Kindness Should Not Wait

“Buy me a meal,” a ragpicker boy said, pointing towards a street food vendor. I looked at the signboard and asked him, “Would you like to eat chole bhature?” His little eyes lit up with hope as he nodded. Perhaps he had already imagined himself enjoying a plate of his favourite food. I asked the vendor, as it was still morning, whether the food was ready. In a matter-of-fact tone, he replied that it would take another half an hour to prepare. I turned towards the boy and told him that it would not be possible to wait that long. The hope in his eyes faded, and disappointment took its place. In a hurry to feed the stray animals, I continued towards a nearby herd of cows, leaving the little boy behind.

As I fed one of the cows, a thought suddenly struck me. How could I have been so careless? The boy had asked me for food because he was hungry, yet I had walked away simply because the food he wanted was not ready. I could have taken him to another shop, bought him some packed food or even given him some fruits. Why had I not thought of these simple alternatives? I looked back, hoping to find him, but he had disappeared. My heart felt heavy. I had been so busy carrying out my charitable activities that I had overlooked the immediate need of a hungry child standing right in front of me. Yet I wondered whether true service also meant being attentive enough to recognise the needs of those who crossed our path.

Some time later, I stopped at a vegetable vendor's shop to buy fresh vegetables. After filling my basket, I looked up to have the bill prepared, and there he was—the same little boy, walking past the shop. I did not want to miss another opportunity. Without wasting a moment, I picked up a big apple and handed it to him. I later asked the vegetable vendor to add its price to my bill. The boy immediately began munching the apple. I watched him relishing every bite as he walked away, and I felt relieved that this time I had not let the opportunity to help him pass by.

That little encounter taught me a lesson. Kindness is not always about doing something extraordinary; sometimes, it is about noticing someone's hunger and responding without delay. I had not been able to give the boy the meal he had asked for, but at least I could offer him something to eat. As the saying goes, “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.” I hope that, wherever life takes that little boy, he finds enough food, care and opportunities to live a better life. And I hope I always remember that compassion is not merely about having a kind heart; it is also about acting at the right moment.

Pic : Pexels

Duty First, Devotion Next

“Would you like this religious book on Maa Durga?” I asked a young man sitting on the pillion seat of a motorcycle. He had a tuft of hair like a pandit and was wearing a Blinkit jacket. He ignored me completely, almost as if I did not exist. I thought to myself that these delivery workers were always in a hurry to complete their orders and could hardly spare even a second for anything else. Every moment was precious to them, as they had to deliver orders on time.

Before Navratri begins, I distribute books on Maa NavDurga to genuine seekers. Some people cannot afford to buy religious books, some do not know how to order them online, and others are so occupied with their daily responsibilities that they never get around to buying them. I try to reach such people and place these books in their hands, hoping that someone who needs them will find them at the right time. After the young man ignored my offer, I walked a few steps forward and noticed that his motorcycle had stopped near the tower where I live. I hurried towards it, hoping to meet him, but both he and his companion had already disappeared inside the building.

After distributing the books, I took the lift to return home. It stopped at the sixth floor, and when the doors opened, I saw the same young man standing there, waiting for the lift. The moment he saw me, he said, “Madam, please give me now.” I was surprised and smiled to myself. He had not forgotten my offer; he had simply wanted to finish his duty first. Only after completing his work had he allowed himself to think about anything else. I took a few steps forward, handed him the book and asked if he would like any other book. Looking at the divine picture of Maa Durga on the cover, he replied, “That is enough.”

I stepped back into the lift, and as the doors were closing, I saw him standing there, completely absorbed in the book. He had opened it and begun reading while waiting for another lift to take him downstairs. The sight touched my heart. A few moments earlier, I had mistaken his silence for indifference, but now I understood that he had simply been sincere about his work. He had fulfilled his responsibility first, and then turned his attention to his spiritual interest. His actions reminded me of the famous saying often attributed to Swami Vivekananda: “They alone live who live for others.” Perhaps sincerity in one's work and sincerity in one's devotion are not so different after all. One teaches us to fulfil our duties honestly, while the other draws our hearts towards the Divine. As I returned home, I felt happy that a small book had found its way into the hands of someone who genuinely wished to read it. I had set out to distribute a religious book, but in that brief encounter, I received a gentle reminder not to judge people too quickly. Sometimes, a sincere worker and a sincere devotee are the very same person.

The Typing Lesson That Never Ended

“I will not allow you to go alone to that market. It is the rainy season, the roads become drains, and antisocial elements of society become active. If you have company, I will allow you to go.”

My mother’s words were final.

I had asked her permission to join a typing class, but instead of the permission I had hoped for, I received a list of dangers waiting outside our home. I was disappointed and disheartened. None of my friends was interested in learning typing. They were far more fascinated by beauty products, fashionable clothes and taking beautiful photographs of themselves. I, however, had somehow developed an unusual interest in learning how to type.

Since I could not go to the typing class, I went to the computer room and decided to find my own way.

In those days, connecting to the internet was not as effortless as it is today. The internet was expensive, and every minute mattered. I dialled the connection, opened Google and typed, “How to learn typing online.” Then I pressed the search button.

Several links appeared. I clicked on the first one and discovered, to my delight, that the first lesson was free.

I eagerly began.

I learned where each finger was supposed to rest on the keyboard—the little finger of the left hand on A, the ring finger on S, the middle finger on D and the index finger on F. Then I learned the corresponding positions for my right hand. It seemed almost like learning a new language, except that instead of words, I was learning the language of the keyboard.

Suddenly I remembered that the internet meter was running.

I quickly disconnected.

The rest of my education had to be offline.

Every day, whenever I found some free time, I took one lesson and practised it wholeheartedly. There were no expensive classes, no teacher sitting beside me and no friends learning along with me. There was simply a keyboard, a few lessons I had saved in my mind and my determination to learn.

When I completed all the lessons, I discovered another way to improve. I started playing typing games. They made practice enjoyable, and slowly my fingers began moving across the keyboard with greater confidence.

One day, my brother called me. I excitedly told him, “I have learned typing, but my speed is very slow.”

He was already an adept typist and gave me a piece of advice that I still remember.

“The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog,” he said. “This sentence contains all twenty-six letters of the English alphabet. Keep typing it again and again. Your speed will improve.”

I followed his advice.

At that time, I had no idea that this little typing lesson would eventually become the beginning of something much bigger.

While my friends were busy with the things that interested them, I was busy learning to type. And that decision stayed with me. It has now been seventeen years since I began writing my blogs.

My first blog was published on 1 October 2009.

When I look back at those early blogs, I smile. They were short because I did not yet have enough words to express everything I wanted to say. With time, however, the words multiplied. My thoughts became clearer, my stories became longer and I slowly discovered my own way of sharing experiences with my readers.

Earlier, my mother was my editor. She would read my writing and point out my mistakes. Today, technology has changed, and AI tools have become my editors. But one thing has remained unchanged—I still love sitting down and turning my thoughts into words.

Even my readers have travelled with me across the world.

Earlier, most of my readers were from India. Today, I see readers from the United States, Germany, the Netherlands, Brazil, Hong Kong, Singapore and many other countries whose exact locations I sometimes have to look up on the world map. Interestingly, only a very small number of my readers now come from India.

It amazes me.

A young girl who once could not get permission to walk alone to a typing class eventually found a way to learn typing at home. That small act of determination opened a door she could not have imagined. The keyboard that I first approached simply as a tool for typing eventually became a bridge to people I would never meet and places I might never visit.

As Helen Keller said, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.”

Perhaps my adventure began rather quietly—with a rainy season, a worried mother, an expensive internet connection and four letters on a keyboard: A, S, D and F.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened if my mother had allowed me to join that typing class. Perhaps I would have learned typing there and forgotten about it. Instead, her refusal pushed me towards a different path. I learned to find my own way.

And that may be the most valuable lesson of all.

Seventeen years have passed since that first blog. I have written through changing times, changing technologies and changing readers. My editor changed from my mother to AI, the internet became cheaper and faster, and my readers travelled from one country to another.

But my love for writing remains.

I hope I continue to learn, observe and write stories for as long as I can.

Perhaps I will keep pressing those keys until my fingers can no longer type—and until then, I hope there will always be another story waiting to be written.

Pic : Pixabay and AI Generated

A Career Drawn by Mehendi

“My maid’s daughter is not very good at studies. She dreams of seeing her become a career woman. How can I help her?” I asked my mother, who always seemed to have an excellent idea ready whenever I needed one.

She thought for a moment and said, “One of her daughters is already a beautician. Why not guide this girl towards becoming a mehendi artist? They will not compete with each other; instead, their skills will complement one another. Together, they can build a bigger business.”

Then she added something that stayed with me: “Mehendi is an art that is created by human hands. Even in a world increasingly influenced by AI, some forms of creativity will always carry the warmth of the person who creates them.”

I loved the idea. Following my mother’s suggestion, I paid a substantial amount for a mehendi course and arranged for a teacher to come to her home. For a month, she learned the fundamentals, patiently copying one intricate design after another. But learning was only the beginning. Whenever she found a little free time after her studies and household chores, she practised.

Soon, she began coming to my house to learn new designs from YouTube on my iPad. Her enthusiasm was infectious. She would carefully study a pattern, observe every curve and tiny detail, and then try to recreate it with her own hands. Her mother, sister and neighbours became her willing canvases. She practised on their hands again and again until the designs became smoother, finer and more confident.

As the months passed, something beautiful happened. She was no longer merely learning mehendi; she was discovering a skill that could belong to her.

Then came Teej.

That festive day brought her first real order. She held the mehendi cone with excitement, perhaps remembering all those evenings of practice and all those imperfect designs that had slowly taught her to become better. This time, someone had trusted her enough to pay for her art.

She completed the design with immense enthusiasm. And when she received her first income from mehendi, her face lit up with a happiness that money alone could never explain. It was not merely her first earning—it was proof that she could create something with her own hands and turn that ability into a profession.

Her mother was even happier. For a mother, watching her daughter earn her first income through a skill she has mastered must be one of the sweetest forms of success.

As Henry David Thoreau beautifully said, “What you get by achieving your goals is not as important as what you become by achieving your goals.” Watching this young girl grow from a hesitant learner into a budding mehendi artist, I realised that sometimes the greatest gift we can give someone is not money, but the opportunity to discover what they can do with their own hands.

My mother had given me an idea. I had helped create an opportunity. But the girl herself had done the most important part—she had practised, persisted and transformed that opportunity into a beginning.

And perhaps her first mehendi order was not just the beginning of her income. It was the first delicate line in the design of her future.

Pics 1-3 : Mehendi designs by budding artist

Pic 4 : Mehendi design that brought her first income

Enough of Spiritual Experiences, Maa Kalratri!

 

“Enough of spiritual experiences, Maa Kalratri!” I prayed to Mother Divine from the depths of my heart. “You remove darkness from the lives of your devotees. This time, please remove the darkness from the life of this innocent little bitch.” My prayer came from a painful encounter with a female dog whose hind legs had become paralysed after an unknown accident. Once an active animal, she was now forced to crawl on the streets to survive. As she dragged her body along the road, broken glass, sharp stones and other pointed objects often caused fresh cuts and injuries. Watching her struggle touched my heart deeply. I started helping her in whatever little way I could—guiding her towards safer places and giving her food. But her condition remained unchanged, and I felt helpless.

I tried contacting several NGOs, hoping someone would come forward to take care of her, but nothing seemed to work. I would keep her on soft grass so that she would not hurt herself, but she would somehow return to the garbage-filled lanes, perhaps looking for food or simply trying to find her own way of surviving. Then I contacted a nearby dog clinic, where I met a compassionate doctor. Although treatment usually involved expenses, he treated her without charging me anything. His kindness gave me hope, but unfortunately, despite the treatment, there was no significant improvement in her condition. Her back injury seemed permanent, and I could not stop wondering what would become of her.

It was during Sharad Navratri that I offered a different kind of prayer. The seventh day is dedicated to Maa Kalratri, and my spiritual experiences on this day had often been intense. But this time I folded my hands and said, “No more spiritual experiences, Maa. I don't want anything for myself. Please remove the darkness from this innocent animal's life.” I remembered one of the beautiful names of Mother Divine in the Lalita Sahasranama: “आब्रह्म-कीट-जननी” — Aabrahma-keeta-janani, meaning that She is the Mother of all beings—from Brahma to the tiniest creature. If every living being is Her child, I thought, then surely this helpless dog too belongs to Her.

Then something beautiful happened. Next day, a contact number of an NGO based in Vasant Kunj, Delhi, was shared with me by a stray dog lover. I immediately contacted them, and hope returned to my heart. They came to take the dog and transported her to a hospital in Gurgaon. Her back injury could not be reversed, but the story did not end there. The NGO continued to care for her and gave her something she had never had on the streets—a safe and loving home. They even provided her with wheels that supported her hind legs and allowed her to move around independently.

I had asked Maa Kalratri for one thing—to remove the darkness from this innocent animal's life. She did not make her back injury disappear, but She opened a door that I could never have opened myself. An NGO took responsibility for her, and a loving home welcomed her. Perhaps that was Maa Kalratri's answer: not a spiritual experience, but a little life rescued from darkness and given another chance to live.

Video : Paralysed innocent animal

Pic : Maa Kalratri

The Wheels of Kindness

“My business is down. Even after two years of Corona have passed, my business has not picked up. My sales have fallen to barely ten percent. I am using my savings to pay the rent, my employees’ salaries and other expenses. It is a really difficult phase of my life. I do not know how long I will be able to survive.” The bicycle vendor spoke these words with a pain that was difficult to ignore. I had known him not merely as a vendor but as a kind and generous human being. He had a special affection for stray dogs. Every morning and evening, he fed them and, during the harsh winters, even built little shelters for them so they could sleep safely and warmly. Once, I told him about a paralysed female dog living across the road. I used to feed her in the morning, but because of my busy evening routine, I was unable to feed her then. Without hesitation, he said, “You don't worry. I will feed her.” His own business was struggling, yet he never allowed his difficulties to make him indifferent to the suffering of another living being. His kindness reminded me of Mahatma Gandhi's words, “The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.”

I kept wondering, How could I help him? Since I had no personal need for a bicycle, I decided to buy one from him for the school-going daughters of one of my employees. Some time later, I bought a small children's bicycle with supporting wheels for the kindergarten-going children of another employee. Then, after some more time had passed, I bought bicycles for my maid's daughters. They had been travelling to school by doubling on the same cycle, taking turns to balance themselves and their schoolbags. Now each girl could ride comfortably and safely to school. Every time I bought a bicycle, I felt that perhaps I was doing something small not only for a child's happiness but also for a man whose livelihood depended on those sales. The bicycles brought smiles to children's faces, but I knew that my little efforts could never compensate for the enormous loss he was facing.

Eventually, despite everything, his business had to shut down. The little bicycle shop that had once been a source of his livelihood disappeared, and so did the familiar presence of the man who had cared for so many stray dogs. Whenever I now have to gift someone a bicycle, I instinctively think of him and try calling his number—but his phone is switched off. I don't know where life has taken him or what he is doing today. I can only pray that the goodness he so freely gave to helpless animals has somehow returned to him in another form. Perhaps somewhere, another door opened for him—perhaps he found another business, a better opportunity, and a livelihood with far greater returns. “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted,” as Aesop is often credited with saying. I hope this is true for him. Wherever he may be, I hope life has finally rewarded the man who, even during his own difficult days, never stopped caring for those who had no voice to ask for help.

Pic : AI Generated

Making Someone’s Journey a Little Lighter

“Who carries their baggage like this in modern times?” I wondered when I first noticed a shabby-looking man walking along the road, dressed in a wheatish-coloured dhoti and kurta, with a long stick resting across his left shoulder and little bundles and potlis hanging from either side. For a fleeting moment, his unusual appearance and way of carrying his belongings caught my attention, but instead of judging him, I felt compassion. Perhaps he could not afford the expensive bags that we take for granted, or perhaps he simply loved the freedom and simplicity of carrying only what was necessary. There was something timeless about him. He walked slowly, as though the long road had made his feet weary and he was quietly looking for a place to rest. I approached him and asked, “Do you want to drink tea?” He simply nodded.

I asked a nearby tea vendor to prepare a cup of tea for him and give him a packet of biscuits, and then went about my usual charity work of feeding stray animals. When I returned, I noticed that his breakfast was still not ready, so I bought some fresh fruits for him. He accepted them gratefully and carefully placed them inside one of his little bundles. After his brief refreshment, he adjusted the long stick on his shoulder, gathered his belongings and prepared to continue his journey. I watched him begin walking again, slowly disappearing down the road, carrying his little world upon his shoulders.

Watching him walk away, I suddenly felt that perhaps our meeting had a purpose. Life, too, is a journey—we carry our own invisible bundles of memories, hopes, responsibilities and dreams. Along the way, we meet people who remain in our lives for years and others who cross our paths for only a few minutes, yet leave behind a lasting impression. As Lao Tzu is widely credited with saying, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” Perhaps that traveler had already taken thousands of such steps, carrying his simple possessions while carrying within him a story I would never know. And perhaps our paths crossed for only a few moments because sometimes kindness does not require us to know someone's entire story; it simply asks us to make their journey a little lighter.

Pic : AI Generated