’s and pandal strolling, waving new balloons, eating popcorn, and as usual, went first to choto bacchas to give them balloons and share their treats.  I went over all the documents with Gibi, as I always do, and we agreed I’d get them off to the courier in the morning.  We worry and laugh at the same time about all this, the trickery, the lies, the convoluted stories.  It’s all about money and power — who will control me.  This is really a stupid fight because those close to me would tell you that this is not a do-able task, or at least it hasn’t happened yet.  I am very stubborn.

Gibi and I also celebrate, every day, that in spite of the fights going on, we have the children.  They grow, they learn, they thrive, and in that way, so do we.

We are in the midst of Durga Puja, the most celebrated holiday in this region of India.  Durga is the "mother goddess" who went into battle to slay the demons who threatened the very existence of the Gods.  She comes to earth for three days each year to visit her parents and to be with us.  After three days she is taken in a long and tearful procession to the Ganges.  She is immersed in the water and returns to the Heavens again.  She is loved and worshiped here in Kolkata, as is her fiercest manifestation, Kali.  Kali Puja will come soon.

But here in Kolkata, "the Pujas" are also secular, in that the entire city, and environs, celebrates, across religions.  Huge pandals are built, temporary temples to the Gods, built of bamboo laced together and covered with thin cloth… Lights shine through the thin cloth so the pandals are illuminated and glow against the dark night. 

This is the major time of gift giving, primarily clothes, so for days before, people begin wearing their new outfits. Thanks to Gibi, we did our Puja shopping early, which I teased her about then, but was very grateful for later.  We knew the girls would be getting clothing from others.  Gibi bought each girl a brass plate, which we have used for our big meals over Puja.  The girls truly love these plates, probably the first things they have ever "owned".  And of course for girls, such possessions evoke the dreams of having households of their own. 

For Durga Puja, offices are closed; the government is closed — which is why I was unprepared for another round of having to defend myself.  So, for me the first day of Durga Puja was spent preparing documents, letters, thinking through strategies, but having a slightly clearer picture of how the battle is looming.  The following morning I found the only courier service open in Kolkata and sent out the documents to people who will probably not read them until next week.  It doesn’t matter.  I have the courier receipts proving that I sent them. Then I took a long nap.

But back to Puja, our Puja — the evening before the beginning of Puja we dressed up all the girls in their new clothes and walked through the neighborhood visiting pandals.  People smile at us, lift their hands to their foreheads in the greeting, "Namaskar" and I do so in return.  Even in Puja time there are strict social rules about who says hello and who does not, based on caste and class, often reflected in dress style.  Women do not greet or respond back to men they do not know. But as a foreigner, as an older white lady, and as a generally friendly person, I am free to say hello to everyone.  This works well, as it also frees the others to follow the rules, while we still present a friendly face to the community.

That evening we were four adults and nine children — ten really, but Ganga was tucked into a sling I wore.  Gibi led the group; a visitor took the middle, and Bijoy brought up the back.  I roamed back and forth — ever the anxious mother.

Off the regular path, down a short street, we saw a lit up pandal. A priest was burning leaves in front of Durga.  This was a family pandal, set up only every six years.  We said our hellos and started to leave.  But then a young woman called out from inside the house.  She recognized Ganga and me.  She is a teacher at the Indian Institute for Cerebral Palsy, where we take the choto baccha, and where they will start school in May.  Then we were all offered sweets. The girls were thrilled to meet a teacher from the choto bacchas’ school.  She will visit our Home one day. This is our community.

Gibi deftly guided us then to her favorite pandal, which for Puja is in the midst of a small amusement park set up for the celebrations.  This was all unexpected for me.  We paid tribute to Durga, and then looked around.  Our girls stared at the rides but did not ask.  They watched intently as I pretended to ask Gibi what we should do, as if it were a real question! Then we headed for the rides.  I

We saw first a tame looking roller coaster, without ups and downs, just round and round on flat tracks.  As this was really the night before Puja began, lines were minimal, and soon we were all seated in the line of cars.  After I was seated, an attendant signaled to me that Ganga couldn’t go on the ride.  "Baccha na!" he said.  I yelled back, "She isn’t a baby.  She is five years old!"  I’m not sure he even understood, but he wasn’t arguing with me, and the ride began.  Well, the ride started, and quickly I realized it didn’t feel as tame as it looked.  Each time we turned a curve I was sure the car would go off the tracks and we would tumble to the ground.  I kept thinking I was so sorry I’d put us on this ride, so sorry for Ganga — who, like the others, was grinning away, delighted with every turn.  I really am an anxious mother.

We went on two other rides, one a merry go round, and another nondescript ride we took because I accidentally bought the wrong tickets and they wouldn’t take them back.  It was all good; the rides were all good.  The girls were all good.  We hit the junk food, which was also good, and we headed home.

I have only been injured once in Kolkata, though I know my family and friends worry about my safety.  But my single injury happened last year while I was at the computer, wearing my glasses, just doing some work, and suddenly my eye stung terribly!!!  I mean it was horrible!  It felt like a sandstorm had hit my open eye.  I ran to the sink and tried to wash it out!  The water soothed but the minute I had my eye out of the water, the pain was back. At first I thought it was a recurrence of corneal eye trouble I’ve had since childhood.  I looked in the mirror and saw a huge black thing on my pupil.  So I rinsed it more, and more, and the black thing stayed, but was in a different place on the pupil each time. 

I called the only doctor I knew in the area and he said to come later.  I couldn’t wait.  Bijoy and I set out, just asked people on the street where there was an eye doctor open — now eight in the morning.  We were directed to a small eye clinic about 3 km away.  The clinic was open, and a doctor was there, as he had come in early that day.  He was kind and wonderful, and quickly saw that an ant had bitten my eye, and it had died holding  on. Usually this happened to people doing ceiling work, looking up.  I was just sitting quietly at my computer, wearing my glasses.

We just never know where danger really is.

The doctor and I chatted.  I said I was here to open an orphanage.  He said that when I opened, he would see the children for free.  So two weeks ago I finally called.  Yesterday I took ten of the children to see him.  One of the boro bacchas needs glasses.  Two of the boro bacchas have squints that will need further investigation. This doctor’s speciality is glaucoma and cataracts (and suicidal attack ants) so he had to refer us elsewhere for the evaluations.

Sonali is blind.  I suspected she was, or that she only had some minimal image sight.  Sonali is the baby of our home, about two  years old, the only one we have any medical history on and she has some clear brain damage.    Like the others, she arrived with minimal strength and use of her limbs, and could not hold up her head.  I just thought of her as a sleepy baby.  Now she squirms around the room, exploring everything by touch.  She can stand supported, but can’t sit.  She sleeps at odd times, which makes sense since she doesn’t know night and day. 

Sonali also used to cry at almost all feedings, but we are learning what she can swallow, and what foods make her cry.  Her food has to be semi solid.  She is so incredibly cheerful.  She giggled throughout the whole eye examination! 

So, an ant attack led me to an eye doctor who saw the girls for free and told us Sonali was blind… strands and connections… how life is here.

One of my goals has been achieved.  All the children have had medical examinations, immunizations, eye examinations, and dental treatments where needed.   And I haven’t been attacked by any more ants.

Rani went into mourning a day after her mother visited.  She lost her appetite; she cried and cried at bed time.  It took us a day to figure out why she just wasn’t herself.  One night she was calmed for a while by playing with the running water in the bathroom.  We walked with her; we passed her back and forth; we lay with her.  The other choto bacchas seemed to know, or at least Bornali did.  She is the one who stopped eating when Rani was in the hospital.  We had two sad children.  We had someone with Rani constantly, holding her, singing to her, letting her watch Barney all day, giving her whatever she would eat.  Something deep inside her had connected, some kind of memory that made life different for her.

Friday I took Rani and Bornali for hydrotherapy.  It was Rani’s first time.  I’m not sure hydrotherapy will do much for her, but she loved the time in the water. She clung to me, just a bit scared as I carried her into the warm water at the IICP pool.  She had fun; she giggled; she has been better since then.  In fact, she has been much better, enough to stir up that hope against hope that one day she will be normal, that her slow waves will get faster, that her encephalopathy will disappear.

Is it good for her mother to visit?  I have no idea.  Is it bad to have a reminder, to mourn?  I don’t know.  Maybe it helps heal; maybe it opens the wound.  But it does tell us that her mother is a part of her life in some way, that there is recognition of some sort.  Her mother may find comfort in that.  We don’t know; we can’t know;  That’s just how it is.

Of course, I do have my entirely emotional opinions that it is good for her to see her mother.  Maybe some connections will be made, will become stronger, will help her put thoughts together.  Maybe she will join us fully one day and smile and talk to us.  I have absolutely  no reason to believe this will be.  I am glad she is with us at least, and I’m glad she saw her mother.