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What is Compassion?
Quite contrary to Monday morning madness for me Monday evenings are the most dreadful. Why? I have to
take my eldest son to Kumon classes and wait outside, inside our small car managing the other two boys (2
year old and 4 year old).To me this is an ordeal more tedious than Hercules’s was in search of the golden
apple. The little brats are always fidgeting and the teacher nods negatively, if at all I try to encroach her
otherwise peaceful establishment with my army of boys.
It was one such Monday and to my disbelief both boys fell asleep in the car and here I was, left
alone with nothing to do…….literally nothing to do……after ages. So I drifted off unknowingly to my old
habit of watching passers by.
First emerged a boy emerged with a Kumon folder with many advanced level stickers proudly
displayed - no wonder, a Chinese boy. Two more Chinese boys followed suit and then a teenaged Chinese
girl- all in advanced level. What blessed parents! The children were calling their daddy to come and pick
them up, one grabbing the cell impatiently from the other to speak to daddy wonderfully. I had the curiosity
to know who this sweet daddy was. But I sensed something was amiss. Yes, the boy making the call did not
have his right arm. To my dismay the second boy, the third boy and the girl were all handicapped lacking
one arm. Now I was all the more curious to see the miserable parent. In five minutes daddy arrived. When
he stepped out of the car, all the four children ran to hug him. Daddy handed over a five dollar bill, the
children were competing to get hold of the money and off they darted to the nearby cleaners to get daddy’s
shirt. Now this daddy was no smart Chinese guy, but an old, white American gentleman in his seventies
with very sharp features. He did not have a big car, he did not look rich, for he didn’t even have a water
softener. He was collecting drinking water from the nearby WATER ‘N ICE. He sure had a big heart, much
bigger than all of us collectively. And what a blissful family he had - not yours - yet yours in every sense.
Truly, like a rose that blooms and fades unknown, yet which spreads its fragrance.
When the family sped off happily, it left an indelible question in me - What is compassion? Until then, to me
compassion was, not sharing from your poverty, but throwing a few bucks from your bounty. Though we
boast of being direct disciples of St Thomas, for generations we have this peculiar problem of hoarding
wealth for our descendants and passing few extra pennies to charity. We feast on our forefather’s toil and
are never ready to forfeit a bit of our inherited fortune. We have even concocted an easy remedy to attain
salvation - prayers, more prayers and retreats - though never ready to budge a bit. Isn’t this one man’s life
worth a million prayers? I will let you decide.
Sujatha Roy