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My memories of Mother Teresa

The story interested me, for even though I knew nothing about the Daya Daan Home, I do have first hand experience of the Sisters of Charity, an order founded by the late Mother Teresa. Daya Daan means donation of love, kindness. Why were then the children tied to their cots by their ankles? The report talked of children being left unattended for up to twenty minutes in the toilet, or their hands being tied while being fed. What was most shocking was an insinuation that all this after millions of pounds were received by the organisation in donations.

I am glad that the wire service carrying the news item, had also carried response of the Daya Daan Home. It admitted to the TV channel’s report as being true but that the tying was done in the interest of safety of the physically challenged children, adding also that they were open to constructive criticism and there was always room for improvement.

Reading the report, a quarter century of association with Mother Teresa and her order flashed before my eyes. I had first seen the Mother descending down the steps of the aircraft on that snowy evening of December 1979 when she had arrived in Oslo to receive her Nobel Peace Prize. She was clad in her trademark white khadi sari with blue border and wearing slippers. I was then posted in the Indian Embassy at Oslo as Second Secretary.

I recalled her first press conference in the airport lounge, immediately after arrival. One question put to her still rings in my ears and more so, Mother’s reply to it in a matter of fact manner, with her eyes gleaning with charm and aura of love. I wondered where did that tiny little soul get all the energy and wisdom from?

The question put was what if she had taken care of the few thousand destitutes of Kolkata, what about the millions in rest of the world? She disarmingly had said something like, "I have only two eyes and I can see only this far. If I can take care of what is before my eyes, that is sufficient for me. I do not have to be worried about the rest of the world." The implication was simple. Only if everyone could respond to what they see before their eyes, there would be no poverty in the world.

Another statement of hers while accepting the Nobel Peace Prize is noteworthy and I ponder over it very often. She had told her audience that it is not that there is poverty in the developing world alone. There is poverty even in developed world. She referred to her visit to the old age homes the previous day in Oslo and the longing those old people had in their eyes and hearts to talk to their loved ones or get a touch of love from them.

Mother did not accept the customary dinner following award of the Nobel Peace Prize. She was horrified at the thought of spending a fortune on the grand dinner while millions went hungry elsewhere in the world. She suggested that the money be given for feeding the poor. That night, the people of Oslo observed a candle light vigil and raised matching amount for Mother’s charity.

All these thoughts went across my mind in split seconds as I read the news item over my morning cup of tea about the secret filming in Daya Daan Home. I wondered whether it was necessary to make so much fuss about a small event that may be abhorrent in the West but is common place in the developing world —just as Mother could not digest the idea of having the dinner in her honour in Oslo. Any body else would have deemed it as a great honour or discourtesy to refuse the dinner.

That day I kept thinking of the telecast of the secret footage of Daya Daan Home that was to be aired in the evening. What would the commentator say and what would the audience think? I remembered of my Cambodia days in early nineties when that country was going through the UN-sponsored peace process. Mother’s order —the Sisters of Charity —had opened their home in Phnom Penh, capital of that war-torn country after Khmer Rouge genocide, to provide a healing touch to old and young who had no one to care for them and who shivered at the name of Khmer Rouge.

There were the four-five frail looking sisters, who would scout from street to street and take destitutes to their home. It was there that I learnt that the Sisters of Charity were no ordinary mortals. They were admitted into the Order after thorough scrutiny and the applicant having met all the preconditions of the Order. They had to severe all contacts with their families, and renounce all worldly belongings. The Sisters of Charity have no possessions except one pair of the white hand-spun khadi sari, one pair of slippers, essential toiletries and one small cloth bag to carry all these. They could not venture out alone, always at least in pair and have to return to their Home before dark. They do not accept any outside food.

I remember when on August 15 to mark lndia’s Independence Day, I invited them to some snacks and they quietly excused themselves saying they had some pressing engagement to attend to.

I was also reminded of my visit to Kigali, the capital of Rwanda in 1995. That country had gone through the now infamous genocide the year before. There were large number of women, who had become psychic, and orphans. I was surprised to find the Sisters of Charity there and when I visited their Home, a former army barrack, there were hundreds of inmates and the Sisters were providing solace to all of them round the clock. Some inmates had to be chained or kept in locked rooms because of their mental state. Toddlers had to be kept in fenced cots so that they did not fall. Ordinary mortals could not have dared that screaming of women or silence of babies as darkness descended on the camp.

You will now understand why, as I read the news item, I could not take away my mind from it. On the one hand, the tying of infants by their ankles to their cots sounds abhorrent. But on the other, the local situation may find it better than being left out on the street, totally unattended. Just wander outside and visit few slums in nearby areas and you will conclude that the Daya Daan Home is after all a better place to be in. It’s all relative, after all. The West cannot believe that one room can house a whole family.

There should be no doubt about misuse of the donations, for the Sisters live in utter poverty as recounted above. If not, they would not know what poverty means and how much it matters to the destitutes to be cared for, even if a little. The Sisters generally go walking in the city and use transport only if they are going long distances.

I was lucky to have attended Mother Teresa’s funeral. I was then posted in Delhi and was assigned protocol duties to usher foreign VIPs who had come to attend Mother’s funeral in Kolkata. Even after eight days of her death, her face shined with glory as her cortege was brought for burial with full state honours. Mother was recipient of India’s highest civilian honour, Bharat Ratna or Jewel of lndia. I await the day when she would be conferred the title of Saint Teresa but perhaps Mother is a more befitting title for her, just as Mahatma was for M K Gandhi.

C. M. Bhandari is Ambassador of India to the UAE and can be reached at indiauae@emirates.net.ae