A Beautiful Heart

This is just a short story that is beautiful and wanted to share. This story reminds me of India.

Enjoy!
Click the link or read below.

http://paulocoelhoblog.com/2010/10/04/readers-story-the-perfect-heart/

Reader’s story: The perfect heart

Published on October 4, 2010 in News. 

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sent by Priya Sher
A young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley. A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart for it was perfect. There was not a mark or a flaw in it.
But an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said,
“Your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine.”
The crowd and the young man looked at the old man’s heart. It was beating strongly but full of scars. It had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in … but they didn’t fit quite right and there were several jagged edges. The young man looked at the old man’s heart and laughed.
“You must be joking,” he said. “Compare your heart with mine … mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears.”
” “Yes,” said the old man, “Yours is perfect looking … but I would never trade with you. You see, every scar represents a person to whom I have given my love….. I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them … and often they give me a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart but because the pieces aren’t exact, I have some rough edges.
“ Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away … and the other person hasn’t returned a piece of his heart to me. These are the empty gouges … giving love is taking a chance. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people too … and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have waiting. So now do you see what true beauty is?”
The young man stood silently with tears running down his cheeks. He walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart, and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old man.
The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man’s heart.
It fit …. but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges.
The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever, since lovefrom the old man’s heart flowed into his.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

If you were watching my day today and decided to rewind it on the screen, you would see many purely Indian moments. Yet sitting on the white blankets and sheets of my bed I am clearly surrounded by western comforts. Inside the Hotel Naveen walls, it’s easy to immerse into luxury without a second thought. Often times I make myself take a mental step back to remember that this luxury India is not the “real” India. 

And so I love to replay the real India moments of my day.  I love starting my day with masala chai, even if it is accompanying my very western breakfast of toast and peanut butter (can’t travel without it!).  I will run after the local bus (not lady-like) but then step onto the front of the bus to join the company of women’s saris, kurtas, bindis and braids (very lady-like).  I love bobbling my head in agreement, greeting with humbling Namastes and white teeth smiles, and bargaining for rickshaw rides like a local.  I make sure to wear the unflattering baggy pants, long kurta (shirt), and on most days, to cover any remaining freckled white skin with a shawl, only to balance such ladylike behavior by letting my wildly curly hair play freely in the lovely dust/wind combination. However I have started using the customary jasmine scented hair oil to calm down the frizz and bring on the shine; yes, just like a lady.  And I am practically Indian when I eat with my right fingers, which are quickly colored by curry sauce and rice from the meal.

But my all-time favorite India moment is when I greet and am greeted by the ever-warm call of the “sweet” name (insert first name in quotations).  Descending down the staircase, Miss Monica is almost always there to say good morning.  Vivek usually stands behind the front desk, head bobbling hi. Roopa is the woman you want to talk to in order to get things done. Babu or Manju picks us up after breakfast, to deliver us safely to the college campus where we work. Pascal offers us his young smile in the evenings. Samson is the restaurant manager who spoils us, and Shafik is our ever-so-doting waiter. My daily interactions with these people are pieces of my day that I soak up and relish in the experience.

The intimacy created with the people around Hubli is amazing. Their memory matches those of elephants. They remember our faces and names from the time we spent here a year and a half ago. Maybe it’s because they’ve seen so few white people, let alone a professor with long blonde hair.  Shafik’s eyes recognized me when he saw me walking into the Naveen restaurant. Last year he passed me walking on the side of the road on his motorcycle. We had an informal conversation but once I shared that my name was “Yasmine”, his eyes popped out of his head like a deer in headlights because it is a Muslim name. Shafik is a Muslim. Yasmine’s Indian/Muslim marriage prospect= 1. Sweet. And though Shafik’s tendencies borderline creepy, he is overall harmless and sincere. He respected my “Do Not Disturb” sign on my room door on my second night, when he delivered welcome back sweets at 10 pm, and so instead he knocked on the professor’s door. Or the time when I came into the restaurant for lunch and he gave me at least two up-down looks, only then to compliment me that I looked good in my man clothes (a buttoned-down white shirt).

Now wherever I go, if I’m walking, chatting up ladies on the bus, or buying a liter of water on the side of the road in Hubli and Dharward (the twin city next to Hubli), I make sure to ask names of every person I meet. I’ve tried to learn the phrase in Kannada, and yet it’s much more successful in English. Probably because this is the second question we get asked, right after “Which is your country?” And yet, I will continue to practice- “Nima hesaru?”

 Shafik and team (Abby and Professor Lori Gardinier) after he gave us a whole Chocolate Forest Cake for Valentine's Day on behalf of the Naveen staff.

Blessings

I was sitting on a local bus next to a larger lady wrapped in a red and cream colored sari this evening. She sat there staring at me. I’ve gotten used to this. Everybody stares here. I relaxed my bones into the old 1970’s blue leather cushions, leaned my head back allowing the bun of my hair to act as a pillow and closed my eyes. The day’s dust has settled (or maybe we just can’t see it in the dark) and there is a calmness over the open fields we pass. The streets seem bare compared to the daily hustle and bustle. Our bus driver takes advantage of this space, cruises the bus at what seems like 60 miles an hour on this rural road and still passes every moving obstacle that flashes before its head lights. It’s better not to look ahead and instead to put complete faith into the driver’s skills; this is my new policy. Do not look and trust. 

When my eyes open again, they immediately notice brightness in the evening sky.  Silhouettes of trees, tin rooftops, browned rice fields, and free roaming cows are between my dust covered window and a vibrant full moon.  Such peace is necessary to offset the hectic days of people-packed India.  What a blessing that this full moon will transition the night into our tomorrow.  And what another blessing it is to have two birthdays in India in a row! My heart smiles.  Today has been such a lovely day, the past year has been a strong one, and my life has been one richly lived.  With the National Geographic scenery passing by me, I can’t help reflecting. I want to be as luminous as the round pearl-like surface of the moon.  And as that will be my life challenge, I at least know that I have lived some luminous moments in this day.

My eyes reflect on the happy memories from the day, like my own private movie.  Here is one memory that will hopefully become a long story friendship. Our rickshaw driver, Babu, stops by his house (an unasked for detour on our way to the small local grocery store) and so we welcome the experience.  My friend and I meet his twin sons, an older son, his neighbor’s peanut infant, his wife and his mother-in-law.  I smile, say “Namaskar” (hello in Kannada), offer the Namaste sign and bobble my head to the best of my ability. This seems to have pleased all and I feel like one of the family, sitting in the small entrance of his house and tailoring business.  Clothes are strewn over benches and hangers, people are coming to drop off needed repairs, and heads are peeping in to have a good stare at us.

  

We are offered homemade Chai and I’m trying hard not to do my own peeking into the kitchen. I can see greens pushing out of small copper bowls, some orange sari material, and an array of cooking equipment. His wife, clad in the orange sari, comes out from the kitchen covering her hair and arms more completely with the sari material.  We do our best to communicate between broken English and a couple Kannada phrases.  We learn that Babu hopes to expand his house in the next couple of months, he shows us examples of male and female clothes he makes, and his older son is in college studying the Arts.  He wants to show us his temple and so we organize to visit another day.  He bobbles his head and offers a sweet smile in agreement.  As we are about to leave, the wife bobbles her head asking us to hold tight for a minute, goes into the depths of her kitchen and gracefully walks straight to me.  Before our departure she blesses us with red and yellow color dye between our eyebrows.  The red dye is to signify your third eye, the center of your being. The yellow color means purity. I make sure the color does not fade all day. 

With the moon shining down on me, I embrace the light it envelopes me in.  My heart is as full as the moon.  And may my heart continue to feel full each and every day of this next year. I am so blessed.

Lazy Sunday

It’s my first day off in what seems like a very long time. I am relaxing with the Sunday’s Deccan Herald to my right with headliner news of Egypt’s army takeover and a bucket of dirty clothes soaking in my bathroom. Laundry day, news day, planning day and reflection day- the normal Sunday wherever you are in the world.  My world right now consists of Mother India.  And its plain to see when looking out my hotel window onto a lake of cloud reflecting water with water buffalo grazing and men bathing under a canopy of palm tree branches.  Thank you Mother India for this calming sight, because I know outside of my hotel walls is a chaotic scene of battling traffic- yellow rickshaws blaring the latest Bollywood hit song, old bicycles next to new motorcycles, cargo trucks passing local buses, cows carting farmers, scooters holding two grown men, all controlled by various honking horns, hand signals and assistants to the drivers. 

And such the story begins of the, “Land of Contrasts”. In this land you will find BMWs passing the slumdogs of Mumbai, five star hotels for foreigners with handicapped beggars outside the gates, Indian college students wearing jeans and American volunteers wearing (not Sari’s but Indian apparel), cars driving towards each other in the same lane with no accidents, smog and sand filled air not dirtying white clothes, and so many more contrasts than you could ever imagine. And maybe that’s why I keep coming back for more.  Maybe this is more apparent to me now that I am in a foreign land and my eyes are wide open trying to take in everything I can. You can find similar parallels in the US or Europe, it just looks different than the scenes that are before me.

Even with the months of pre-arrival excitement, the first moment of walking into Mumbai traffic my first thought was, “I can’t believe we came back to do this program again. Why did we come back?” And so I didn’t walk farther than the first stall to buy water and I returned to the outside café of my hotel to soak in the India in front of me over a cup of ginger-honey tea. That seemed like the smart thing to do.  Tea and observe.  And the things that I observed was in a world that feels very natural to me- boys laughing amongst friends, the doorman greeting guests, families eating samosas, and traffic blaring in the background. Driving back to the airport, I saw a thousand near accidents avoided by driving experts, school children walking home with backpacks larger than their own bodies, policeman guiding traffic and the hot air energizing the city and its people into a rhythmic movement that is as natural as the waves of the Arabian sea harboring Mumbai.

And so this first week has not been about searching for the same answers discovered during my last time in India or about finding new answers, it has been about settling into India’s contrasts and chaos all over again.  This time will come different questions and new answers wrapped in an experience of its own accord.  Thus, I will move forward each moment and soak up what India is offering me. Tell the Chai-wala, I’m ready.

The Amazing Organizations Visited During Week One—

BCT-

Originally created to support the education of young female children of sex-workers, it has now become an after-school center for females of mainly low income families. Classes are held 6 days a week from 6-9pm, after the regular hours of government schools. Some girls walk as far as 2 miles in order to attend.  We were able to sit in with them for 2 hours. When asked why the regularly attended this center after long days of school, they said it was a more fun learning environment with more teacher-student attention than in the large 50+ student classes of most government schools. When asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, some answers were English teacher, police officer, lawyer, judge, and high commissioner. Some ladies with big dreams!! Just my kind of company :)

Navachetana Foundation-

A two-part organization, firstly helping rural women farmers to receive money for their cow milk and secondly offering microloans to farmers who are interested in creating more self-sufficiency.  Many women used microloans to buy cattle, in which this foundation paid weekly for each liter of milk provided. Collection is twice a day. We visited an evening milk collection and was quickly surrounded by what seemed like the entire village. When asked what the biggest change seen in the village since this organization arrived, the female collection manager said the women have begun to feel an empowerment through the work, ownership, income and support.  The success rate for families getting out of debt, becoming more financially stable and repayment of the microloans is high. Some women farmers are interested in a second loan to purchase another cow, with which the profits they will use to buy farming land. 

Family Planning Association of India-

Created in 1969 in the Dharward area, this branch has now become the model organization for the state of Karnataka.  Offering services to rural women which include maternal health, pre-natal and post-natal education, abortions, sterilizations, advocacy about safe sex, STIs, and nutrition, mobile clinic and doctors trainings. We observed several women watching a video about how to care for their new born babies, and met many mother-child couples. I fell in love with Mother Ansoya and Daughter Angeli pictured below.