Phylicia's Story

Calcutta is not a beautiful place by any definition of the word. It’s dirty, it’s hot, it’s polluted, it’s overpopulated, and there is no where to go for relief. Everywhere you turn there are people. People who sweat for 13 hour days to scrape in enough money to either feed their families that night, or to get desperately drunk and later pass out on the sidewalk beside the wild dogs. Like every city, Calcutta is broken, the difference there though, is that it is plain as day. There are no efforts to hide the poverty, and it seems, there are no efforts to fix it.

Kolkata has an undeclared population of 18 million. What do I mean by undeclared? The official population recognized by the government is 5 million, which means the rest are stateless. They have no identification, they can’t hold jobs, they are not considered part of the population of India. In India, 80% are Hindus, 13% are Muslims, and 2.3% are Christians. In Kolkata, the percentage of Christians is 0.6, well below the national average. The overwhelming Hindu majority has affected the lives of the poor for centuries. The Hindus in India follow a caste system, which determines who will be prosperous, who will be respected , and who will find success, based on one’s last name or lineage. There are 4 main castes, and the lowest caste is divided into 6400 categories, ranking just how poor you are. The people in the lowest caste, the Dalit (or you may have heard them called “the untouchables”) number 330 million and are the lowest of the low.

These people are extremely poor and can be identified by particular last names, as the Brahmin (the highest caste) can also be identified.  The belief is that the works that you perform on earth in this lifetime, will please your god, and if you have pleased him or her enough, you will have the chance to move up to a new caste in the following lifetime. Those who are the lowest of the low therefore, were not holy enough in their past lives to be in a higher caste, and are considered scum. These people are given the brutal and disgusting jobs and are the ones who are ignored on the street, even though there are thousands of them everywhere. Unlike Toronto, the people don’t avoid the gaze of the homeless due to their own guilt, in Kolkata, they accept the poor as “just life” as if they were part of the scenery, a nuisance disturbing them. You see the extreme poor (wearing rags and sprawled out on the sidewalk) walking with the less poor (the little shop owners selling goods on the street corners and sleeping under tarps) and the middle and upper class (those who live in run down homes).   As a person from the West, it was impossible for me to ignore these people. As small children came up to me and gently touched my hand and motioned that they wanted something to eat, I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t be annoyed, only heartbroken. The reality is that most of these children are what they call “professional beggars” who are hired by someone who exploits them and sends them out to beg and bring back whatever they get. It’s hard to be sitting in cab and praying that the traffic won’t stop. Every time the traffic stopped, beggar after beggar would come to the window. One man was crippled and literally dragged his body across the dirty pavement and clutched the open car window to lift his skinny body to eye level. Beggars start coming from rolled down window to window, some small children, some elderly women, some holding infants, asking for something as small as 2 rupees…or for us, 4 cents. Each time it was more horrible, and it made me angry. Angry at every teenager who has ever told me that they wanted to run away from home. Angry at every street youth that has ever told me that they won’t use the shelters available to them. Angry at every street person who’s gotten angry with me for offering food instead of money. Finally, angry with myself for never fully realizing how rich I am.

I soon learned though, that in the short time I was there, I did not have time to just be angry at the poverty, or even to feel pity. I realized after that first week that pity rarely leads to action, and in the short time that I had, action was what Kolkata needed from me, not pity. I knew that I couldn’t help everyone, but I also knew that with help from the Holy Spirit I could help someone. I quickly figured out that the culture, and the religion and the caste system would constantly be bringing these people down, but also that in my time there I had an opportunity to build them up and to show them love. The rest of my trip was defined by this little phrase that I repeated each morning, “Holy Spirit, show me who you want me to love for you today”.  He answered that prayer again and again.

The kids took to me instantly which for many of the people here wouldn’t be a surprise because I adore kids. Truly though, I did nothing extraordinary with them. On my first day, I hadn’t planned anything because I was supposed to be observing. The person who I was supposed to observe didn’t show up, however, so I ended up with 25 little faces looking at me waiting to see what I was made of. Pathetically, all of the 100's of games I’ve played with kids in my lifetime left my mind and all I could think of that didn’t require much knowledge of the English language was “Simon Says”. Would you believe that none of these kids had EVER played Simon Says? They loved it. I taught them duck duck goose, what time is it mr. wolf, broken telephone… and with each new game they became more and more attached to our time together. It was like no one had ever played with them before. They all looked at me in shock when I made funny faces at them, and when I shared pictures of my family and friends. It was wonderful that we could become so close so quickly, but sad at the same time, that all it took to make their day, was one person to play with them. To care about them.

On my second last day with them, I asked them to take me to their homes so that I could see where they lived and meet their families. Excitedly they crowded around me to protect me from the many traffic hazards around me and walked me through a labyrinth of streets and small alleys to where they slept. Much like kids here would be excited to show me their new Nintendo DS or their classroom at school, the kids were jumping up and down with excitement and anticipation. These kids were brimming with pride as they ushered me into their homes and introduced me, Phylicia Auntie, to their families.

The kids and their parents, and sometimes extended families all live in small rectangular shaped rooms with one bed inside. The rooms were very very small. One of the kids told me that there were 9 people sleeping in there. They sleep on the floors, and pile on the bed.

Even so, the families were all quick to offer me a seat, and something to drink. Someone even offered me tea. Surrounded by their clothing hanging to cover their front door, and the dim flickering fluorescent light, I realized that these kids couldn’t be happier that I would come to see where they live. There was no sense of shame or embarrassment. There was no hesitation, only excitement that I would want to see their homes.

I also noticed right away though, that these kids don’t have dreams about their futures because, as they told me themselves, for them, so much is impossible. They don’t dream of being musicians, doctors, cricket players. They don’t even dream of ever leaving Calcutta, because they say that it’s impossible. Their poverty reminds them everyday that they don’t stand a chance. Their religion tells them that they are where they deserve to be. They are scum and therefore deserve to be treated as scum. I looked at these beautiful undernourished, dirt covered, children and realized that it would take nothing at all for me to show them otherwise. I could be a light in the darkness for them, and it would require nothing of me but some genuine love. I remember a few years ago I had to decide what I was going to do with my life as far as career options go. I remember sitting with my parents and saying that pensions were nice, but I just wanted to love people for a living. Needless to say, they weren’t really ecstatic about the idea of volunteering for a living, but as I looked into those kids faces just a couple of weeks ago, I thought… what an easy and fulfilling job that would be. What an excellent way to spend my life.