These are two isolated incidents, but they are now joined together in a strand in my mind.
It all comes back when the world (well, much of it) shivers in the January cold.
It was a sunny afternoon of Delhi's winter, and I was enjoying it the best way one can.
I was simply doing nothing, just enjoying the sun and the peace and happiness of not doing anything.
In that sleepy afternoon I heard a voice coming from distance, carried by a breeze.
A priest was speaking on a loudspeaker in a Gurdwara (a Sikh temple).
Normally I can't stand sermons.
I have long felt that these people employ a staff of about ten which feeds them stories for the day.
Then in the evening, the great man sits before the mike/video camera/TV camera and delivers his sermons.
But what this man was saying caught my attention.
He was saying that it was a shame that while we had beautiful Gurdwaras in the city, people slept on the pavements, often dying of cold.
"The Gurdwara is the home of the Guru.
How could anybody be homeless when we have the Gurdwaras?" he asked.
It was a strange feeling for me.
It was the first time that I was in agreement with a Priest.
A few years passed since the incident.
The sermon was forgotten.
That day I had hired a taxi for the day from my neighborhood taxi stand-a shack where the drivers, most of them Sikhs, whiled away their time.
It was January, the peak of winter in Delhi.
By the time I returned, it was night and it was bitterly cold.
I needed a receipt for the payment and the driver suggested that we stop at the Taxi-stand.
At the taxi stand many drivers, burly and rather menacing looking Sikhs tried to keep themselves warm on the many cots.
The place nearest to the heater was therefore the most precious piece of real estate.
As the guest of the shack I was offered the place nearest to the heater.
Then I noticed an old man I had never seen before and who somehow did not seem to fit in.
I asked the taxi drivers who this fellow was.
"Oh, he is the priest in that temple", the man told me pointing in the general direction of the temple.
"But what is he doing here?" I asked.
"He lives here.
His daughter-in-law has thrown him out.
" These people have a knack of saying the strangest of things in such a matter of fact manner.
I did not know what to say.
"But that is great.
You are doing something very special.
" "Oh it is nothingji (people from the Punjab state of India add a ji as a mark of respect to you), these boxes belong to the rickshaw-pullers", he pointed to a row of steel trunks, "they sleep in our taxis.
" I silently remembered the priest who had long back asked, "How could anybody be homeless...
" It was one of the greatest spiritual experiences for me.
I realized God is everywhere, by whatever name you call him, but he manifests Himself through unselfish, unheralded, simple acts of kindness.
It all comes back when the world (well, much of it) shivers in the January cold.
It was a sunny afternoon of Delhi's winter, and I was enjoying it the best way one can.
I was simply doing nothing, just enjoying the sun and the peace and happiness of not doing anything.
In that sleepy afternoon I heard a voice coming from distance, carried by a breeze.
A priest was speaking on a loudspeaker in a Gurdwara (a Sikh temple).
Normally I can't stand sermons.
I have long felt that these people employ a staff of about ten which feeds them stories for the day.
Then in the evening, the great man sits before the mike/video camera/TV camera and delivers his sermons.
But what this man was saying caught my attention.
He was saying that it was a shame that while we had beautiful Gurdwaras in the city, people slept on the pavements, often dying of cold.
"The Gurdwara is the home of the Guru.
How could anybody be homeless when we have the Gurdwaras?" he asked.
It was a strange feeling for me.
It was the first time that I was in agreement with a Priest.
A few years passed since the incident.
The sermon was forgotten.
That day I had hired a taxi for the day from my neighborhood taxi stand-a shack where the drivers, most of them Sikhs, whiled away their time.
It was January, the peak of winter in Delhi.
By the time I returned, it was night and it was bitterly cold.
I needed a receipt for the payment and the driver suggested that we stop at the Taxi-stand.
At the taxi stand many drivers, burly and rather menacing looking Sikhs tried to keep themselves warm on the many cots.
The place nearest to the heater was therefore the most precious piece of real estate.
As the guest of the shack I was offered the place nearest to the heater.
Then I noticed an old man I had never seen before and who somehow did not seem to fit in.
I asked the taxi drivers who this fellow was.
"Oh, he is the priest in that temple", the man told me pointing in the general direction of the temple.
"But what is he doing here?" I asked.
"He lives here.
His daughter-in-law has thrown him out.
" These people have a knack of saying the strangest of things in such a matter of fact manner.
I did not know what to say.
"But that is great.
You are doing something very special.
" "Oh it is nothingji (people from the Punjab state of India add a ji as a mark of respect to you), these boxes belong to the rickshaw-pullers", he pointed to a row of steel trunks, "they sleep in our taxis.
" I silently remembered the priest who had long back asked, "How could anybody be homeless...
" It was one of the greatest spiritual experiences for me.
I realized God is everywhere, by whatever name you call him, but he manifests Himself through unselfish, unheralded, simple acts of kindness.