Calcutta 1980
By John O'Shea
The mass in a small church hidden amid Calcutta's slums began at
4.30am, but I felt obliged to make it there on time.
Promised a lift with the Missionaries of Charity to a leper colony
in Tanager, some three hours outside the city, I felt that joining
them in prayer as the day began was the least I could do.
The mass over, I hung around the yard outside, waiting for my lift
and wondering what an Irish sports journalist could discuss with
an Indian nun for three hours in a car. I needn't have worried.
My companion for the journey was Mother Theresa, and I spent the
rest of the day in awe, watching this small woman who had enough
love for everyone she met.
That day was over 20 years ago now, but it has had a lasting effect
on me. It was my first trip to Calcutta, and surrounded by what
seemed to be an unending tide of misery, I began to despair.
In the nightmare of Calcutta's slums, it seemed as if the only
release was death. Sickened by the sight of so much poverty, I approached
Mother Theresa. "When you work in these conditions every day, surrounded
by so much suffering," I said, "do you ever stop and wonder if you're
making some kind of impact on this poverty?"
She turned to me and smiled, saying: "Every day of my life in Calcutta,
I make it my business to lift a leper or a dying person or a child
in desperate need and hug and kiss that person. I don't know whether
that is the best thing to do for that person but I do know it's
the right thing to do".
Years later, I still feel privileged at the opportunity I had that
day. Amid the dirt and the dying in Calcutta's slums, in the depths
of the most appalling poverty, I witnessed the power of love, and
its ability to light up even the darkest places.
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