Some emotions cannot be expressed but can only be felt. But compassion, the greatest of all human emotions, has no such infirmity as it can be readily felt and easily expressed. In fact the expression of compassion is one human quality that distinguishes between a Good Samaritan and an ordinary human being. Last Saturday was yet another day that we chose to become a tool in the hands of God and to be a part in His scheme of things. It was our chance to play the role of Good Samaritans, a role assigned to us by the Almighty, as we spent some time and had lunch at Sandhwanam with some of God’s most favourite children.
Sandhwanam was a very serene place and in the main room were placed the holy books, The Bible, The Gita and The Quran, side-by-side, proclaiming that providing comfort to the distressed is the ultimate aim of all religions. Overlooking the proceedings was the photograph of the greatest soul to have ever lived in this world, Mother Theresa, a nun canonised not by any institutions but by the hearts of distraught people and by the prayers of suffering millions.
During lunch time at Sandhwanam, we played host and served food to the children. Anyone who went there thinking that it would be a poignant occasion had a pleasant awakening as witnessing the divine innocence of children, as it often does, brought mirth and happiness to the eyes and minds of the beholders. A cute little kid with a hair-do that loosely resembled David Beckham’s 2006 World Cup hairstyle was so much against taking food by himself that he got miffed with the circumstances, wept silently, got up, went inside and discovered someone from inside who could feed him with her hands and thus found peace of mind. Another little man found it to be absolutely beyond his realm of liking to have food in the presence of large number of people and abstained from taking it even after many affectionate persuasions from many of us. Then there were two little girls sitting in the red sofa with a small kid in between them, and they assumed the role of elder sisters to this younger kid, and in a half-playful-half-affectionate mood jumped off from their respective places and swapped their positions frequently keeping their younger brother guessing about their next move, with all three finding great merriment in what they were doing. And this small boy, the subject of such overt expression of humour and affection, himself seemed to be a man of reputation for around his neck he proudly wore a green shawl as if it was an award presented to him for his enormous magnanimity. And there was one queer, young gentleman in a yellow tee-shirt who seemed to have a rather poor opinion on the dynamics of this “fast-paced” world, for he took his own time in finishing the food, unperturbed by the multitude of events unfolding around him, tutoring all of us that we shouldn’t race off to finish our food, but need to enjoy the intricacies of tasty food with meticulous precision.
Then there were some angels in the guise of ladies, who looked after the kids like mothers would. They got sad when a kid wept, got happy when another one smiled, got worried when yet another one jumped off from one step to the other, got pleased when all children finished their gratifying lunch. It appeared that their satisfied disposition was teaching us that the money we make is useless, the post and position we gain are trivial, if we fail to share our time and happiness with those who are less privileged than us, who are not as fortunate as we are, yet have the same right to be happy and content as we are.
And when we stepped out of Sandhwanam there was a slight drizzle in the air as if, for what we have done, Mother Nature was giving her approbation. Then we all got into our vehicles and moved on and then we looked back, one more time, and through the glassed windows in the upper stairs we saw them, those God’s children, giving us their precious smiles and waving their little hands at us as if, for what we have done, they were giving their approval.
Sandhwanam was a very serene place and in the main room were placed the holy books, The Bible, The Gita and The Quran, side-by-side, proclaiming that providing comfort to the distressed is the ultimate aim of all religions. Overlooking the proceedings was the photograph of the greatest soul to have ever lived in this world, Mother Theresa, a nun canonised not by any institutions but by the hearts of distraught people and by the prayers of suffering millions.
During lunch time at Sandhwanam, we played host and served food to the children. Anyone who went there thinking that it would be a poignant occasion had a pleasant awakening as witnessing the divine innocence of children, as it often does, brought mirth and happiness to the eyes and minds of the beholders. A cute little kid with a hair-do that loosely resembled David Beckham’s 2006 World Cup hairstyle was so much against taking food by himself that he got miffed with the circumstances, wept silently, got up, went inside and discovered someone from inside who could feed him with her hands and thus found peace of mind. Another little man found it to be absolutely beyond his realm of liking to have food in the presence of large number of people and abstained from taking it even after many affectionate persuasions from many of us. Then there were two little girls sitting in the red sofa with a small kid in between them, and they assumed the role of elder sisters to this younger kid, and in a half-playful-half-affectionate mood jumped off from their respective places and swapped their positions frequently keeping their younger brother guessing about their next move, with all three finding great merriment in what they were doing. And this small boy, the subject of such overt expression of humour and affection, himself seemed to be a man of reputation for around his neck he proudly wore a green shawl as if it was an award presented to him for his enormous magnanimity. And there was one queer, young gentleman in a yellow tee-shirt who seemed to have a rather poor opinion on the dynamics of this “fast-paced” world, for he took his own time in finishing the food, unperturbed by the multitude of events unfolding around him, tutoring all of us that we shouldn’t race off to finish our food, but need to enjoy the intricacies of tasty food with meticulous precision.
Then there were some angels in the guise of ladies, who looked after the kids like mothers would. They got sad when a kid wept, got happy when another one smiled, got worried when yet another one jumped off from one step to the other, got pleased when all children finished their gratifying lunch. It appeared that their satisfied disposition was teaching us that the money we make is useless, the post and position we gain are trivial, if we fail to share our time and happiness with those who are less privileged than us, who are not as fortunate as we are, yet have the same right to be happy and content as we are.
And when we stepped out of Sandhwanam there was a slight drizzle in the air as if, for what we have done, Mother Nature was giving her approbation. Then we all got into our vehicles and moved on and then we looked back, one more time, and through the glassed windows in the upper stairs we saw them, those God’s children, giving us their precious smiles and waving their little hands at us as if, for what we have done, they were giving their approval.
(Sandhwanam is an orphanage in Kochi)
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