Best. Job. Ever.

This is one of those stories that I can’t tell you well. All of the words on the page simply cannot add up to equal the power and beauty of the day. But I will try.

Before Beth left Kolkata we had a huge party for her. We rented a hall, and catered a meal…and she invited anyone and everyone to the party. Our old language teacher, the women of Sari Bari, police, consulate folks, guardians of children we love, women who are still working in the line, friends from years and years back.

It was such a privilege to hand out the invitations with Beth. What a day when we blitzed the gach and visited all the folks she wanted to see one more time and invite to the party…the fact that we couldn’t find “G” (cause you can never find her when you’re looking for her, and we were at her building) and then we were walking around the corner on a different lane, and there she was, buying something from a store…that smile that lights up the dark. You can’t plan this stuff.

And we knew that lots of the women wouldn’t be able to come. But we arranged for me to come back and meet some of them on the day of the party…just to try one more time.

At the set time I left the party to go meet some of the girls…and as I was walking down the lane I saw her. “D” she used to work at Sari Bari, but has quit, and for lots of complicated and layered reasons she continues to struggle to find freedom. I hadn’t seen her in months…and suddenly there she is, standing right in front of me on party day. YES! Since that moment I’ve wondered what it must have been like to be her…I walk around the corner…my face lights up and suddenly there’s a huge smile…cause of her. Cause I found her…cause she was gonna get to come to the party too. Cause she was gonna get to say goodbye to beth…cause we were gonna celebrate, and she was gonna be there.  In that moment was she aware of my joy, of the love, of how deeply valued she was? Could she see it on my face? Oh, I hope so.

She comes hesitantly. She wishes she was dressed better. She is fearful of judgement (because she’s been working in the trade)…but we don’t care. We’re just thankful to see her.  We are thankful to know her. We are thankful she’s at the party.

So I head back out. I head to a brothel that is (pause for lack of appropriate adjective…dark? Not nice? Oppressive? Nasty?) it’s especially dark. It has a different feel than most of the other places (every place has it’s own feel…this one…again, I’m stuck to find the right adjective). But Beth has a dear friend who lives there, and she says that she might come to the party…and man do we want her to come. She says she’s not ready, to come back in a half hour, and she’ll come then. I’m not surprised. We don’t actually think she’s going to come to the party…but that doesn’t stop us from hoping.

I go back in a half hour. She’s still not certain about coming…but it’s for her friend Beth (this is the girl that gave Beth her Bengali name…that’s how far back this relationship goes)…so she decides to go. She won’t come empty handed (even though I’ve said over and over that she doesn’t need a gift…all Beth wants is to see her face)…and we walk through the alleys to the party.

Man…what a moment when she walked in. As I look over the pictures from the party that day I still can’t quite believe she made it there…what a privilege to be part of the “party search committee”

So that was my job on party day…gather people up. Do my best to make sure people didn’t miss the party. To pursue people and be sure they knew how much we wanted them at the party. Seriously…is there a better job?!?!? Going out, finding friends, bringing them to a party. What a privilege to be the one to scour the streets and make sure as many people as possible make it to a party…I’m not sure it gets any better than that.

Maybe every party should have a “party search committee”