The bell at the door

I was in Kolkata, so i thought of exploring 'the city of joy'. It was a sweaty, sunny day.. the sun melted us. 

I made a note to self, April is not a season if I planned a visit again. So after filling our stomachs to our heart's content at Park Street, and then afternoon tea at Flurry's, the weather God smiled on us. 

The weather suddenly changed ,strong wind blew and it rained. Over the cup of tea, me and my friend were discussing the weather ,when she pointed we have a place left to visit .... 'The Mother house '. I was having second thoughts considering the weather, being tired, and mostly because of my laziness, but my friend insisted strongly for the visit. 

Then we reached there in 15 min, and sprang out of car towards a door directed by the driver. The lane had two doors, one of which was closed to my dismay and in the rain I panicked.. then I thought of checking the other door, but it was closed. I saw here and there to ask if the home was closed. But in rain even the girl across the street couldn't hear me, so we thought of knocking the door but then we saw a bell at the door, the old kind of bell, which is rung by the string attached to it,mainly seen at temples now a days and so we rang it. 

Doubting that someone may not answer.... But there was this person clad in white saree, serene looking with sweetest smile and she greeted us, and asked was it our first time there ,to which we nodded and said yes. 

Her warmth took away our coldness, the wet clothes and our hair seemed comfortable to us in an instant. 

As we entered, a sudden peace was drawn to us. Time had slowed, the air was different. It felt different. We entered mother's shrine, a small prayer room was laid around it.Sitting there I thought of her life. How much she gave selflessly to all. It was all love. 

The poorest of poor , the unwanted , the untouchables, and the orphans, all came to her door, like we did helplessly in rain, ringing that bell. 

Seldom people touch us in the way, Mother Teresa did. Even after her death , her legacy is carried by 'Missonories of charity' , almost hundred of sisters living there, carrying her flame. 

I too prayed there for more compassion, and to be a better human. 

And her words stayed with me, echoing 'The greatest poverty of the world is not want of food, but want of love. The poverty of heart is often more difficult to relieve and to defeat.'

Saying our goodbyes to the young nun who  showed us the home, we carried peace in our hearts from 'the city of joy'.