I’m Gonna Mishti This Place

The final two weeks came and went so quickly. Visiting the shelter home for longer periods with control over the agenda, I really wanted the girls to explore their imaginations more, helping us to get a better sense of how they were feeling when simply asking yields little result, I thought to begin with a meditation. I asked them to close their eyes and really concentrate on the first image that comes to mind. Unfortunately, this meditation caused more tension then peace, as the girls opened their eyes to frantically report that they could see nothing but black. However, despite this overwhelming failure, one success rose with a vivid explanation of bright clouds dripping rain as this one girl’s personified future descended to retrieve her. She later came up to me to introduce herself and share her passion for writing, a talent she clearly has in how beautifully she could describe a vision that had never physically occurred. Then, after this uplifting encounter, I learned that the girls that had complained of seeing nothing but black had gone to Smarita saddened by it, feeling so trapped they couldn’t even retreat to their imaginations for relief. With that, I decided on a second meditation, one directed at the senses, with the added reward of a cookie. This meditation, while still not seamless, elicited a greater response when calling upon the girls’ memories to identify what it was they were feeling, smelling, hearing, tasting, and, finally, seeing, though they enjoyed the tasting the most. The girls really opened up that day, my last day with them. They saw my necklace, some recognizing Mary and the cross, revealing their own and sharing their beliefs, defining beauty as the kindness of the heart, and assuring me that my previously criticized dancing was actually good because I tried. These girls have been through so much that I can’t even imagine, yet in all the darkness they see, they exude nothing but radiance in their wisdom and compassion.

Back to the Destiny party, since we were unable to host it at the shelter home, we couldn’t invite the girls, but the women from the community center attended with their families, along with Destiny employees, chairpersons, and friends. The day of, I was sent to help collect the cake from one of Smarita’s friends who often came to visit us at Destiny. Her mother welcomed me into her home by lifting my chin with a little shake of my cheek, repeating something to the effect of “mishti” before saying, “that’s how we greet our girls” and directing me over to the cake. Having never met this woman, I was still considered part of the family as one of “our girls.” I had heard the term “mishti” before but didn’t learn until later that it meant “sweet,” perfectly defining that moment and all the moments I shared with everyone being so inviting throughout the fellowship. The party accounted for many such fond memories between the pictures, competitions, and dancing, but the sharing that came after it all was one of the best. Smarita arranged for us to have teatime with the survivors that work at Destiny. We had seen them so much throughout the six weeks, but only had a handful of more personal encounters with just a few. This time, we sat down and talked about ourselves, our families, exchanged currencies, and traded language lessons, including Italian, Spanish, Bengali, and English. The room was full of laughter. Even having witnessed the breathtaking waterfalls and impossibly natural root bridges of Cherrapunjee, nothing was more beautifully “mishti” than the joy I found in everyone I met through Destiny.