Last night, at 10pm, I took a taxi from a restaurant here in India to the priest home near Bl. Mother Teresa’s “Motherhouse.”  As the taxi started, a dwarf jumped in my taxi, unannounced and uninvited.  He said to me “Hello, boss!” from his side in the back where we both were.   He immediately rolled his window and popped his head out as we barreled through traffic.  He began yelling at the extremely crowded Kolkata streets in Bengali, assumedly to get out of the way.  With his head out, standing up, he looked like an American cowboy hooting and hollering, stomping his feet in delight against the floor of the taxi.  The driver (at his chin) seemed rather to enjoy the raucous.  I did too, though I sadly wondered why I couldn’t live the quiet life of a parish priest for even one week.