Partying on Poverty

The menu was not all that appetizing, and the smell of the dishes was not all that inviting, and yet the partying lot were huddled together to make the best dishes possible out of the least that was available. The menu list did not run in to pages, but just a few in number, but that did not matter to the family which had gathered, big and small, young and old, to celebrate their togetherness. It was like a stillness dawning after a stormy night, and they were sure that every stormy weather had brought them together and strengthened their bond and fellowship, and the "party" was merely an excuse.

The family which had been struggling to get out of the poverty which had been imposed on it, could hardly take a few steps before they are drawn back to the very spot they had been languishing for years. If they begin to blame others, there would be no end. The first and the most important culprit would be God, who had imposed such a privation that they had to struggle to have even one square meal; who had taken away the breadwinner at a very young age, and the young mother had to struggle to bring up her children, educate them, and get them married, and support them even after their marriage, when the marriage did not go too well.

The best image that comes to my mind when I think of this family partying on their poverty, is the story of the "stone soup". These poor senior members of the family brought their mite, the best from their privation, but they were full of joy to contribute their best to make this party memorable one. They are not going to think about their poverty, what they do not have, but are going to capitalize on what they do possess, the comfort and strength of the company of one another, and this was their greatest asset, and they had come to feel this beneath their bones.

When families are well off, they do not feel the need to get together occasionally to strengthen their bonding; they believe that the money and comfort they enjoy were good enough to assure them of a better days to come; the bonding with other family members, relations, and friends is not so essential for them to get going. That is the tragedy of the neo-riche, and there would come a time in their lives too, when they would be forced to seek after their lost family roots and find succor in them. For the poor and have-not it is a joy and way of life to come together and share their lot, but for the rich and the haves, it may become a socio-cultural necessity.

I feel partying on poverty can be one of the greatest moments of celebration in the life of a family, who have nothing to share, but their pain and suffering. They have nothing to offer to one another, than their shoulders to lean on. They have nothing to contribute to the party, but their own share of sob stories and painful memories. This party is sure to strengthen the bonding of the family, and no storm and cyclone can ever take the little pleasures and joy they enjoy. Today I take my hats off to this family partying on their poverty, and I only hope more and more families may bring in their poverty and party on them, so that their bonding may be strengthened day after day.

Storms and Silence

There would be too few people who do not know how a storm-stricken village or city appears; the uprooted trees, displaced roof-tops, utensils and beddings of the pavement dwellers strewn all over, the over turned umbrellas, and the pale yellow leaves of trees. But the silence that prevails after a storm could be frightening; except for occasional thunder and lightning, it is not something which people are too happy to welcome. However the hour of storm is no good tidings either. After every stormy situation in life, to get back to normal life is not so easy, and that is all the more painful to return to the pre-storm situation with the wounds and trauma of the stormy nights.

Having gone through several scores of stormy nights, I have realized that each stormy night leaves behind certain scars in me, some of which are indelible, and etched into my memory. I would be wrong to conclude that all the stormy nights had drowned me with melancholy and sadness; I had drawn meaningful and significant lessons out of them, which had helped me to see the path during dark nights of my soul. Thanks to these stormy nights, I have been shaken out of the mediocre, status quo, self-complacency, and am able to wrap up my belt around and get ready to face life as it comes to me in bits and pieces.

Every storm is a reminder to me that there is silence not too far away, and every silence is a reminder to me that the next storm is not too far off! That is how life goes on, and these are the indications for me to be prepared to face the situation in whatever form they may come to me. I long for a storm, in the same way I long for silence after it, because it is impossible for silence to dawn on the land without a storm. Besides it is impossible for me to realize the beauty and splendor of the silence, if I do not know the ruthlessness and ransacking quality of the storm. That is why the English poet William Blake had dared to say, “without contraries is no progression”. We can appreciate light only in the backdrop of darkness.

I need to thank God for all the stormy nights, which had shaken me out of my roots, and had made me shiver to the core, had made me take shelter under the inner resources he had endowed me with; if not for the inner strength which flows from him, it is impossible for me to survive these nights. There had been moments when I had felt it was time for me to be swept away by the currents of the waters, and be lost forever; but soon I had also realized I had no right to run away from life in such a cowardly manner; that would be disgrace not only to this beautiful earth, but also to the entire human race. Storms are part of life, and anyone who fears storms cannot taste the sweetness of silence.

It is because I had gone through several stormy nights, that I am able to give shelter to others who are looking for certain amount of security at the time of their trouble and challenge. I am able to teach them the wisdom of facing the storms boldly and courageously, so that they might taste the sweetness of the silence thereafter. Every storm is a gift of God; we had been longing for the Nor’wester during the past few weeks, as the mercury level keeps soaring beyond all imagination, and we know only storm is enough to cool the earth, and permit the people to sleep in peace, even when the electricity fails. The storms may come when we least expect them, and what is strange, even the weathermen are not able to predict them, and that is the beauty of these angels of destruction, who also usher in the angels of peace and tranquility.

Called to be truly human

Sitting with over sixty men and women in a conference room in St Xavier's College, Kolkata to re-dedicate to the ideals shown and lived by a late Jesuit priest of Belgian origin, gave me a very different kind of feeling; it is hard for me to really identify the feeling, because it always seemed somewhat elusive. A kind of disturbance or inner agitation, or peace and serenity - to put it bluntly it was a bag full of mixed feelings. That is what this great man - Gerard Beckers, who gained a shorter name from his friends and admirers, Babu, really was! He was not an easy man to live with, but the number of men and women who had assembled three years after his death, on his very death anniversary, bore witness to the fact that it was his "difficult" nature, which had left an indelible mark in them, and they are all grateful for that.

I don't know why, but I was not fascinated by Babu during his life-time, but while attending his funeral at the college ground, and later on interacting with the people who had been changed due to him, I felt guilty for not knowing this great soul; I had my own prejudices, many of them even negative! But it had taken me quite a while to realize that often I look at people what they look like, rather than what they really are. Unfortunately the real Babu had always eluded me, even as we had casual talk now and then, and today while listening to the people who had been touched by him, I feel guilty for not knowing him.

If so many men and women had been touched by this man, I was asking myself, why did I not make an attempt to know him? It is possible that I was looking at Babu, and every man and woman who was worth his/her salt, with my own colored glasses, and began to sit in seats of judgement without taking the trouble to know them. If there are not many people who have had great impact on me, it is because I have not allowed others to shake me, knock me, and even toss me! I had been protecting myself too strongly from the influence of others, that I remained just what I was many years ago, and that is something I regret today.

Every tree is shaped by the wind and rain, and it is the strong cyclonic winds and stormy nights which strengthen the trees, and these are the real moments of testing; but I had often refused to undergo these ordeals, keeping myself free from any external influence. If only there are people who could challenge my own narrow-mindedness and even take me to task, I might be quite different today. But as I stand at the mid-point of life, there is a growing fear in me that I am too old to learn any new tricks, and so let my old self live as long as it can, and die a peaceful death! But what would that mean to the world?

Today I would like to resurrect Babu to rise up and challenge me, challenge my mediocrity, half-heartedness, the cozy world that I had woven around me, the company of men and women who have power, security and strength to fight all odds in life! I would like to see Babu taking my hand across a stony and thorny path, barefooted, to let the thorns of the wayside poke me, and make me feel the pain and agony which has become part of reality in the lives of millions of men and women around me. I wish Babu can make me a human, with flesh and blood that are alive to human cry for help! I wish one day I become truly human!