“India is the cradle of the human race, the birthplace of human speech, the mother of history, the grandmother of legend, and the great grandmother of tradition. Our most valuable and most instructive materials in the history of man are treasured up in India only.”- Mark Twain
When I read this I wondered how much I am aware of my country. I have for sure read India’s history. I am proud of my country because I am an Indian. But have I ever tried to look beyond just that? There is so much we can take in. We never try to explore those things from different angles.
I accepted, because I didn’t know what it meant. When I went to school, there were some student in my class whose names were slightly different from mine. I asked them why so? They told me they are Muslims.
One such day I was watching TV, and the some songs were playing and an old man dressed in red. I asked, who is he? They told me he is Santa. I asked again, who is Santa? They said he is a Christian saint and they are celebrating Christmas. Then I came to know there is another set of people who are called Christians.
Then one day they told me the priest who visits the temple is Brahmin. As I grew up I came to know about a number of different religions and how they are further subdivided.
Here I am talking about tradition and culture of India as well as the caste system. How do we as human beings live or come to understand our society or the people living in it? We are told these things.
That definition becomes the whole point of how we see our fellow human. Here I would like to thank my parents and family that they told me to respect each and every human being irrespective of whom they are.
Here is why I think it is difficult to change some traditional flaws in India anytime soon:
Everything is not perfect like a white paper. With time we will be able to separate the caste system from religion itself or at least not judge, rate, or see people from this point of view. The deeper you go the more intricacies you will encounter.
Talking about culture differs from state to state. If you go from north to south or east to west, you’ll get a cultural shock. The dialect, dress, music, faith, everything is different.
This is one of the reasons why in India we keep celebrating festivals throughout the year. Living in such a society makes me respect other human beings and the religion they follow with the same intensity as I would do for people of my religion.
I believe your faith/religion is there for the soul purpose of helping you when you feel a little lost, and need a divine strength in your life. No religion ever says that you should demean other people.
The message is simple “respect other human being for the simple fact that they are human being and nothing, more nothing less.”
Size matters. Whether it’s with actions or appearances, we are told that our purpose in life is to “do big things.” This, however, is a tall order—one that can invoke much confusion and frustration.
However, to attain clarity in the midst of such extremes, flock to the rooftop of Prem Dan. A home for the elderly, sick, and dying, it is a microcosm in the midst of a city encapsulated by a haze of smog and spices: Kolkata, India.
The streets are alive with beggars and merchants bartering their fresh produce. Rickshaws and tut-tuts compete with taxis and buses for space in the tight mazes that constitute the roads.
The gutters are intricately decorated with trash and dust strewn in piles. Pedestrians shuffle about with careful steps.
Footsteps of thousands of people combined with the staccato of the cars honking set the stage for the bass and treble. From the roof, one can hear the throaty, Islamic call to prayer, the poetic Bengali folk music streaming from nearby window sides, and a train rumbling along the tracks all at once.
The sharp call, of “Auntie!” interrupts this rhythm that snaps one back to the reality that lies behind the doors of Prem Dan.
A little fast thinking and quick hands, and sopping wet dresses and shorts are fling from each direction, slapping as they hit the ground.
Slowly, the roof transforms from a bare no-man’s-land of parallel bars and perpendicular wires, to a rainbow maze of drying fabrics. Within the first few minutes, hands are already stinging from wringing out the laundry laced with lye soap.
Yet, the concept of time itself does not exist—it is difficult to differentiate the third trip from the thirteenth trip up the six flights of stairs leading to the open air. Instead, time is undercover as a metronome ticking with the alternating acts of entry and re-entry.
Entry takes one down with an empty tin pail to the ground level, a chasm of medicine, chemicals, and fecal matter. Re-entry returns the passenger, bucket in hand now overflowing, to the scenic rooftop that welcomes with a comforting inhale of fresh air.
The rooftop is particularly transformative in that it is the source of clarity in Prem Dan. It paints a birds-eye-view picture of Kolkata.
Surrounding Prem Dan is a concentric layer of poverty. Within that ring are many hidden rings of true poverty and organized begging cartels that traffick women and children into a cycle of oppression. The border of this ring is thick with indifference.
There is a layer marked by stark contrast. The ornate opulence of vibrantly colored temples houses gods, and the filth-ridden streets. The streams of friendly greetings to one another are welcoming, while the incessant honking and yelling is disconcerting.
The metal cots are not draped with Frette, and the daal makhani is not served on a silver platter. Yelling and seemingly harsh methods of helping the women and men that reside may not strike a chord of unison with what volunteers would deem as appropriate, but there is an undeniable bond of hope.
It is a community of care that unites thousands from around the world with its Bengali employees and nuns to serve with an open heart and mind. In the midst of another, larger place in which you are less valuable than a piece of chapatti, it is a place in which the good you do will feel rewarding.
Its rooftop shows a vast stretch of city, of which every inch is alive and beating with sensory overload. This makes the goal of making an impact and invoking progress through service seem totally unattainable.
However, there is something about entering the doors of Prem Dan that shuts off any notions of frustration and exhaustion from the chaos of the city that surrounds it. Each exit from Prem Dan back to Kolkata instills a newfound sense of purpose and ambition. This purpose and ambition is to put diligence into every small effort.
Mother Teresa once said that although the entire world may not ever notice what you do, it is imperative to do whatever “it” may be anyway, and to not underestimate the power of the smallest of efforts.
In the small vicinity of Prem Dan, the opportunity to pluck each chance for change awaits; to serve with purpose, passion, and senses of humility and grace. It no longer matters that the surrounding world is ridden with an infinite amount of glorious imperfections. What matters is the small efforts dedicated to serving wholeheartedly.
Though there are moments in which the vastness of Kolkata feels overwhelming, it is possible to find clarity and instill a sense of capability through service at Prem Dan.