My Bengali is very limited. I know some random words that are useful when riding in a tuk-tuk or carrying laundry to the hot and sunny roof to dry. I know simple phrases that allow me to meet the women I work with at Prem Dan and learn their names. But that is about it. I cannot hold conversations and for the most part cannot understand what many of the women try to tell me and the conversations they try to hold.
There are multiple women that I have come to know and that I greet every hot and humid morning with a "Shuprobat! Kamin achin?" (Good morning! How are you?): the woman that sits by the laundry sinks in the morning, the woman that likes to help us volunteers carry laundry buckets up the stairs everyday, the massis that joke with us and the one that told me my nose ring was on the wrong side of my nose (Indian women get the left nostril pierced, not the right).
But the women I know the best are those that ask me for lotion. Most prefer for me to rub it on them, and a few just ask me to put some in their hand so they can do it themselves. The two women who sit in the corner like me to rub lotion on their arms while they try to hold conversations with me and laugh and hold my hands. The woman at the middle table with the long silver hair likes it on her arms, her back and her legs and tries to ask me questions everyday. The woman with the walker that sits on the ledge on the side likes it on her rough-skinned feet and in between her toes. Everyday she asks me the same question. I answer them all with smiles, "yes"s, some head tilts, and a few "bhalo"s (good) here and there. I desperately want to know what they are saying. More than anything I would like to have conversations with these women and to not have to respond with my commonly used phrase "ammi Bangla janni naa". I don't know Bengali.
The lotion is my small way of communicating. I can ask if someone wants any with one small Bengali word. I try to put as much kindness as I can into massaging their frail limbs and dry skin. I have discovered who likes lotion where and who just wants me to sit with them and listen to the Bengali I cannot understand while I massage their arms. It is the most intimate thing I have done in the time I have spent with Mother Teresa's homes; more so than helping women get dressed or go the bathroom. I try to imagine the stories they are telling me or the things they ask me. I try to imagine their pasts and the paths their lives all took that led them to reside at Prem Dan. But for now, the lotion speaks for me. It is the words of kindness I cannot speak and the thread that allows me to make silent connections with the lovely ladies of Prem Dan.
-Andie
P.S. I can't write this post without a shoutout to this incredible group for putting together the best 22nd birthday I could have asked for. Thanks for the chocolate cake, the card, the banner, the Taylor Swift, and the embarrassing tiara. I love you all and I wouldn't have wanted to spend a night on a rooftop in Kolkata eating french fries with anyone else :)
There are multiple women that I have come to know and that I greet every hot and humid morning with a "Shuprobat! Kamin achin?" (Good morning! How are you?): the woman that sits by the laundry sinks in the morning, the woman that likes to help us volunteers carry laundry buckets up the stairs everyday, the massis that joke with us and the one that told me my nose ring was on the wrong side of my nose (Indian women get the left nostril pierced, not the right).
But the women I know the best are those that ask me for lotion. Most prefer for me to rub it on them, and a few just ask me to put some in their hand so they can do it themselves. The two women who sit in the corner like me to rub lotion on their arms while they try to hold conversations with me and laugh and hold my hands. The woman at the middle table with the long silver hair likes it on her arms, her back and her legs and tries to ask me questions everyday. The woman with the walker that sits on the ledge on the side likes it on her rough-skinned feet and in between her toes. Everyday she asks me the same question. I answer them all with smiles, "yes"s, some head tilts, and a few "bhalo"s (good) here and there. I desperately want to know what they are saying. More than anything I would like to have conversations with these women and to not have to respond with my commonly used phrase "ammi Bangla janni naa". I don't know Bengali.
The lotion is my small way of communicating. I can ask if someone wants any with one small Bengali word. I try to put as much kindness as I can into massaging their frail limbs and dry skin. I have discovered who likes lotion where and who just wants me to sit with them and listen to the Bengali I cannot understand while I massage their arms. It is the most intimate thing I have done in the time I have spent with Mother Teresa's homes; more so than helping women get dressed or go the bathroom. I try to imagine the stories they are telling me or the things they ask me. I try to imagine their pasts and the paths their lives all took that led them to reside at Prem Dan. But for now, the lotion speaks for me. It is the words of kindness I cannot speak and the thread that allows me to make silent connections with the lovely ladies of Prem Dan.
-Andie
P.S. I can't write this post without a shoutout to this incredible group for putting together the best 22nd birthday I could have asked for. Thanks for the chocolate cake, the card, the banner, the Taylor Swift, and the embarrassing tiara. I love you all and I wouldn't have wanted to spend a night on a rooftop in Kolkata eating french fries with anyone else :)
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