My Chinese friend in Calcutta in 1988

A well built but small frame with a height just about the same as mine was Mr John. We met in the church. He was with his wife and one small son and we got into small talks and soon became good friends. He invited me to his father-in-law Chinese shoe shop in one corner of Calcutta New Market. His father-in-law was not a Christian even though John and his wife were. I became a frequent visitor to the shop and every time I went there John and I would chatted endlessly on matters related to our respective lives and our families so on and so forth.  He was a volunteer in a missions field in Africa and while loading and unloading truck loads of literature and food items, he ‘broke’ his back and had to return home. Since then he was helping in the traditional family profession of his in laws in the city of Calcutta. Shoe making was an art in which the Indian Chinese excelled and they have been making shoes that are of excellent quality available for sale at  a relatively cheap rates affordable to college students and young professionals. He would talked of days his team spent in Africa (I do not remember any longer which particular country it was) and how good the Lord was to them in providing what was needed every day. I would tell him about how faithful was the Lord in the remote areas where I was posted, how I took the posting as a preparation to work as a missionary one day and how in all circumstances we saw God’s hands.  I would recount the desire of our family to be in missions but that so far we had not yet found an opening. I would ask my friends in Gideon International why God would not give an opening and I would be told that till we hear a definite calling we were to hold on faithfully to whatever God had allowed us to do as his own work and only move on when we become completely sure of God’s leading o leave our work and place. 

My stint as a Gideon in Calcutta 1998

As Carey Baptist Church was an easy walking distance from All India Institute of Hygiene and Public Health (AIIH&PH) where I was staying for a year, I became a regular member of the Church and attend the Sunday morning services at 8:00 AM. I met a number of wonderful people there and one of them was a tall gentleman who was then working as GM of Calcutta Mint. He was from an engineering background, belonging to the Indian Railways Services cadre and holding the rank of a Joint Secretary under the Government of India. He was conducting TAFTEE courses as he also held a Bachelor of Divinity degree through the same extension program. On our introduction he was wondering if I would be interested in enrolling myself for the course. I did not join the ‘extension’ theological course but very soon we got to know each other better. He also invited me to become a member of the Calcutta chapter of Gideon International which conducted their weekly Bible study fellowship every Friday at a restaurant in Park Street and also a program for distribution of Gideon Bible every Saturday in hotels and schools. I was interested in both the activities and enrolled myself for one year.  Later we also discovered that we both were alumni of Haggai Institute for Advanced Leadership Training in Singapore.

Bible Study every Friday at a restaurant in Park Street with fellow Gideon members was good but a little embarrassing at times. There, I came very close to some extremely devout Christian friends who held pretty high and respectable positions either in government offices or in private companies. Bible study was always very good, so was the food thereafter. The embarrassing part was that after the meeting I had to catch a bus back whereas others drove their own cars and I also had the nagging feeling that the currency notes I used to put in the offertory bag were sure to be the smallest of the lot.

The Saturday Gideon Bible distributions in schools and hotels were good but challenging. On our distribution day we had to reach the Gideon’s store room at Calcutta Baptist Guest House in Lower Circular Road. A fellow Gideon Mr Peacock who held the post of General Manager of the city’s Great Eastern Hotel also lived there. We would load hundreds of Bibles in the cars and then drove to pre-assigned schools or hotels where we had due permission from the concerned authorities. It was wonderful to see how we were welcomed by the authorities. Mr Lee would demonstrate to us how we might lift up heavy loads with due care to our own backs. He actually had a slip disc in the past and wore a belt sometimes but had perfected the art of lifting heavy cartons of books without causing further injury.

One of my biggest challenges was when I wanted to do the same in my own hostel and gave out Bibles to my own hostel mates. I spent considerable time in preparing – praying and rehearsing my lines. Surprisingly every one of the 100 odd residents graciously accepted the Bibles. Another challenge was to do the same to the Hostel Warden who also happened to be Professor and HOD of one of the toughest subjects of our course. I was afraid that if I did not do well in his subject, I might taunted for frittering away my time for such activities without concentrating on my studies. That fear lingered till I had to face him for my viva exams. Luckily God intervened and I had no difficulty in doing well on the particular subject. One of my greatest joys was presenting him with a packet of choice Bibles and telling him that I wish to share what was most precious to me.

Langkham (recollection of 1988 in 2012) 

when we communicate through the language of the body ....

In February 2002 we conducted a workshop on what we called ‘Whole Person Care (WPC)’ for the WPC teams from 8 of our hospitals. We taught that we should not treat people who come to our hospitals as statistical numbers but treat them as people who are just like us ‘made in the image of God’. We spent hours on how to ‘listen’ to them by being sensitive to the language of their emotions. Similarly we also taught how we ought to convey to them our love, concern and acceptance to them through all channels of communication. I took the morning devotion one day and we meditated on how Jesus dealt with the sick and suffering who came to him from the plains and hills of Galilee and Judea. We meditated on how Jesus ‘was filled with compassion’, ‘took pity’, go to the patients’ homes, touched individual patients, touched lepers and the unclean, called them by their names, even touched ‘the coffin of a young person who died’ before he brought him back to life, went to the tomb of Lazarus and wept with Mary and Martha. Here was the Great Physician reaching out to people and communicating with them through extensive use of body language, the language of emotions, of sympathy and empathy, of love and concern and acceptance. I myself was greatly moved and challenged even as I delivered the message that morning. My attitude matters, a few kind words, a small exercise of the facial muscles as we grinned – all these matter so much. It can make a great great difference in the world for a person especially one who is rejected and despised as one who has an infection with HIV and doubly so if he has a background of being an injecting drug user.

About two months later I stood face to face with the test of what all I had ‘sermonized’ on that memorable morning. MM is my brother in law. He has been a drug addict since he was in his late teen and even today twenty years later he is still a drug addict. He had been a junior football player representing the state of Manipur in his school days. He has been through many of the drug rehabilitation programs during the past 15 years or so. He had been through tough programs like jails and jail like situations. Delhi Sahara House has been like his ‘second home’ or more correctly his first home since the past 7/8 years. He is a tough one or perhaps a lucky one as he had nearly died by overdose at least three times and every time he was revived with the magic ‘Nalorphine’ that was available only in black market at an exorbitant rate of Rs1000/- or more. He was lucky I must say because one time it was so while he was in a Jail and he was brought to us at the nick of time by the panic-stricken jail authorities. He was also lucky not to acquire HIV for a pretty long time unlike his contemporary drug-injecting friends. He and I tested our blood prior to donating our blood to his father when the latter was operated upon in 1994. We were then very pleased to know he was still free of the infection and advised and admonished him to be extremely careful to avoid getting infected with HIV. But he could not hold it off for very long. He could not stop using drug and as a family we could not condone his drug use and his habit of battering away family belongings everyday. He took his injection surreptitiously and could not avoid sharing needles and syringes. Of course he stopped drug use many times in between and then relapsed back again and again and again. When he is sober, he is really a nice guy, lovable and loved by all. With his salary he would buy us gifts that would bring us to tears. So good, only regret is that it never lasts. When he is under pressure of the need to procure drugs urgently he could become extremely rude and called us names and gave us threats of all kinds. During the past few years our routine has been something like this – a vicious cycle of relapse, running way from the rehab centre, days in the street that finally ended in our doorsteps. Without exchanging many words we would co-exist, then gradually fall into small talks and laughs, then again relapsing from home, then an ultimatum for him to make a choice of three or four rehab options whence he invariably would choose to go back to Sahara House where he knew somehow because his and also perhaps my good relationships with the house leaders he would somehow be given yet another chance. The vicious cycle gets repeated every now and then much to the chagrin of my own children who could not understand why we had such a soft corner for him.

This summer in 2002 when he landed up in our house, it was somehow different. He came from the street looking haggard, tired and malnourished. I knew tough love was called for, so I spoke very little to him. However I was in a fix. I asked myself ‘what would Jesus do’? What kind of expression would he convey to him? My children asked me how long was he going to stay with us, as our house was pretty full with two other relatives staying with us. I did not say anything to any one except telling my wife quietly that she should not send him away unless he himself chooses to leave. I just could not imagine myself packing him off to the street in the summer heat of 40+ degrees Celsius. As he stayed on, I asked myself – how about the body language of love, what about a small smile in my face, how about a nudge if not a touch to show I care and I love and most importantly that my God cares for him. I just could not bring myself to do any of these somehow. I knew I failed in all the ‘body languages’ that I was passionately speaking about. Everyday I felt defeated. Three days back he went to Delhi Positive Network Plus (DPN +) Office where he found out that his ‘abstract’ (“Coping HIV without antiretroviral”) has been accepted for poster presentation at Barcelona International AIDS Conference. I got him a scholarship application form from the Internet and he was quick to fill them up furiously. I never knew that he has a good command of English. He did not even need to ‘draft’ but completed the form in just one attempt. Later I typed them up for him so that it would look even more neat.  Unfortunately we found out later that the last date for applying scholarship was already over. I frantically sent out an SOS to some Positive Network people I knew abroad knowing too well that it is most likely to be of no avail really. 

He could never give up smoking and I suspected that most probably he was also taking a combination of some hard drugs. He frequently asked money especially to his nephews and nieces. Sometimes some money mysteriously disappeared from ‘purses’ and I would be informed about it later. I knew I needed to confront him and pull him up. I knew I could not allow this to go on, as it would send the wrong signal. Today it had happened again. Rs.500 earmarked and kept for a small machine part to be sent home to Manipur was lost and I had to cover it. That was like the last straw that broke the camel’s back. I knew I would have to confront him now and inform him that unless he mends and changes his way, I could not allow him to stay with us any longer. Before I could speak those words, may be he read my mind and understood my body language. He quietly started packing his belongings. He had told me earlier that once Director of Sahara House returns back to Delhi he would go back to there and we knew the Director was expected back yesterday. I thought, may be, he was preparing to go there. He quietly picked up his backpack – a small one that can hold all his earthly possessions I believe – and started to open the door. As he was leaving I asked him where he was heading for – he replied that some of his friends are going home and he is also going to go home with them!

The sense of failure I felt brought me close to tears. In 1994 I left my job in the government with a sense of call to serve people like him, the recurring motivational theme being ‘beauty for ashes’, ‘oil of gladness instead of mourning’. As he walks away I was overwhelmed with a sense of emptiness, helplessness, defeat and failure. “Lord I cannot love. I cannot change him. I cannot do it. Lord you alone love. You alone can change. You alone can do it.” Will he ever change? Or will he continue to use drugs till he is too weak to look for them? “Sovereign God, you alone can make the difference”.

Today we ended the day with his nephew reading the Daily Bread for 20^th May 2002. It talked about the songwriter Thomas A. Dorsey who in 1932 was overtaken with grief by the demise of his pregnant wife with the child during childbirth while he was away ministering God’s word. In grief, he composed the famous song:

Precious Lord, take my hand, Lead me on, let me stand;

            I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;

Through the storm, through the night, lead me on to the light;

Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

And through the darkness of the night, I recalled the powerful voice of the famous singer Jim Reeves who immortalized this song or who this song immortalized and I clung to the words of the hymn for comfort and for peace.

As I reflected back, I realized that ‘caring’ as a one of encounter or bedside caring as we make hospital rounds is easier. However a consistent and sustained caring is almost humanely impossible. An example of sustained ‘caring’ such as was reportedly done by a retired missionary doctor for his wife with Alzheimer’s disease for 15 long years was perhaps an exceptional one. My experience with MM also reminded me how many many times I myself had been unfaithful to God and yet for umpteen times how he allowed me to come back to him again and again. In the Bible Israel had prostituted against Jehovah as many as 300 times and yet divine love still accepts them again and again. To be able to love ‘even as I (Jesus) love you’, we need Him to do it through us. Meanwhile even a ‘cup of cold water given in his name’ is however never missed. As we suffer with those who suffer, may be we perhaps are completing the suffering of Christ as St Paul said in his pastoral letter.

 

LK 25/05/02 9 PM