My mother makes sure to remind me of her sentiments on life and dharma (duty) at a rather consistent bi-weekly basis.
Basically, she is trying to tell me that she wants me to be the next Mother Theresa. Furthermore, she is absolutely convinced is it going to happen – she has lots of faith. Thus, when there was a presentation at temple about a social service program affiliated with my church, doing work in rural India, I felt it was the opportunity of a lifetime which would be a perfect place for me to start my chrysalis towards being the most compassionate being in the world.Convincing my parents to let me go was not too difficult: my mother was ready from the beginning, and the work was in India, our motherland, so my father could not say
no to aiding kindred souls. Promptly, it was agreed that my father and I would go to Sidhbari, India over the approaching summer break. As the arrangements were being made, I eagerly looked over the lists of what to take there. Excitedly, I packed up my precious stuffed animal collection, and the hundreds of brightly colored pencils I had amassed over the years. I even spent hours making pretty little knot bracelets. It would be simple like I had seen in those documentaries: I would spend time with the kids and give them toys and goods; they would be happy and life would eventually work out. I was confident and mentally prepared for my first saintly deed – it was no biggie.That is how I boarded the plane June 8th, 2007, journal in hand, ready to document my trip. On a side note, part of the bargain of letting me go was that I would keep a daily journal or write a paper about my trip to compensate for not doing a lame summer internship or attending some hollow “leadership” summer camp. Well, that never really happened; all I wrote down in that black and white polka-dotted journal was a list of the names of people I met during the trip who I felt made an impact on my life. While it was enough for me, it was not really descriptive enough for my mom. So, here it is, Mom – this one is for you.
Arriving in India is always a bit of a culture shock. Arriving there is like being translocated to the center of the origin of chaos. The massive amounts of people, the swerving traffic, the intense heat, and sweet, dusty smell all hit at once. Needless to say, after the grueling twenty-one hours of plane flight and the sleepless night on the train, I was an anxious mess and was not looking forward to the three hour motion sickness-inducing drive through the mountainous region. However, my views changed when the taxi driver arrived.
As strange this may sound, Sonu was the most compassionate driver I had ever met. Just like his name (sonu means gold), he had a smile of gold: it started with the upward curl of his lips and extended deep into his eyes. His smile personified warmth and caring – and most importantly – a genuine interest. As we journeyed to the foothills of the Himalayas, Sonu kept us captivated and excited to be there with his sprightly manners, all while taking special care to drive like a million dollar chauffeur. He had a true passion for being the best possible driver, but also in really taking an interest in us. He tried his best to communicate through his broken English, and when could say nothing else, flashed that ever-comforting million dollar smile. Thinking back to Sonu, I realize compassion requires taking a genuine interest in others’ and working to comfort them.
Thus, we arrived at the magnificently landscaped ashram – a Hindu place of religious study equivalent to a Buddhist monastery – ready to settle in. When the director of the ashram welcomed us, I did not realize how much I would come to appreciate the fact that he spoke in English. As we attended dinner later that evening, I quickly became aware of the fact that I could only understand a tenth of what anybody was saying, as they were all speaking in Hindi. How I wished I could say the magic word and instantly know Hindi. The next day as I explored the place where I was to be performing my saintly deeds for the next two weeks, the prospects of me talking to anybody for that time period swiftly vanished from slim to none; at the Chinmaya Organization for Rural Development (CORD), most people spoke Pahadi, a wickedly twisted , faster version of Hindi. How was I ever to connect with and better the lives of people whom I could not even sustain more than a five minute conversation with? All of my hopes of being Mother Teresa were sufficiently dashed.
Right at that moment, the heavens sent a blessing galloping in, some sunshine to clear up the clouds, in the form of three-year-old Krishna, who ironically even bears the names of one of my favorite deities. The guide showing me around explained how little Krishna had already undergone three major surgeries in an attempt to heal
his awkwardly twisted leg, as he attacked her with a flurry of hugs and playful punches. He glanced over, noticing me the stranger, and I, not knowing what else to do, gave him a Sonu-like smile which had previously comforted me. That was the trick! Krishna energetically hobbled over and began to use my hand as a doodling pad for the pen he had just found. At that moment, I was struck by the magical effectiveness of a simple smile. Smiling, it dawned on me, is the language of peace, love and happiness, a language that everybody understands and speaks. It breaks barriers otherwise unbreakable and makes connections in the most unassuming places. Through my lesson learned from Krishna, I made many fast friends, and even though unable to technically communicate, I was able to communicate my joy, love and compassion.
As I spent more time with Krishna, I had to attend his physical therapy sessions with him. Though it was excruciatingly painful to watch, and as desperately as I wanted to let him skip out as he begged to do every time, I knew I had to be patient and stand firm. As I saw so many examples of at CORD, compassion also requires a tough side. There were mandatory Alcoholics Anonymous types of classes for the village men who constantly went home as raging, abusive drunks. Though the farmers were not particularly inclined to change how they had farmed all their lives, they had to attend classes about more effective methods of farming. Everybody attended classes on money management. Because the best is wanted for everybody, there are times when it is understood that while patiently empathizing, it is also required to be strict and disciplinary. True compassion is not just being able to sympathize; it also requires teaching and taking care of what is necessary.
On the other hand, compassion also calls for allowing people to freely express themselves. The villagers being serviced by CORD also had the opportunities to learn a variety of skills – whatever they pleased. There was sewing, weaving, and artwork, among many others. The villagers who volunteered to cook could not have been any happier to help prepare the meals. Compassion allows for people to flourish at what they are good at. It is a form of encouragement, meant to help them move forward and learn about themselves and their capabilities.
A working compassion seems to require having a conglomeration of all positive traits – that probably explains why compassionate people are so successful in their endeavors. Dr. Kshama Metre, the founder and director of CORD, is one of the most
compassionate people I have ever met. Kshama Didi (sister), as she is affectionately called by the villagers, was originally a doctor in the United States with an extremely successful practice. Not satisfied with her life, she had a calling to doctor in the rural villages of India, thus leaving her old life behind in the most selfless of actions. Sensing the need for change in the area, she opened CORD and designed the entire system which teaches the villagers how to build their own lives; now, people from villages two hours away make a daily commute of two hours in order to go to CORD. A program built so attractively requires a multitude of empathetic conscientiousness of what the people want and need, what they like and dislike. Most of all, an active compassion like that of Kshama Didi’s, requires a passion fueled by pure love.As I continue to blossom and learn in my journey to being the most compassionate being I can be, I keep the people of Sidhbari in mind. This life should be filled with a passion for what I do, being interested in everybody, the ability to communicate, some tough love, being understanding, taking action and being selfless for what I believe in, and mostly importantly, having and sharing love.
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