Give Until It Hurts, Mother Teresa Remembered

The Missionaries of Charity was founded by Mother Teresa on October 7, 1950.

I first met her sometime in mid-1994 when I saw her sitting on a chair in the security lounge of the Kolkata Airport. A foldable wheelchair was kept alongside and three sisters, one of them Sister Nirmala, were standing near her. Mother Teresa was sitting slouched, her neck drooped down and it seemed that she was silently meditating. The other passengers, all as awe-struck as me, had all formed a big ring around her; they were being kept a safe distance away by the sisters. A few passengers made timid moves to come nearer, but the sisters and the policemen present waived them away.

I was instantly drawn towards her. I made my way forward, standing as close as I could, just watching the frail old lady with the blue-bordered white sari, sitting oblivious to all the flurry and movement that was happening around her. The sisters had formed a protective ring, as I tiptoed forward, hands folded, with a certain degree of trepidation, Sister Nirmala came forward, and shaking her head told me that Mother was not to be disturbed. She had recently suffered a second heart attack and had been fitted with a pacemaker.

I retraced and stood at the edge of the crowd, watching her. The calm serenity which surrounded her and the sheer reverence of all the people gathered touched me. There was an aura around her; the feeling of being near her is indescribable.

Suddenly Mother woke up with a jerk and looked straight up at me. She nodded her head, beckoning me to come closer. At first, I could not believe that it was I she was gesturing to. I looked around at the other people who were standing on either side; one old gent gently nudged me forward.

I slowly walked towards her, Sister Nirmala once again came as a barrier, looking visibly annoyed, but Mother whispered something and I was let forth. The people all around were watching in pin-drop silence. I was embarrassed and confused. I went near the Mother and stood awkwardly, my figure towering over the small diminutive little woman. She looked up, I knelt down in front of her, and she put both her hands on my head and then on my face.

My life was going through a transitional ebb phase. Bad relationships at the workplace, poor self-esteem, stress and frustration and other negative factors were causing havoc. I had taken up a high-profile appointment, a job which I had hated right from the first day. It changed my overall attitude towards life. These prevalent negative thoughts were tremendously powerful; I had been drifting with my emotions and feeling quite lost at sea.

Mother held my face in her small hands. Her bony fingers touched my eyes and forehead, her warm palms against my cheeks. I do not know why, but I just broke down. Not gentle sobs, but a deluge. I am never one for public displays of affection, but that afternoon, I cried as I had never done before. Mother cradled my face, took me gently towards her and clasped me close to her chest. I could feel the soft beating of her heart, and I cried even more. She was wearing a small locket on a black string, it dug into my face. I do not know how long she held me, time stopped. I remember Sister Nirmala tugging me by my shoulders. I pulled away and looked up at the weathered face with the gentlest eyes I have ever seen. The love that Mother Teresa gave me in those fleeting seconds; it cannot be described, it could only be experienced. She wiped my tears with the edge of her sari.

“Tomar naam?” Mother asked me in Bengali.

“Anil”, I said.

“Anil, bhogoban achhe”! That was all that she spoke to me.

And then she did something inexplicable. Mother took her hands behind her head and tried to unknot the black string with the locket. Her knobby fingers could not get at the knot; Sister Nirmala came forward and unknotted it for her. Mother Teresa pulled the locket out and put it in my palm. She then twisted the black string into a loop and handed it to one of the sisters. I was dumbfounded, absolutely confused. I held the small locket, not knowing what to do.

I guess the announcement for her flight was being made; the policemen and security staff had all come closer. I was still kneeling down; Mother got up, put her hand on my head and ruffled my hair. They were insisting that she take the wheelchair, but she chose to walk. The last sight I had of her was her frail form walking away from me, slowly. The people around were making way for her with folded hands, she was acknowledging them, taking short steps and stopping after every few steps she took. She turned around and gave me a loving fleeting look and then she was gone.

I got up and sat on the seat that the mother had occupied minutes earlier. I could see many people watching me; the experience had affected even them. A few came near me but then decided otherwise. They were embarrassed by my embarrassment. I sat there for a long time; my flight was three hours late. An old lady, from one of the northeastern states, came and sat alongside. She asked to see the locket; I held it in my outstretched arm. She gently touched it. “You are a very blessed person,” she said.

I took my flight a few hours later. I was in a stupor, for the next full day, I just did not speak to anyone. I will not say that this was a life-changing experience for me, but things were certainly different after that day. Over the next few weeks, I got a realisation that I had been fighting the ebb and flow of my feelings and instead allowed myself to swim with these variations rather than resisting them. I gave up my job and got a new one.

After this incident, I visited Mother Teresa’s places whenever I was in Kolkata. I visited the homes at Ripon Street, Park Street and Kalighat and saw her half a dozen times. Each time, I got her autograph; in one she had even mentioned ‘God Bless You Anil’ before putting her wiry and shaky signature.

In April 1996, Mother Teresa fell and broke her collarbone. In August she suffered from malaria and failure of the left heart ventricle for which she underwent surgery, but it was clear that her health was declining. In 1997, she asked to be relieved as Superior General, but all the sisters once again voted for her. There was one dissenting vote, her own. Nevertheless, in March 1997, she stepped down as the head of the Missionaries of Charity.

Mother Teresa died on 5 September 1997. I went to the funeral and stayed there the full four days. I still visit Mother’s House whenever I am in Kolkata. On my last visit, I was touched to see that the sign at the door still reads Mother Teresa ‘IN’.

Mother had often said, “The good news is that God loves us. Let us be grateful for that love by loving others. It is more blessed to give than to receive….”

The more I recall the incident, the more worthwhile the recalling seems. I have often wondered why I was the chosen one whom she summoned to come near her. The small locket is now my most prized possession.

The tiny pieces of paper which have her autograph are now worth a fortune. Incidentally, a single autograph sells for Rs 10,000.