Alms & Beggars…

I always wondered about your impressions over this aspect we encounter on roads.

I don’t like beggars. Not because they are ugly poor or needy. But because I respect them as fellow human beings. I treat them as if they are capable of things that I could perform… for that matter any other human being could perform. That is to have a little amount of confidence in and little amount of self-esteem and ability to sweat a little.

I distinctly remember those days when I was a kid… that beggars used to beg for food. And nothing else. My mother used to give them a nickel or dime when she was too embarrassed to tell them that she does not have food to spare for them. She used to tell me that giving food as alms is the greatest service you could do to your fellow human being. I could not quite comprehend what she meant till I grew up and started to see things in materialistic perspective,

The vice of giving some useful thing to a fellow human being is repeatedly taught in very religion. In Islam it’s emphasized to the peak point. In Hinduism it’s narrowed to giving food as alms. I found some sense over a period of time what my mom told me. Food… is the life giver and one cannot consume it beyond a point. Mainly because one cannot accumulate food as wealth as it perishes and cannot eat like a hog till his tummy burst. This facet actually makes one who receives satisfied at some point. And anything else than food… be it money, cloths any other thing they consider valuable… the greed you will see right before your eyes has no end.

I never saw a single Sikh Beggar. They are a proud clan who sweats out even at an old age, making knives and things that could be used in kitchen. I have immeasurable respect towards their attitude.

Buddhist monks on the other hand… in the name of reclusion need to beg for sustenance. Please do not misinterpret my intentions. But I believe every human being has a purpose in this world that serves the fellow human being in one-way or the other.

I do not give any alms to beggars of normal age. How much ever they look destitute, ignored or needy. That leaves me two other categories. Children and elderly people. Both are innocent victims in this diabolic setup of what we see around. I saw many children made use of in earning money through identifying the givers weakness for innocence. I used to watch them in anguish but restrain myself in extending my hand as I feel the way these children learn new techniques in begging, they must also learn that they must see how satisfying it is to make them selves worthy.

Actually I am too perplexed here. I feel a child’s life must only be filled with love, basic needs and learning. I do not advocate labor to them for sustenance. I am baffled between advocating an employment to a child to begging. Many a times I watch urchins blissfully unaware of their inadequacy when they are not hungry. Few kids genuinely move me to tears. These kids are not gallantry enough to beg. They meekly sit at an unseen corner hugging them selves not meeting any eye. They don’t even beg. I am cruelly observant and willing to waste my time on convincing myself if this kid is such a kid who is hungry but feels ashamed to beg.

I approach them and ask them if hey had food. Quite naturally they would say no. But I trust not their words. I look deeply in to their eyes and see weakness and hunger in them. Then I would lead them to canteen and buy them some food. Most of them grab the food and run to a corner, try not to mingle with other crowd who are confident enough in what they buy. I feel enraged by the attitude of the food venders as they condescendingly look at that urchin who grabs food from their hands that’s paid for. I tried reason with the kid to stay proud at the counter and eat in dignity. Sure they obeyed me but with an obvious fear and embarrassment. I watch them as my heart not only break but burn. Once they finish I ask them if they want more. One guy asked me shyly that he wanted a sweet. I closed my eyes tight shut to contain tiding pain out of my heart. Bought him what ever he wanted. I again asked him if he wanted more food. He said no.

My mom was right. Giving food to the needy is the greatest virtue. It extends the hope in life for a few more hours where an urchin could think clearly to do something better. It makes me feel better as it pinch not my pocket but… also not my ego and my own personal greed over not spending too much money.

Then come elderly people. They are too incapable to think, move and decide in anyway they wish. They meekly submit to anything that comes before them. They are too lonely in this world not just because they were abandoned by their own. But their own strength and body abandoned them. I do not know if food alone could help them. I sometimes give them money. May be they are in need of some medicine that I am not aware of.

All in all I learnt one thing for sure. Its food and the unequivocal respect we must offer towards food. There is only one way to do it. Waste not food. What ever is not wasted may be consumed by some other tummy and live for another day. Food is god. Respect food more than anything that you chose to respect. Always eat 10% less than what your body demands. It’s the best was not only to save food but also to keep your body be treated irresponsibly. Eat green and raw veggies of fruit more as life still radiates out of them. Plant not plants and trees for beauty and style. Plant trees that offer food and medicine.

Allow me please… to know your perspectives about this matter I raised.

Inadequate Life

I often find it a worthy thought to contemplate. To seek what we desire only in inadequate form. Dreaming and striving to reach the end of desire and devotion too. May be its a hind sight to see what I can not achieve is treated as sour grapes. But then I look back at those what I achieved to fruition. They are there... Lying around and not bein paid attention to.

Now... How do I see this aspect in my personal relations???

I have been vehemantly in love... to the point of suffocation to those whom I loved. Its a pleasure to see such belongingness till people find it an ebbing reality. When dreams fade and eyes open to panaromic confusion of light and darkness and a maze of needs and relaities.

Freedom is the only thing I cherished and dreamt of when I was in my blooming years. I pushed myself towards that so called FREEDOM only to realize that... Freedom is not free.

Its a prison unseen. Today when I look back, look forward and look where I stand.... I see myself all alone. Looking at the sparkling stars... I call... My friends.

Some vowed to be there for me... forever sparkling. Some faded away in to oblivion. And night envelops me like a silent lover and let me be free to tackle my reality by day.

I am indebted to those who had and have tears for me in their eyes...

May god bless all those people who love truely and honestly... For a momentory love they germinated within their hearts for me....

I was disappointed….

I was around six years of age that time. Summer holidays were suffocatingly pleasurable with so much freedom and so little options to run away from home to play. A sense of unlimited options to explore my fantasies always resulted in adventures that were understood and appreciated only by me. Like walking along the railway track till I felt that I crossed the border of country within an hour and suddenly started feeling hungry pangs in my little tummy then… with a desperate look towards the horizon where the parallel tracks meet (Well…. I always tried to reach that point where the tracks met at distance infinite. But I always used to get hungry in between). And return back where I came back. By the time I reached home my legs were lead and I used to walk like a deep-sea diver on seabed.

Used to chomp up what ever mom gave with no complaints other wise was a diatribe about finding onion silvers, chopped coriander, and gawky garlic… Yikess…. Why can’t U make a curry with no vegetables in it?? I used to scream at my mom. Some times she used to answer me responsibly and patiently and other times she simply used to take away the plate before me, which I forcefully retrieved back. I used to eat al that stuff as my face getting contorted in unspeakable modern art form.

Then next day I used to hunt for places where they were constructing new homes. For they used to pour huge mountains of sand and I thought even Himalayas are not so tall. And believe me… with no harness and rope and no mountaineering gear or shoes and no rescue helicopters I used to scale the sand mountain as my stick thin legs get buried till my knees. And high from up I used to watch the head tops of my other pals who were attempting the same adventure. Then suddenly from nowhere the guard came running towards us and we jumped off the cliff (I mean sand mountain cliff) like Agent 007 of British secret services (But of course with no custom made parachute give by Mr. Q). And used to run like wind back to home.

With lungs heaving and hair disheveled we refused to wash our feet that were sprinkled with fine sand. Then dad used to reward my adventure with a high impact hand imprint on my back that radiated thermal energy greater than all of the nuclear power plants of the world put together. That’s how I was forced against my will to be clean.

Great…

Now for fishing. I used to look at awe as fishermen bring fish as big as me. I thought that fishing is the greatest adventure man could ever get involved with. But when I took a look at a breath-taking pond my heart slipped off my chest cavity and ran deeper in to my tummy. I thought it’s a bad idea to go inside the pond, as I did not even taken a few steps the water came to my chest level.

Nahh… I told my self. But my determination to fish was over powering. And my disappointment was profound. After a few days of exploration in unexplored region of my small town I discovered a small stream with pockets of ditches with static water. And wow… I saw tiny fishes swimming happy within. I screamed in joy… perhaps even Christopher Columbus, Vasco D’Gama and even the great Magellan could not have screamed the way I did. My next step was to jump in the ditch in glee…

Opps… suddenly I discovered that the clear water in the ditch has became cloudy and wall the tiny fishes ran away as if they witnessed a riot. I could not quite comprehend what happened. And I stood there for a while as swirling dust settled and water became clear again. Now I see fishes again. I tried cupping them in my tiny hands but damn it they were too fast. I spent next four hours trying to catch them and only getting my underpants wet in the process. This is madness, I decided. I came out went back home.

Night was restless for me in devising devious plans to catch tiny fish. Mom’s sari gave me an idea. Next day armed with a piece of cloth I marched towards the stream and water pockets like Alexander the great headed towards India. This time I was too careful not to jump in the water and make it cloudy. I asked my other friend who is equally keen on mastering the art of fishing… two corners of the cloth and I held the other two. And there we go… Voila… the tiny unsuspecting fish… although suspecting the sudden panoramic pattern emerged beneath them other than yesterday’s muddy background.

And here…. We pulled the cloth high up as water gushed down and tiny fishys wiggled in fear. Then we put then in a bottle filled with water. Now we had a slight altercation over sharing fish amongst us. I insisted that the idea was mine hence the intellectual property rights applied there of shall make me automatically a bigger share holder in this venture. My pal said with out him holding the other corned of the cloth I would have been dived in to the stream and be greeted by all those fish in real time.

I grumbled and shared the tiny fish we caught. I got four fish as my share. That day onwards I was too obsessed with my fish. I used to look at them as they swam either in confusion or glee all around the bottle in which they were imprisoned. I used to feed them with boiled rice I picked from my own meal day in day out.

And after six days as I rubbed my eyes out of my bed and walked toward the bottle, my heart stopped. It was a betrayal worst than Brutus inflicted on Caesar. Two my fish sprouted hind legs…

They were all tadpoles.

Damn it…

I screamed louder than Count Vlad when he discovered that his Mina killed herself.

Great… I decided that not all fish are fish. Some of them are tadpoles.

No thanks to you… Don’t laugh… OK?????

A Girl Who Always Dreams…

She is silent in her demeanor. Curious in her heart. Baffled in her logic. Dreamy in her life. I know this girl past four years. I discovered her, as she was too keen on discovering if anyone could be as restless as she was. What started as a shy conversation socked with interest in each other. Her child like innocence coupled with streaks of impressive intelligence made me wonder, if she is what she was claiming. A teenager with ideas and images that make any head swim in wonder.

For some reason that’s not clear she used to be sensitive about her loneliness. Accepted no intrusion from real world around. Curious about being probed in concern. Awaited an opportunity to smile unhindered. All the while her own unseen fear guided her to be cautious.

With confidence offered by being incognito she tried to find if she could share the burden of my heart. I asked why would she be interested in the pain I have been guarding over a period of time. Her smile was so pure and as she said… Won’t it lessen if you share??? I smiled in return and said Pain can not be lessened in principle as it just gets passed to another heart that’s willing to share.

Yet another smile and she told me perhaps my pain would collide with her pain and neutralize. Perhaps she would see that her pain is no greater than my own pain as she try understanding the same.

I was taken aback.

I told her the perilous journey I took in my life that’s a protracted effort between head and heart. Surely used my discretion not to infuse the intensity of pain that she is not aware of. She absorbed my words in silence and with a softness that’s so soothing… said… I will be there for you… To listen to you… To wait for you… To think of you.

I asked her what would she get in return. Its again words soft… like chimes of wind bells in silent breeze… I need nothing except your willingness to share thoughts with me. I need nothing but to touch you from afar and unseen… when your tear is sliding down your cheek. I need nothing else than an opportunity to hug you to as you sob… to seek the quivering anguish and make it feel less harmful.

I dreamt of finding life in pain… she said. Life that’s so abundant around and pain that’s so intense. It’s a reflection I wish to see right before me that offers strength. The strength that’s germinated within me shall be passed on to you to make you smile. I dream of making you see how wonderful it feels to smile after emptying your heart out. I am a girl who dreams… Not just of good things… But good things that come out of bad things. I dream to find a gem while digging coals. I dream of finding an ember beneath ashes.

And her dreams.. with her eyes wide open… made me smile…