The Message On The Auto !

All my life, I have heard people talk about the wickedness of the world we live in today.

This is Kaliyug...trust no one
Pray that God keeps you...
Today's world has no conscience

Parents vs children, siblings at war, friends betrayed for a song, greed, theft, anger, violence...all the signs of a world gone wrong. Not to mention the incidents of catastrophe, natural & man-made, that strike at the foundations of our society at regular intervals.

Yet, there are moments in life, when the strength & generosity of the human spirit overwhelms me.
And, fills me with hope.

Like this morning.
I was in desperate need of fruit, and other such mundane essentials of survival that one only finds in a large supermarket. I confess, I love supermarkets and meandering about a large, well stocked supe is one of my favourite Sunday past-times.

As I stood on the lonely road, scanning the horizon for an obliging auto rickshaw, I was rather surprised to see a vehicle dressed in white heading my way.

It was a rickshaw, seemingly draped in a white dhoti!
Well, a white dhoti with red and blue words and squiggles all over it.
Pretty much like one of those privileged permed and coiffed pets on TV, which is forced into designer clothes by its doting owner.

As I squinted disbelievingly, the auto in white cruised to a slow stop next to me.

And, a young cheerful face popped out of the side, oblivious to my expression of shock and curiosity.

I was not entirely sure if I wanted to ride into town in a shrouded rickshaw, covered in squiggles that I did not understand.

What if it was propaganda of sorts?

And yet, I did not seem to have very many choices by way of transport....

Which is why when he enquired nonchalantly, I could only stammer out my destination..distractedly.

His accepting nod suddenly resolved the conflict raging within.

I had to know before I hopped on.

And so, hesitantly, in pidgin Kannada, I asked him what the message on his auto was.

" Oh, I am collecting funds for the flood victimsin Karnataka & Andra Pradesh. I do not like to ask people for money, which is why I have a banner on my auto and a collection box inside. Anyone who wants to contribute is welcome to do so."

This, he said, in a matter of fact tone which asked neither for applause nor appreciation.

It was merely an answer to a question.

And one, which piqued my curiosity.

As we sped along, I could not resist asking Ramakrishna as to how he planned to ensure that his money reached the intended recipients.

" Madam, I hand this over to the TV 9 office where they are collecting funds for relief activities. It is explained on the banner so people will know I am not a cheat."

And did people contribute? I asked

" Yes they do...In tens and twenties. I collect about 600-700 Rs. each day "

The numbers he cited jolted me.

And, my skepticism about the generosity of the society we lived in.

Are people more giving that I had imagined them to be?

Are they capable of more compassion and caring?

As I mulled over these questions, my eyes fixed unseeingly on the crude collection jar in front of me, Ramakrishna added

" Actually madam, the fares I have received this past week have also gone into that jar. I must set an example, no? So I ask the passengers to put the fares into the jar and a lot of them add a few rupees extra."

The man flummoxed me.

Why would he deprive himself of a week's earnings for people he did not know?

Had never met and probably never would in his whole life.

Maybe he was a mind reader.

Or perhaps, it was the incredulous expression on my face that prompted him to explain his motives.

" I feel bad when I see the plight of the people in these flooded villages. Imagine that, madam. Imagine loosing every single thing you posses and not have anyone to turn to because everyone you know is in the same desperate situation? And still they refuse to give up. When I see the hope on their faces, I feel I should help them..even if it is a small effort, at least I know I have done something"

His words struck a chord deep within me.

I could not, for the life of me, imagine being in such a plight.

Or, having the courage to cope with a catastrophe of this magnitude.

I don't know how many of us can.

Every single day, the world wakes up to news of such disasters.

Yet, many of us go about our daily lives without a second thought about the people afflicted by these disasters.

We tell ourselves that there isn't much that we can do.

Little realising that every little effort counts.

And that we can make a difference.

We do not need to make extravagant gestures.

Nor, do we need to deprive ourselves vastly.

Sometimes, a little goes a long way.

And this, I learnt from a humble auto driver today.

As I alighted at my destination, I gingerly pushed the fare into the box and then, some more.

Ramakrishna's delighted thank-yous sent waves of shame rippling through my being.

Here was a man who was donating a whole week's earnings, incurring costs to go about his daily work and uninhibitedly urging the rest of us to do our bit for people in need.

And, the grandness of his gesture did not prevent him from appreciating me for having donated just the cost of a decent meal.

What could I tell him?......Other than Salut.

The '3 Gen' Moment

The 'Three Generations' theme seems to be rather popular these days, especially, when it comes to photographic sittings.

I have seen very many of such shots, in the recent past.
In albums, photo frames, and, on networking sites.
But, today, was the first time I witnessed a genuine '3 Gen' moment, in real life.

I was at the local coffee shop, killing time, as I waited for my roast chicken sandwich to materialise.

The room was abuzz, and, my eyes roved around the room, drinking in the sights and sounds around me.
Children, with their noses pressed against the glass-case, gazing in wondrous covetousness at the pastries on display.
Adults, ordering cakes, in various shapes and sizes.
Love-birds, giggling, as they held hands, and, shared bites off each other's treat.

As I sat absorbed, a little lad of, perhaps, 5 or 6, tripped in merrily.
For some strange reason, he reminded of Red Riding Hood.
Albeit, a male version.
And, in a blue hood.

The little imp paused by my table, glanced back, and, beckoned urgently at the door.
And, then, with a smile, he skipped back.

Moments later, he was back, leading a frail, elderly gentleman towards the delicacies on display.

As I watched them weigh their choices, gesticulating, and, guffawing noisily, I was struck by the easy camaraderie they shared.

It was obvious that they were having fun.
That, fun was, their, way of life.
The open-hearted, uninhibited kind, that, one normally enjoys with peers and friends.
And, not, the kind of fun a young un, normally, has with his grandparent or parent or an figure of authorithy.

Occasionally, they would glance back, almost furtively, and, giggle afresh, conspiratorially.

I wondered why.
And, had to draw on my my last reserves of self-control, to not turn around and stare.

Thankfully, the suspense was short-lived.

The two-some at the counters, burst out into loud laughter, as a middle aged man in shorts, strode in.
Grinning broadly at the mischievous duo, he thumped them on their backs, demanding to be let into the joke.

As they laughed and joked, I, shamelessly, stared at the trio, from a distance, basking in the warmth and love they emanated.
There is something so very infectious about happy, loving people, isn't there?

Eventually, little Blue, and, his elderly friend, decided to find themselves a seat.
And, much to my delight, they headed towards the table next to mine.
Where, they were soon joined by the middle-aged man, who balanced three plates in his hand.

Setting the goodies on the table, the father tenderly removed the foil from around Blue's pastry, before, setting it in front of his son.
But, greedy little Blue had, already, impertinently, dug his spoon into his grand-father's treat, drawing mock protests from him.

Once again, I was staring unabashedly.
But, the three engrossed in their merry making, were, quite oblivious to those around them.
Rather fortunate for me, as, I was finding it difficult to repress my smile.

My delightful voyeuristic experience ended all too soon, and, rather rudely, when the waiter unceremoniously banged my packaged order, on the table, in front of me.

As I paid the bill, and, reluctantly, dragged my unwilling feet, and, heart, out of the cafe.
There was just one dominant thought echoing, over and over, in my mind.

Only....If only...One saw more of such '3 Gen' moments in real life, than on the reel ones!

One Rainy Night

It was 6:30 p.m, on a Monday evening.
And, miraculously, I was done for the day.

I had a zillion things on my mind...
Packing for my trip, the next morning.
Last minute shopping.
Dinner.
A tete a tete with Amma, who, has newly discovered the joys of texting.
Storage of stuff.
A verbal night cap, with my best friend.

So many things to do.
So little time.

But, as, I grabbed my bags, muttering hurried good-byes, the skies above opened up, effectively arresting my departure.

I stood, watching the rain pelt the building.

Impatient as I was, I could not help, but, be entranced by the fury of the elements.
It must have been on a dark, stormy night like this, that the legend of the mighty Thor was born!!

30 minutes later, with the show still on, I was ready to consider other options.
Not, that there were very many. In fact, there was, just one.
The ubiquitous auto-rickshaw!

Not, the most sensible of ideas, on a stormy night, I confess.
But, desperate times call for desperate measures.

The truculent guard at the gate, who was enlisted to find me a rickshaw, must have thought, I had slipped over the edge of reason, and, was hurtling, at break-neck speed, towards absolute insanity.
However, hierarchy, forbade him from proffering, either, advice, or, protests.

A further 30 minutes later, and, I was still waiting.
It appeared that only, the very brave, or, the extremely foolish, would even consider plying his vehicle against the fury of the elements.

But, I was in luck.
A carriage, eventually, materialised.

For the second time that evening, I grabbed my bags, and, rushed out, madly yelling goodbye at anyone, who, chanced to look my way.

And, for the second time that evening, my departure was arrested...
By, a semi-soaked driver in khaki, who seemed to be draping the rickshaw in plastic!!!

A fool, or, a valiant???

As I debated the question, the man turned around with a broad smile.
" Madam, 5 minutes. I am tying these plastic sheets over the open sides, so that you will not be drenched."

A valiant, I firmly decided, as I hopped in.

Minutes later, I was encased within the plastic contraption, and, on my way.
Through broken, flooded roads, and, barely moving traffic.

At times, the muddy puddles stalled the rickshaw, requiring the driver to step out in the pouring rain, and, push the vehicle.
But, my brave charioteer remained unfazed, and, kept up a steady flow of chatter, all through the journey.

His name was Vishwanath.
And, he was a native of North Karnataka.
Gulbarga, to be more precise.

He was yet another face in the crowd of rustic aspirants, who throng our cities, year after year, with hopes of building a better life for himself and his loved ones!

As we rode along, the story of Vishwanath's hard life unfolded.

He worked as a dental assistant, during the day, for a meagre salary of Rs. 2,500/-.
And, drove an rickshaw by night to supplement his income.

Even so, life was tough.
Especially, with an aged mother, and, a baby girl to care for.

How much did he make?, I asked him curiously.
"Oh, in a good month, I make about 5,000. Sometimes, even more. At other times, much much lesser."

How did he manage?, I asked with feeling, deprivation, having been, no stranger to me.
The only difference being that, unlike Vishwanath, I had never had any dependents to fend for.

" My house rent alone is 2,000 Rs, Madam. Then comes groceries, other essentials of life, medication for my mother and also, caring for the baby. Truth be told, I work hard, only, for my baby girl. I want her to grow up to be a big person" said he, his leathery face, aglow, with hope, and, determination.

" What do you want your daughter to be, when she grows up?"

" I want her to be like the big doctor I work for. Today, a girl has so many opportunities, and, choices. I want my daughter to study and work. And, not marry young, or, stay at home like my mother and wife. God willing, I will be able to fulfill my responsibilities towards her"

I could only nod mutely.
And, in my heart, wish him well.

An hour later, I was at my destination.
Reasonably dry, and, overflowing with gratitude towards this diminutive man, who had got me home safe and dry.

But, he brushed aside my thank-yous airily.
As he did the crisp 500 note, I extended towards him.
"Madam, it was my responsibility to bring you home safe. Tomorrow, it might be my daughter who is in the same position, and, I can only hope that someone will also bring her home safe and dry."

For the second time that evening, I found myself lost for words.
And, could only look on, mutely, as he cheerfully started his vehicle and roared away into the darkness.

Somewhere, in a hovel, on the fringes of Bangalore city, lives a little princess, who, I am confident, is destined for success.
Maybe, our paths will cross.
Maybe, it won't.

Either way, I do hope, she inherits her father's talent, of making a difference to the lives of people.
Especially, rank strangers in need!!!

Meet Nick Vujicic

“People say to me, ‘How can you smile? Then they realize, ‘there’s got to be something more to life, than meets the eye, if, a guy without arms and legs, is living a fuller life than I am.’”

Meet Nick Vujicic.
A youngster from Australia, who, was born without arms, or, legs.

Yes, you heard me right.
No arms!
And, no legs!
Right, from birth.

Now, what would, most of us, have done, if, we were in Nick's, nonexistent, shoes?

Bewail our fate?
Nurse a giant sized chip, on our shoulders?
Lash out in rage, at every given opportunity?
Wallow in self-pity?
Or, would we, just, resign ourselves, to an unremarkable life of dependence?

For, isn't that what people normally do?
When they are afflicted, with far lesser? '
Whine, and, moan, and gripe.
About, how unfair life is?

Well, not Nick.

Nick is a rare human being, who, not only came to terms with his physical afflictions, but, also,rose above his handicaps, to touch the lives of millions across the world.



As you can see, Nick Vujicic, is an example of the triumph of the human spirit .
Of, mind prevailing over matter.
And, of attitude, being everything.

The next time, you are tempted to ask God, 'why me'.
Take a few moments, to think, of a superhero called Nick Vujicic.
Try walking in his shoes.
Imagine, the life, that, could have been.
And, then, ask yourself, just, how badly off are you.

Chances are, you, will find, the silver lining in your dark cloud.
Or better still, a snow white cloud, with no lining at all.

A Little Ray Of Hope Called Shaktivel

This morning, I met Shakthivel.
A chirpy young boy who should have been at home,readying himself for a day at college or some special class which the kids of today seem to attend in scores.
But instead, he was waiting patiently outside Chennai's Central Railway Station at the crack of dawn.He couldn't have been a day over 16...Well scrubbed and neatly turned out too...No morning breath about him...Nor the stench of stale hooch.
His appearance and an air of timid innocence distinguished him from the rest of the brash, uncouth porter brigade.

As I alighted from the cab with my strolley and my bursting-at-its-seams laptop bag, he approached me diffidently, offering to put me on my train. The child charmed me.
And I would have handed over my luggage without a second thought, if it hadn't been for my uptight conscience which angrily berated me for considering child labour.

As I debated the point with the voices in my head, the lad looked pleadingly at me.
" But you are just a child" I protested to him " You should be in school studying...Not spending your time here carrying loads"
" Madam, I have no father. My mother struggles to make ends meet by working in 3 houses. I have a sister and a brother, both younger to me. The little I earn helps. Studies is a luxury for me now. If everyone thought like you Madam, my siblings and I would starve at the end of each month"
His words touched my heart.
Gagging my protesting conscience, I asked him to name his price with no intentions what so ever of haggling.
But, a mere 40 rupees was all that he asked for.
" Only Rs. 40? Are you sure? "
" Yes Madam. I do not cheat. You have just one bag which you want me to roll instead of carrying on my head. And you want to carry your laptop bag. This is no work at all. How can I ask you for more?"

For once, I had no answer.
To ask him to raise his price just because he seemed a child would offend his dignity.
And so, I nodded mutely and we set off at a leisurely pace.
As we entered the station, I half-expected Shaktivel to sidestep the metal beepers as most porters do. But, much to my surprise, he carefully rolled my case to a baggage screening machine in a dark corner and instructed me to join the queue at the beeper.

It must have been the look of surprise on my face, because all through the remainder of our journey to the train, Shakthivel kept up a steady stream of chatter about the need for porters' participation in securing their respective railway stations.
"This is where we earn our living. We earn our bread and butter here. It is our duty also to take care of the station and protect it. It is not enough that police has put machines to scan bags and check people. We must also help them by ensuring that each and every load we carry is scanned. Even if the passenger is not interested"
And then with a crest-fallen face, he continued "But what to do Madam? Not all porters think like that. They want to pack as many loads as possible into their day and do not bother about scanning. They think it is a waste of time...But my friends and I are very particular about it" He concluded on a more resolute note.
Our interlude should have ended here, because we had, by then, reached the platform.
However, the train was late and as we stood on the platform waiting, Shaktivel gingerly picked my laptop bag and then turned to reproach me "Madam, this is heavy...you should have let me carry it..."
I could barely suppress my smile "Its OK. I carry it to work every day and am used to its weight...Will you have some coffee?"

A shy smile wreathed his brown face as he quickly shook his head.
" tea?"
Again, the awkward smile and bob of his head.
" Milk?.."" No Madam, you have..."
" Well, I cannot have coffee if you refuse to keep me company, so what will you have?"

Silence....
The lad stared down at his feet in obvious confusion, probably wondering what to make of the eccentric lady." If you do not tell me what you want, then you will have to drink what I get you...So isn't it better that you tell me what you like? .."
" Madam...tea...Shall I go bring?"

" No, you watch my bags...I will go get it"Minutes later, we stood beside each other, companionably sipping our cuppas. I ripped open a packet of cream biscuits and proffered it to him. For a few moments, he hesitated, unwilling to help himself before Madam had done so.
But hunger or perhaps the fear of offending the 'pythiakari'* Madam overcame his inhibitions.
As he self-consciously bit into one, I slipped one out for myself and thrust the packet back into his hand. The lad protested feebly but upon my insistence that he retain it, Shakthivel carefully tucked it away inside his pocket. " For my brother and sister, Madam...They will enjoy it too" he offered by way of explanation.
For the second time this morning, the boy touched my heart.
His generosity overwhelmed me.
But before I could say anything, the train chugged in.

As Shakthivel went about stacking my bags safely, I rooted about in my cluttered purse for the promised 40 rupees. Despite my rooting, all I could find were notes of 100 & a few Mars bars.
As I looked up to explain that I was short of change, I realised that Shakthivel had vanished.
A quick glance around the compartment found him helping a frail old man hoist a rather large carton on to the rack above....And he returned back with a broad smile, without as much as having demanded a penny for his efforts.

I mutely handed over a 100 along with all the Mars bars in my bag.
" This is your boney**, isn't it?" I enquired to the round eyed boy who could only nod in amazement "Well, I don't have change and the chocolates are for your siblings..Now don't argue with me about the money.."

He left, shaking his head in disbelief.
As the train pulled out of the station, greed reared her angry head " You gave away all our Mars bars??? Are you stark raving crazy?? Now what do we eat when we need our serotonin fix???"

" She did well...We did not need the Mars bars..Just think how happy the kids will be...And besides, where is your Christmas spirit?..After all, it is a time for giving...." retorted my conscience

As the two chided each other, my thoughts went back to the humble porter boy who,despite his limitations and troubles, went about his daily life making the world a warmer, safer place. If only there were more like him...

For a brief moment, I felt a warm glow within as I recalled the smile of happiness which lit his face as he put away the biscuits and chocolates.Yes, I had done well indeed...




*Pythiakari = Mad [ Tamil]
**Boney = The first remuneration of the day which is deemed to be auspicious. It is believed that a good boney will ensure that the day would be profitable and vice versa. The term is popularly used by small commercial establishments and locals who offer services like cabs, porterage, etc.

Children For The World

Sesh, my director, send me this video today. Many of you may have received this in your mail box at some point in time or may have chanced upon it while trawling the net. Its powerful, moving and demands immediate action...which is why I have uploaded it pronto, just in case there is even one visitor to this page who hasn't seen it yet.

For once, words fail me!!!