It must be true that kindness is an universal language
On the way to work, Mirchi 95 enlightened me about National Kindness day. I felt it was apt to brush the cobwebs from my blog and force myself to pen down four personal anecdotes; long lingering in my heart, waiting to be brought alive in the form of words.
1. May I?
The underground City was a blessing in the merciless winter in February. We often explored different parts of this city in the evenings. One such evening brought us to the indoor ice rink. Of the eateries that dotted the perimeter of the ice rink, we decided to try out a Chinese eatery. The counter was operated by a middle-aged lady of Asian origin. She sensed that we were new to the place. I thought it was the Asian connection that helped us get into a conversation pretty soon. She had migrated years earlier and continued to work very hard. She was visibly proud of her sons; the eldest one was studying in McGill University. When we were about to leave after dinner, she quickly scribbled a phone number on a card and handed it over saying "I don't speak good English. If you need any help in the city, please contact my sons. They can guide you."
2. Next time. Really?
I used to have lunch at a small eatery in the ground floor of the hotel, which was open to external commuters and other residents in the hotel. Some of the options offered were to to select a number of dishes for a specific amount or pay as per weight of the selected items. As I struggled with the different coinage denominations, I devised different methods to circumvent my shortcomings : come prepared with exact amount; ensure the final price would be a whole number; store denominations in different pockets; rehearse the value of and relation between different denominations as I made it through the queue. Yet no matter what I did, I went blank at the counter. Sometimes, I would just empty my pockets and ask the man at the counter to take the correct change. At those times, I tried not to think of that school girl who prided herself a math lover. Occasionally, the danish assortment display at the counter would tempt me. My calculations would go for a toss. I would hold up the line for a period that seemed indefinite to me, but neither the man at the counter nor the people waiting behind would object. I had visited that eatery twice a day through 4 days. On the fifth day, giving to the charms of a danish and a pastry, I ran short of coins to pay for my food. As I debated the different options in my mind, the man at the counter was gracious to tell me to just pay next time, not knowing if I stayed at the hotel or whether I would really turn up the next day.
3. Starting off..
I had to sign at the register book at the client office reception area. The friendly lady at the reception was a middle aged lady of African origin. I am not sure what it was, but over a course of a week, we got past exchanging hellos. I mentioned to her that I was planning to get myself a phone over the weekend. She offered to take me. I don't remember how I responded as she was a complete stranger. Chiding myself through the next morning, hiding my apprehension from my family in India, I wished she wouldn't turn up. However, she did. I took a leap of faith and sat at the edge of my seat, ready to jump outside the car. She drove me to the nearest Walmart, waited while I chose a go-phone and helped me select some microwaveable food so that I could get through a few days till one of my colleagues from India, who was in another part of the city, could come over and help. Through my tenure there, we continued to be in touch. On my last day, we grabbed a Whopper.
4. No other way do we know!
It was difficult in a city with no familiar faces. I sure had the raw deal to be the only person land in a team with people who had varying and odd perceptions about Indians. However, that story is for a later time. As is generally the norm, ourfamily friend tried to get me connected with a Malayali family in the city. The elderly couple, immigrants from the seventies, helped me immensely; taught me to drive per the rules in the country and accompanied me to the car rental, helped me with grocery shopping and checked on me when I fell sick, took me to the bank and for carol singing, kept my luggage when I had to vacate the hotel during trips. I soon realized over course of time, that I was not an exception. This good samaritan couple helped numerous people, enabling many new immigrants ease into the ways of a foreign country. They were grateful for their experiences in the country and rolled up their sleeves to help at any opportunity. As I bid goodbye at the airport, I choked on tears, fumbling for words to expressmy gratitude. In between tears, I blurted that I would never be able to repay their kindness. They smiled and told me that they just acted the way they hoped others would if their children would ever need help in a foreign country.
1. May I?
The underground City was a blessing in the merciless winter in February. We often explored different parts of this city in the evenings. One such evening brought us to the indoor ice rink. Of the eateries that dotted the perimeter of the ice rink, we decided to try out a Chinese eatery. The counter was operated by a middle-aged lady of Asian origin. She sensed that we were new to the place. I thought it was the Asian connection that helped us get into a conversation pretty soon. She had migrated years earlier and continued to work very hard. She was visibly proud of her sons; the eldest one was studying in McGill University. When we were about to leave after dinner, she quickly scribbled a phone number on a card and handed it over saying "I don't speak good English. If you need any help in the city, please contact my sons. They can guide you."
2. Next time. Really?
I used to have lunch at a small eatery in the ground floor of the hotel, which was open to external commuters and other residents in the hotel. Some of the options offered were to to select a number of dishes for a specific amount or pay as per weight of the selected items. As I struggled with the different coinage denominations, I devised different methods to circumvent my shortcomings : come prepared with exact amount; ensure the final price would be a whole number; store denominations in different pockets; rehearse the value of and relation between different denominations as I made it through the queue. Yet no matter what I did, I went blank at the counter. Sometimes, I would just empty my pockets and ask the man at the counter to take the correct change. At those times, I tried not to think of that school girl who prided herself a math lover. Occasionally, the danish assortment display at the counter would tempt me. My calculations would go for a toss. I would hold up the line for a period that seemed indefinite to me, but neither the man at the counter nor the people waiting behind would object. I had visited that eatery twice a day through 4 days. On the fifth day, giving to the charms of a danish and a pastry, I ran short of coins to pay for my food. As I debated the different options in my mind, the man at the counter was gracious to tell me to just pay next time, not knowing if I stayed at the hotel or whether I would really turn up the next day.
3. Starting off..
I had to sign at the register book at the client office reception area. The friendly lady at the reception was a middle aged lady of African origin. I am not sure what it was, but over a course of a week, we got past exchanging hellos. I mentioned to her that I was planning to get myself a phone over the weekend. She offered to take me. I don't remember how I responded as she was a complete stranger. Chiding myself through the next morning, hiding my apprehension from my family in India, I wished she wouldn't turn up. However, she did. I took a leap of faith and sat at the edge of my seat, ready to jump outside the car. She drove me to the nearest Walmart, waited while I chose a go-phone and helped me select some microwaveable food so that I could get through a few days till one of my colleagues from India, who was in another part of the city, could come over and help. Through my tenure there, we continued to be in touch. On my last day, we grabbed a Whopper.
4. No other way do we know!
It was difficult in a city with no familiar faces. I sure had the raw deal to be the only person land in a team with people who had varying and odd perceptions about Indians. However, that story is for a later time. As is generally the norm, ourfamily friend tried to get me connected with a Malayali family in the city. The elderly couple, immigrants from the seventies, helped me immensely; taught me to drive per the rules in the country and accompanied me to the car rental, helped me with grocery shopping and checked on me when I fell sick, took me to the bank and for carol singing, kept my luggage when I had to vacate the hotel during trips. I soon realized over course of time, that I was not an exception. This good samaritan couple helped numerous people, enabling many new immigrants ease into the ways of a foreign country. They were grateful for their experiences in the country and rolled up their sleeves to help at any opportunity. As I bid goodbye at the airport, I choked on tears, fumbling for words to expressmy gratitude. In between tears, I blurted that I would never be able to repay their kindness. They smiled and told me that they just acted the way they hoped others would if their children would ever need help in a foreign country.
Comments