Monday, September 22, 1997 Finding a separate peace in Calcutta
LOCALIZATION: Student remembers her extraordinary courage, inner
calm, selflessness
By Frances Lee
Daily Bruin Senior Staff
All I have left from my month-long trip to India are some
photos, a scrapbook and a journal of my 18-year-old musings, with
the last entry dated July 29, 1993 – the day before I met Mother
Teresa.
Long forgotten were the crowded slums, the oppressive heat and
all the reasons why I went to India in the first place. Almost
forgotten was the meeting with the extraordinary woman who had
lived her life for others.
When the news came that she had died, less than a week after
Princess Diana, my father shook his head and said what a tragedy it
was that this great woman’s death would be overshadowed by that of
Diana’s. He was right, of course.
The media frenzy surrounding the princess’s death barely slowed
down enough to give notice to the nun. Maybe Channel 4 didn’t think
she was photogenic enough to warrant more than two minutes of
nightly evening-news coverage on television. Maybe the L.A. Times
thought a story on the blood-alcohol readings of Diana’s driver
would capture a larger audience.
I didn’t intend for this article to be a rant against the media;
being a member of the media myself, I find it hard to point
fingers. But then again, I was fortunate enough that I didn’t need
Tom Brokaw or Peter Jennings to tell me Mother Teresa had been a
living saint; I had witnessed it firsthand.
Besides, I don’t think Mother Teresa would have minded the lack
of attention; after all, this was the woman who had grudgingly
accepted the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979, and only when she decided
she would accept it on behalf of the poor and downtrodden whom she
had served her entire life.
It was four years ago, in Calcutta, at one of the orphanages run
by Mother Teresa’s order, that I met her. How do I explain Calcutta
to a Westerner who has never known life without running water or
flushing toilets? To someone who has never been there, Calcutta
might conjure up romantic images of an exotic, modern-yet-primitive
city. To me, it was filthy, crowded and almost hopeless.
How, then, do I begin to explain Mother Teresa, who lived in
that filthy, crowded, hopeless city? I don’t want to idealize or
romanticize Mother Teresa, but I do want to pay my final respects
to this great woman who never considered herself great.
When I had the honor of meeting her, I think I was jealous of
Mother Teresa.
Not just because she found so much meaning in her life by
helping others, and certainly not because she gave up all the
creature comforts of the western world to live in simplicity (heck,
my idea of "rustic" is a hotel room without a bathtub).
I was jealous of the peace that seemed to emanate from every
pore on her body. She had such a profound sense of contentment and
satisfaction glowing from within her, I could not help but be in
awe of this tiny woman.
She probably never understood all the fuss people made over her.
Even though I met her only briefly, I could still feel the sense of
inner calm she possessed, which was so powerful and
overwhelming.
Apart from her faith, I think this inner peace must have been
the source of her strength and courage. It was inspiring just to be
near her, because she had the two things I went to India to find —
peace and faith. No wonder people gave up their lives to come work
for her.
I don’t know why I didn’t write in my journal that day – perhaps
I wasn’t ready, perhaps I had been overwhelmed, but most of all, I
think I was jealous. Four years, one month and 26 days later, I’m a
little older, a little wiser, and still searching for what I had
hoped to find in India.
I wish I had asked Mother Teresa how. I’m sure she would have
told me that I would have to find my own way, but my biggest regret
is that I didn’t, and I’ll never be able to.