Touch at 3 am

I woke up at 3:30 again this morning. It is difficult, once awake to coax myself back to sleep. The beds are little more than a wooden frame with a thin mattress on top. Forget box springs or anything else that could increase snoozing comfort! Now, lets keep in mind that I am the girl who sleeps atop a feather mattress liner with no less than four luscious pillows meticulously placed for optimum sleeping comfort (yes, I am the Princess and the Pea). In my current lodging, there is one sheet covering the mattress and one pillow. I have no sheet or blanket with which to cover myself. My bones ache from hours of lying on the slightly padded wooden bed... no wonder I am awake around 4 am most mornings! I wonder if the Missionaries of Charity (Mother Teresa's order) have blankets next door... still, my coverless bed is not the street outside.

I pass so many people lying on ragged blankets along the sidewalks. As I approach, I pray that they are sleeping: partly so that unconsciousness may ease whatever physical pain they are experiencing, and partly so that I do not have to go to extremes to 'ignore' their plea for a rupee (which is roughly 2.5 cents US).

I noticed yesterday that I had not been touched (besides a greeting handshake) in days... since Dan and I greeted one another 'hello' with a hug inside the Western-catering Imperial Hotel in Delhi. I came to this realization as I brushed by a woman sitting on the street. I felt a tingle run through my arm as she lightly touched it. My body was shocked my the gentle graze, and I found myself wishing that the contact had been longer. Funny, that. Depressing, that.

I then thought of Margarete, the retired UK teacher and Baptist missionary who spends 6 months a year in Kolkata working in the infant room of a daycare for street children. She spends her days holding small children while their mothers attend classes on home economics and basic hygiene. I am both envious and frightened of the affection she must receive there; I find myself desiring it more than fearing it today.

As I continued walked, I saw to Sisters walking together, in their familiar blue and white sari uniforms. I thought of 'Mother' (Mother Teresa is simply 'Mother' here) and a story came to mind that I heard a couple of years ago. She came across a man covered in infection and maggots. The volunteer with her asked if he should find a doctor, and Mother said 'no', a doctor would be of no help. She then leaned down, next to the man, and took his hand for a moment before beginning to suck the maggots and infection from his wounds. This man was going to die -- no matter what -- but Mother was going to do the one thing she could do to ease his pain in the mean time. She took his hand first. She touched him before getting to her work. I wonder how many lives have been affected by the kindness of her touch...