Calcutta at dead of night

On Wednesday last, we went on a nocturnal tour of Calcutta – it was like nothing I have ever experienced before. The objective of the visit was partly to see where many of the Future Hope children come from, so this necessitated a trip to the 2 main railway stations in Calcutta - a place where many displaced, lost or abandoned children live and sleep and try to make some sort of a living. The first station we visited was Sealdah. The mass of humanity bedded down outside the station was overwhelming – some were travellers, but the majority were people who ‘lived’ there. Tim found a little boy and gave him the leftover food we had brought – I hope he wasn’t too disappointed when he opened it up to find spaghetti and not the rice he was probably expecting.

We went into the station which was slightly less populated – there were a couple of men with a huge pressurised water container hosing down the station floor – more often than not taking  spiteful pleasure in directing a stream of cold water at the poor souls who were asleep there. We – well Tim really – looked to see if there were any children – there were some asleep with their families, but none on their own – except for one little boy in a yellow jumper asleep on the floor. He looked about 8 or 9 years old – possibly older as they tend to be on the small side when not fed properly. He had his knees drawn up under his chin and his toes tucked into the bottom of his jumper and one arm over his head as if to ward off blows.

In the quest for children, I was able to fulfil my ambition of going on an Indian train – albeit briefly. The carriages are pretty basic – the metal seats must get incredibly hot in the summer. There were 2 stationary trains at adjoining platforms so we took a shortcut through one train to reach the other – this involved leaping from one to the other – a distance of about 5 feet – across a 9 foot drop. Tim had asked if I was feeling brave before we jumped – but didn’t wait long enough to hear the answer...

From the station we went first to the Vegetable Market (it was teeming with activity and felt as if we had stepped back in time) and then on to the Burning Ghats beside the river. The Burning Ghats are where the poorer Hindus go to cleanse and burn their dead. Tim continually reminded me to walk slowly and to look confident in an attempt not to draw attention to myself. I could see his logic, but then I did wonder whether being European, wearing western style trousers, a bright green cardigan and carrying a great big handbag might make this ploy a little less effective...

The scene in the Ghats was incredible – very peaceful – no weeping or wailing – apparently that happens when the body is first taken there. There were burning areas on either side of us and 3 burning pyres made from sandalwood - to prevent or disguise the smell of burning flesh. I was extremely relieved as the thought of the smell had worried me. There was a small pyre being prepared, probably for a child, but thankfully we left before that was lit. On the other pyres, the blackened and charred feet of the dead were upright and clearly visible. At one pyre, a man was stoking the fire with a huge bamboo pole – as he poked, he caught one of the feet and the remains of a leg fell onto the floor.

We left the Ghats, crossed the road and ducked through the row of slum dwellings opposite. It was very dark behind the shacks and again I was reminded to walk slowly so as not to attract attention. As we walked – Tim on the railway track and me beside it, I felt extremely nervous at the thought that actually, anyone could have attacked us – especially as there were groups of men high on drugs with crazed and staring eyes. Strangely, the thought that a train might come whizzing by barely crossed my mind.

As we walked by one of the shacks, a sleepy little boy with tousled, lice infested hair was squatting beside the track – he looked about 3 or 4 years old and in many ways he looked like any sleepy child – but this was a little lad in the middle of the night squatting to relieve himself beside the railway line outside his house – it beggars belief!

At one point in our travels, we passed through the Red Light districts and slum areas where some of our day scholars come from. We saw rats as big as cats running between the people sleeping on the streets. When you see where some of our children have come from, you really do realise that they are the lucky ones – they have hope for a much brighter future and are surrounded by people who are willing to do their utmost to see that they have the best chance of realising their dreams and ambitions.

What we saw that night was shocking – but not as shocking as it would have been at the start of our visit – which in itself is slightly worrying. The Burning Ghats were fascinating rather than horrifying; the market had its own beauty – the enormous sacks of fresh aubergines, the piles of garlic, the strength and grace and bearing of the men with their great cumbersome loads.

The sight of the children was pitiful.

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'Me No Like' and 'Neither Thin nor Brown'

‘Me no like’ (Bijoy – about 10 times a day when faced with some writing he had to do!) Alison

Having arrived home late on Friday I still feel as if I am in a dream - any moment I am going to wake up and still be in Kolkata. If only that was the case!

People had said before we went that Future Hope ‘sucks you in and gets under your skin’ and that’s it’s ‘addictive’. I can only agree..... we have had the most amazing time and if we could commute weekly we would.

The children are amazing – as Tim Grandage says, ‘they are not to be pitied but admired’. They have the most tenacious optimism I have ever witnessed. They do everything with gusto – sing in assembly, read aloud – and I mean aloud, play games, sing totally unaccompanied and without the slightest self consciousness, eat their lunch or ‘tiffin’ – always making sure that they have fed you first. I have never witnessed such generosity – these are children that have so little and yet they are so generous to each other – they never seem to squabble over anything – we never once heard ‘ that’s not fair’ or similar expressions. I will never forget the look of pride on an older boy’s face as he left the office with a pair of second hand rugby boots for a forthcoming rugby trip. It certainly makes the materialism of England in the run up to Christmas very hard to take.

We were treated with kindness and generosity by everyone we met – adults and children alike. People genuinely wanted to talk and find out about us. They all seemed to have time for a chat or a drink – people don’t seem to rush around so much but really take time with each other.

We have purposefully kept this blog light hearted – we did not want to share in some of the terrible things some of these children have endured – that is their story and not ours to broadcast but believe me many have suffered horrible things and have now been lucky enough to have people looking after them and loving them and giving them a real chance in life. If you have enjoyed our blog and felt you wanted to donate to Future Hope to help to continue the most amazing work it does then please follow this link – your help will be so appreciated.

http://www.justgiving.com/futurehope/Donate

We may repeat this ‘web site’ exercise when we go next year – oh didn’t I mention – we are definitely going back...........

Neither Thin nor Brown ( Toni - I thought I would be both at the end of a month in Calcutta...)

Three years ago, Alison and I had a ‘Gap Week’ in Thailand – it was brilliant, we had such fun and laughed till we were fit to burst. We decided that it would be fun to repeat the experience and I remember saying that I had always fancied visiting India... Alison replied that we could go to this place called Future Hope to work – full time... not what I had in mind at all... and now we’ve just returned – isn’t it strange how life works out!!

Our last day at Future Hope was one more rollercoaster ride of emotion – full of tears and joy at the surprises that were planned for us, the cards and presents that were given to us, the hugs and farewells that were made. I don’t know how many times we were asked not IF we were coming back, but WHEN. We are definitely part of the wonderful community that is Future Hope.

Being back in the UK is slightly surreal – absolutely wonderful to be reunited with our families, but our thoughts continually go back to Rowland Road (said with an Indian accent if you want to stand any chance of being understood by the local taxi drivers) and the wonderful children and staff we left behind. We have already had emails from some of them and I know that Alison has started scouring charity shops for shoes as there is always a shortage of certain sizes – I feel that Future Hope will never be out of our thoughts and after the four marvellous weeks we have had, I wouldn’t want it any other way!

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Calcutta at dead of night

On Wednesday last, we went on a nocturnal tour of Calcutta – it was like nothing I have ever experienced before. The objective of the visit was partly to see where many of the Future Hope children come from, so this necessitated a trip to the 2 main railway stations in Calcutta - a place where many displaced, lost or abandoned children live and sleep and try to make some sort of a living. The first station we visited was Sealdah. The mass of humanity bedded down outside the station was overwhelming – some were travellers, but the majority were people who ‘lived’ there. Tim found a little boy and gave him the leftover food we had brought – I hope he wasn’t too disappointed when he opened it up to find spaghetti and not the rice he was probably expecting.

We went into the station which was slightly less populated – there were a couple of men with a huge pressurised water container hosing down the station floor – more often than not taking spiteful pleasure in directing a stream of cold water at the poor souls who were asleep there. We – well Tim really – looked to see if there were any children – there were some asleep with their families, but none on their own – except for one little boy in a yellow jumper asleep on the floor. He looked about 8 or 9 years old – possibly older as they tend to be on the small side when not fed properly. He had his knees drawn up under his chin and his toes tucked into the bottom of his jumper and one arm over his head as if to ward off blows.

In the quest for children, I was able to fulfil my ambition of going on an Indian train – albeit briefly. The carriages are pretty basic – the metal seats must get incredibly hot in the summer. There were 2 stationary trains at adjoining platforms so we took a shortcut through one train to reach the other – this involved leaping from one to the other – a distance of about 5 feet – across a 9 foot drop. Tim had asked if I was feeling brave before we jumped – but didn’t wait long enough to hear the answer...

From the station we went first to the Vegetable Market (it was teeming with activity and felt as if we had stepped back in time) and then on to the Burning Ghats beside the river. The Burning Ghats are where the poorer Hindus go to cleanse and burn their dead. Tim continually reminded me to walk slowly and to look confident in an attempt not to draw attention to myself. I could see his logic, but then I did wonder whether being European, wearing western style trousers, a bright green cardigan and carrying a great big handbag might make this ploy a little less effective...

The scene in the Ghats was incredible – very peaceful – no weeping or wailing – apparently that happens when the body is first taken there. There were burning areas on either side of us and 3 burning pyres made from sandalwood - to prevent or disguise the smell of burning flesh. I was extremely relieved as the thought of the smell had worried me. There was a small pyre being prepared, probably for a child, but thankfully we left before that was lit. On the other pyres, the blackened and charred feet of the dead were upright and clearly visible. At one pyre, a man was stoking the fire with a huge bamboo pole – as he poked, he caught one of the feet and the remains of a leg fell onto the floor.

We left the Ghats, crossed the road and ducked through the row of slum dwellings opposite. It was very dark behind the shacks and again I was reminded to walk slowly so as not to attract attention. As we walked – Tim on the railway track and me beside it, I felt extremely nervous at the thought that actually, anyone could have attacked us – especially as there were groups of men high on drugs with crazed and staring eyes. Strangely, the thought that a train might come whizzing by barely crossed my mind.

As we walked by one of the shacks, a sleepy little boy with tousled, lice infested hair was squatting beside the track – he looked about 3 or 4 years old and in many ways he looked like any sleepy child – but this was a little lad in the middle of the night squatting to relieve himself beside the railway line outside his house – it beggars belief!

At one point in our travels, we passed through the Red Light districts and slum areas where some of our day scholars come from. We saw rats as big as cats running between the people sleeping on the streets. When you see where some of our children have come from, you really do realise that they are the lucky ones – they have hope for a much brighter future and are surrounded by people who are willing to do their utmost to see that they have the best chance of realising their dreams and ambitions.

What we saw that night was shocking – but not as shocking as it would have been at the start of our visit – which in itself is slightly worrying. The Burning Ghats were fascinating rather than horrifying; the market had its own beauty – the enormous sacks of fresh aubergines, the piles of garlic, the strength and grace and bearing of the men with their great cumbersome loads.

The sight of the children was pitiful.

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