An Irish nun recently received one of India's highest honours in recognition of her 50-year devotion to 450,000 of India's poorest children. Brian O'Connellspends a day in her Calcutta school
It's getting near dark in downtown Calcutta. In the distance, a new city is under construction, with some 2,000 buildings being erected to provide for a burgeoning middle class. "Exclusive waterfront apartments," coax the billboards, with sushi bars replacing slums, as the metropolis attempts to re-imagine itself for the nouveau riche. Long queues form at the city's first McDonald's, opened here two months ago, while billboards outside five-star hotels welcome Fifa president Sepp Blatter to town. Flashing neon is springing up like ivy all over Calcutta, from Siemens to Nokia, Mountain Dew to Mission Impossible. Even the city is being rebranded - since 2001, the government has insisted that Calcutta be referred to as Kolkata, rather than the anglicised British version.
A man falls to his knees in the middle of a busy intersection. Drivers keep moving, unconcerned. Life comes at discount prices here.
Away from the mayhem, Sr Cyril Mooney leads us into the office of Loreto Day School, Sealdah. On her desk sits the Padma Shree, one of the highest honours bestowed by the Indian president. The award was given to her at a ceremony in New Delhi some weeks earlier in recognition of 50 years of education and social work among the city's poor. Inside the office, children lie scattered around the floor, reading Indian folk tales or playing cards and Ludo. Several ask our names, and then attempt to write them with chalk on the floor. Others finish up the day's chores, scrubbing pans or mopping the tiled floors.
It's almost time for bed. Sr Cyril takes down a red whistle and blows. Hundreds of kids come scuttling out from every corner, demanding bedtime hugs. Sr Cyril embraces each child individually. Kids hang off her arms and legs, reluctant to let go, as humanity makes an all-too-brief appearance in India's ironically titled "city of joy".
Sr Cyril Mooney (71) first came to Lucknow, India, from Bray, Co Wicklow, in 1956 as part of a closed order, largely secluded from the realities of Indian life. The culture shock would come later.
"As nuns, when we came out here first we lived the same life as we did in Ireland, really. We hardly ever came out much. I went to university here in India and I think it was there that I first became aware of what was happening outside the convent gates. We were teaching at that point and had very nice children, mostly well off. Really, we didn't get to the very, very poor at all."
By 1964, Sr Cyril realised she needed to abandon the confines of the convent to assess the needs of the surrounding areas. The sheer scale of the poverty she encountered appalled her and eventually she began taking girls from colleges with her to teach the poorest children she came across. As her work developed, she was transferred to Calcutta in 1979 where she had the autonomy to run her own school.
She saw the fusion of education and social work as key to delivering children from the poverty cycle and began setting out her ethos, which was to take half her students from deprived backgrounds and half from affluent circumstances. The idea was that the fees gathered from the affluent children would help subsidise the poorer ones. After four years, Sr Cyril was facing bankruptcy. She decided to head for home.
"The Indian government had raised salaries, so I was in a bit of a fix," says Sr Cyril. "Someone in Ireland lent me a Fiat Panda and I began to drive to most of the Loreto convents in the country to collect funds. Yet whatever we collected had to go into a general Loreto fund. So I decided to go to all the other schools. I would drive to a place, talk to the nuns in the evening, sleep there, and then talk to the school the next day at five or six different times. I did this for about 17 schools, but we were still way behind our target. Then someone wrote to the mother general in Rome and asked if they could put me on The Late Late Show.
"She agreed, but as it turned out it wasn't convenient, so instead they got me on the Gay Byrne radio show. I was told he'd ask me a question and I was to keep talking until he interrupted. I was warned not to clam up on him! He had some nun on earlier that just gave yes and no answers. Remember, though, I had told this story for the previous 17 days, so when I went into him it flew out of me.
"We talked for a whole hour and we mentioned if anyone wanted to make a donation they could send money to the Loreto convent in Bray. When I went out to Bray later, fellas were driving up in lorries saying, 'here's 10 quid for the nun from India I heard on the radio'. The response was incredible and helped save the school. From that point on we went from strength to strength."
IT IS ESTIMATED THAT, to date, more than 450,000 lives have been transformed by Sr Cyril's work. Her school in Calcutta today caters for 1,400 students, and, since the early 1990s, she has provided accommodation, food and clothing for many of the poorer children attending.
The basic ethos is one of respect. No doors are locked in the school and each child, regardless of background, is treated equally.
"The poor kids are an asset in that they challenge the others by judgments that are not based on social rank. At first, when kids come off the streets, they can't keep clean clothes, do homework or care for books. We have created a space where they can come and sit down and study in a safe environment. They can also get a meal or have a bath if they want. But we never make anyone feel ashamed by telling them they have to wash. Usually, within a week of coming they'll keep clean by themselves.
"The transformations sometimes are amazing to watch. The kids come in looking like little rats and we see them through to starting their first day in work as bright confident young adults. They might come in on 300 rupees (€5) a month and finish up with jobs on 8,000 rupees (€144) a month. But we're careful to train them that you receive to give, so that they bring their whole families along with them."
When the telegram arrived from the Indian president, Avul Pakir Jainulabdeen (APJ) Abdul Kalam, a few months back, Sr Cyril admits she was taken by complete surprise. Very few foreigners are awarded the Padma Shree and she is the sole Irish recipient. "I got a telegram on January 26th and to be honest I really wasn't expecting it at all. I was overwhelmed. It is a very big thing in India to get it, and I couldn't believe it. We went to Delhi and got the five-star treatment. I brought Sister Joan with me and we had a great dinner. The next day we had lunch with the Irish ambassador, Kieran Dowling, and I had a photo taken beside a new plaque dedicated to de Valera in Delhi."
During her first 30 years in India, Sr Cyril rarely got home to Ireland, yet nowadays she tries to return annually. It's a different Ireland, short on spirituality, she says. "Okay, so Ireland has become very affluent but faith has suffered a good bit. I guess people are not so dependent on God as before.
"It's different to here, God is very much part of everyday life here. If someone loses their father they have no problem going around in a bit of thread, shaving their head and letting everyone know their father has died and now they are doing all the religious rituals necessary. You'd never get that in Ireland. Hardly anyone admits they have belief there any more." And with that, the lights go out on Loreto Day School, Sealdah.
The pressures on energy in Calcutta mean power shortages are an almost daily occurrence. Sr Cyril searches for a torch, makes do instead with three candles, and helps light our exit. In their rooms the children giggle and chatter excitedly, unable to sleep because of the blackout. Sr Cyril picks up a copy of The Chronicles of Narnia.
"Who's for a story?"
