Homeless and Homeful

Since October 9^th of last year, when I moved out of my Delhi apartment, I’ve been an escargot, living with the belongings I carry on my back.  These all fit in my 70-liter backpack and my computer daypack.  The other day, like every 10ish days, I packed my things and transferred to my next home (my 18^th shift in 5 months).

I walked down the street with my two bags, one strapped on my back and the other in front.  Before catching the bus to my new neighborhood, I passed a homeless man pushing his shopping cart full of belongings.

Watching him, I realized the similarity of our situations: we were both nomads, pushing/carrying our homes with us.  I felt a deep connection for the transience of his life, the uncertainty of which place may offer that night’s or the next night’s bed, for the bare requirements that he lugs around with him.  Through these similarities, one fundamental difference separated us:  While I don’t have a home, I am anything but homeless.  I have a stunning support network of friends and family that provide beds, shelter, food, clothing, phones, books…  And this is only listing the material love and support.

Every time things may get a little tough or that I am unsure where I may lay my head down tomorrow night, the web of friends and support catches me and springs me back to where I need to be.  It’s a trampoline that receives me in its soft arms of generosity, compassion and love, held strong by trust and respect.

Thank you.  You have taught me the lessons of receiving selflessly and in full gratitude.

Birthday Wish: To Share Goodness With All

Creative Station

There were smiles and hugs and shining eyes.  Conversations and exchanges and surprised acceptances.  All with perfect strangers.  These moments were collected this past Sunday, when a group of friends, inspired by some chai shared in birthday celebration in India, celebrated a birthday by making and then giving cookies, brownies and notes to strangers in the street.

Quality Control

(Some of) the Girls

To people sitting on sunny terraces, we asked “What goes best with that coffee you’re enjoying?  How about some home-baked love-filled cookies?”  And with that, we would leave them to enjoy their snack with a new smile on their lips.  We handed brownies to three girls smoking outside a bar; they were so touched to receive them, our exchange ended in hugs shared between us and them.  Three men, denounced as painters by their clothes and hands, stood at the corner of Mission and 17^th exchanging words until we started exchanging brownies and deep connections of gratitude: them for the gifts and us for the opportunity to give.  They bowed in thanks and their eyes glittered full of joy.  Between brownie-infused interactions, we left anonymous notes on cars’ windshields for the owners to find after we’d passed.  As a couple walked past me, I offered them cookies; “no” was the quick and short answer.  At the next light, I caught up to them and hypothesized that the light held them back clearly because they, deep down, wanted cookies.  This time, they smiled and asked our motivations for distributing the sweets.  While they still didn’t take the cookies, something had shifted in them as they walked away laughing and talking.  If the Mission Street lights had provided the opportunity to catch up to them another time, that third time would have been the charm; I bet we would have exchanged cookies and thanks.

Monty tagging a homeless woman

Three hugging girls in front of the bar

After several experiences connecting with the less fortunate (sharing a moment and acknowledging their human-ness), Sunday, I played with touching “people like me”, meaning people unlikely to touch food from a stranger with a ten-foot pole.

Each interaction was a new experiment, finding the place within me that connects with the place within them.  The key is trust.  The first 2-second interaction had to create enough trust to open a tiny door, which allowed for the next 4-second chat to open a bigger door, which then blew the door right off the house and rocked them.

The part that totally rocked me to the core, particularly that b-school core, was:  There is absolutely no way to account for and measure the effect of our actions on Sunday.  No way of knowing the stories that did – and may continue to – unfold.  What we do know is the stories that touched and moved us.  That is the priceless gift.

Parth sweetening a bus driver's ride

Last one! No more sugar cookies or banana-peanut-butter-oatmeal cookies or brownies

Allowing to Start

I’ve been writing.  But not sharing.  And I’ve sometimes softly wondered why the later.

Since leaving India, I’ve shifted away from one of my strong sources of inspiration, goodness, stories and photos – which I know were so appreciated by many of you, far from India – at Manav Sadhna.

Now, that my Manav Sadhna experiences are no longer monthly, it leaves room for the other written explorations.    These have been on creating alignment between thought, word and action; what I call “holistic sustainability”; connecting with people; the intersection of business and sustainability; understanding culture; giving in the work place; the impact of meditation and awareness; the beautiful notion of growmance, etc.

I had wondered how to step into this shift, wondering what guidance was necessary and how to provide it.

I’m going to let go of that supposed need for guidance.  As someone so eloquently said at yesterday’s mediation evening, ‘let’ is like ‘allow’ and ‘go’ also means ‘start’.  So, by letting go, we allow to start.

Thank you for giving me the space to shift and allow this – whatever this is – to start.

Abundance in our Plates

Every Wednesday, I travel down to Santa Clara to attend a Wednesday mediation started by a small group of friends 14 years ago.  And since that very first Wednesday, this family has hosted these gatherings every single Wednesday for the past 14 years for anyone who wishes to discover the depth of mediation, share a few thoughts with fellow meditators and then enjoy a meal in silence.  The meal is fully gifted, no strings attached.  Simple generosity pouring out of everyone’s hearts.

Last night, someone commented to CFMom, the heart behind those countless meals (and well over 29K meals if you did happen to count), the beauty of the meal experience.  Attempting to recapture the words:

“I love the fact that you cover each plate with a little of all the dishes (typically, an appetizer, two veggie dishes, dal, rice, roti, raita and desert).  I get a little of everything.  And then you come around and serve all the dishes again and again.  I eat to my fullest content of the dishes that I love.  I can even change my mind:  not take seconds of a dish and decide to take thirds.  It’s never-ending abundance!  Without any waste at the end of the meal!

This is such a beautiful lesson on the way we should live our lives:  we start with a little of everything, enough to live on.  And then we connect to the fact that there is incredible abundance of everything and take what we need when we need it.”

  Well said.

Birthday Gift

A friend, who wishes to remain anonymous , just sent me this email:

“My mom called me from Ahmedabad on Sunday with the best news:  Manav Sadhna was planning to take 50 or so of the kids to a hill station for a trip and needed funds.  So, for my birthday gift, she sponsored them. Best present ever.”

And receiving that email was the best present ever to me!!!!

Kheer Surprise

It’s no longer a secret so I’ll share my experience.  Yes, I made the kheer (Indian rice pudding desert) at Wednesday meditation last night.

My intention was to keep it anonymous.  But someone – without naming her, starts with an A, ends with an N and the middle is the misinterpretation some people have of the gift economy – forgot our pact made in the car. 

As anyone who’s played with gifting and acts of kindness has experienced, you don’t need to say you are the one giving to receive the gifts of appreciation.

After serving seconds of her loving assemblage of eggplant, potato, beans and dokla to last night’s guests, Masi asked me to serve seconds of kheer.  With great smiles, most people asked for another helping.  That’s satisfaction enough.

The universe had more gifts in store.  As I sat down to eat my dinner, one person, having finished hers, hugged Masi and whispered that she loved the kheer.  Masi said that she did not know who had made it and I … just smiled.

Nipun asked for the recipe.  I could start like Bhaskar did when he gave it to me:  “Boil seven liters of milk”    He cooks for 60 people every night; we typically cook for 4 to 8.  So here is the recipe for 6 hungry people or 10 people having just enjoyed Masi’s abundant delicacies.  Leftovers included.

Kheer with Love, inspired by Seva Café

2 liters (1/2 gallon) milk
5 elaichis (whole green cardamom)
1 cup sugar
1 cup rice
½ cup (or to taste) almond slivers, raisins, pistachios…

Pour the milk into a pot, preferably with enough overflow tolerance.  Add 5 elaichis, lightly crushed so that they are open but remain whole.  Slowly bring to a rolling (slow) boil.  Mix regularly to avoid burning the milk at the bottom.  Add the sugar and rice.  Continue to maintain a rolling boil for about 30 minutes, until the rice is cooked and the milk has thickened.  Remove from heat and cool; the kheer will thicken with cooling.  Add almond slivers, raisins, pistachios or other creative addition you wish.  Serve cool or warm with a smile on your lips and love in your heart.

Now for the secret ingredient…

Every chef, when sharing recipes, holds back a secret ingredient.  I’ll give you mine.  And again, using Bhaskar’s perfect words:  “Cook with lots and lots of love.”  Listen to the food – with your tongue, your nose, your ears, your hands even – and it’ll tell you exactly what it needs at that moment.  The milk won’t burn.  It’ll even boil and stay in the pot, a tricky balance when there’s 4 millimeter clearance.  And your guests will taste the difference.

What Goes Around Comes Around

A family had two sons.  One bountiful harvest, the parents placed two heaping piles of wheat in the barn, one for each son.

That night, the younger son laid in bed, thinking that his brother, with his wife and kids to support, needed more wheat than he did.  He got out of bed, dressed, went into the barn to shift wheat from his pile onto his brother’s pile, and returned to bed, happy to have given his brother the extra wheat.

Later that same night, the older brother could not go to sleep, awake with thoughts of his brother’s need for wheat:  “He is just starting up in life.  I am settled and well established.  He needs the wheat more than I do.”  With that, he got out of bed, dressed and went to the barn to move wheat from his pile to his brother’s pile.  He then returned to bed, happy to have given his brother the extra wheat.

The next morning, the brothers got up and enjoyed their breakfast together, still happy from the previous night’s secret excursions.  When they then entered the barn, each expecting to find his pile smaller than the other, they saw their piles, identical in size.

Listening With the Heart

“But Mom, how did you know that’s what I was going to say?”  “I was just about to call you!”  “Were your ears ringing?”  “That is exactly what I need right now.”  “I was just thinking about you.”  (just last night:)  “My neighbor just asked about you 30 – no, 20 – seconds ago and you called!”  We’ve all had these moments, when we are in each other’s heads, sometimes despite long distances.

The other day, I realized a connection between these experiences and a story. One day, Bhaskar was preparing for an interview (his first) in English (definitely a first!).  Bhaskar was a little overwhelmed as his English – learned among the Manav Sadhna volunteers – remains, some would say, basic.  To ease his concerns, I reminded him that he and I speak English constantly, face-to-face, over the phone, on a motorcycle and over the commotion of a kitchen preparing dinner for 60 guests.  And we always understand each other.  So, what was the big deal of having this interview in English when we speak English all the time?  Bhaskar replied:  “Mira, the difference is that you listen with your heart.”

He had a point.  I do listen with love and affection.  I invest my entire person into the conversation.  I hear the words, the intonation of the voice, the emotions, the pauses and the urgencies, the hesitation and the reflections.  I feel them in my core and in my heart.  There is much communicated in what is said; there is also much communicated in what is not said.

Comprehension can go quite far beyond words.  Traveling through Kutch a while back, where all was in Gujarati, I couldn’t understand the dialogues or the stories.  Yet, I could feel the energy, the love, the intention.  Words were not needed to communicate what the heart was beaming.  One memorable afternoon at ESI, I was moved to tears.  I could not tell you what was said, but I can tell you what was shared.

This “technique” can be used in all sorts of relationships.  Just the other day, I witnessed a conversation between two roommates that went something like “Oh, by the way…  Oh, really?…  Yeah, down the…  And the?… Yes. Did you? … Yes…  Great” before they turned back to what they were each doing.  Even when connecting with customers in the rural villages of India, listening with the heart opened an understanding to unexpressed aspirations and motivations.

What I find awesome is that this connection can be created with anyone and enable an understanding far beyond words and distance.  Its ripple effects go far…  Hum, that brings back memories…

Obelix and the Magic Global Potion

Last week, I attended a breakfast meeting of women thinking about and working on global issues.  As a friend introduced me after that morning’s conversation, the main coordinator asked me “When did you become interested in global?”

?????????

Before answering, I first had to understand the question.  What does it mean to become ‘interested in global’?  How does one become ‘interested in global’?  I had never thought of ‘interested in global’ as being a possible attribute.  I realized that I am global.  I’ve never known another state.  Global-ness is not a quality I acquired; it is the environment I have always known.

Like Obelix, I fell into the magic potion when I was born and received its permanent benefits of a world without borders, where I can feel at home in so many circumstances.  I am a world citizen, with a family life encompassing three cultures, having lived on four continents, and, since 2000, having explored 36 countries, staying with the Warao Indians in the Orinoco delta in Venezuela, breaking down across the Sahel Desert to reach Timbuktu, discovering “non-China China” from Kashgar to Xi’an, and understanding the motivations and aspirations of rural Indian villagers.

If I had to express my interest in global, it stems from a deep realization that this ‘global-ity’ opens eyes to the beauty in our similarities, opens hearts to others’ way of life and values, and opens hands to serve or share a meal.

Also like Obelix, I can be oblivious to the powers of this magic potion and forget that others did not fall into the cauldron at birth.  Many others must rely, like Asterix, on drinking the potion to receive its supernatural benefits.  There exists a beginning to their exploration of the global world.  Their relationship with global-ness evolves; over time, experiences close the gap between them and this quality of global.

Indian English

Writing about the shift away from Indian English reminds me of an anecdote when Papa, Dadi and I were in Leh last summer.  We entered a pharmacy and a customer was very excited to speak to a foreigner.  He energetically took Papa’s hand and shook it, while asking him “What is your good name, sir?”  “What?”  “What is your good name, sir?”  Answering to Papa’s utterly confused blank look, I translated:  What is your (first) name?  “Oh!!,” Papa exclaimed and gave the man his name.  “Where do you stay, sir?”  Understanding that Papa was not going to understand that question either, I translated again:  Where do you live?  With that question answered, another one popped “Where do you belong?”  This time, ready, I translated:  Where do you come from?

The three of us laughed as we exited the pharmacy at the small differences in language that can create complete incomprehension.