CURRENTS

How India Changed My

Definitions

BY Eva Kaplan-Leiserson '98


 The weekend after I returned from my three-week trip to India, I went with some friends to a Japanese restaurant. There I encountered a green sauce that was reportedly "extremely hot." When I tried a tiny amount of this sauce on my sushi, I couldn't taste it. When I placed a teaspoonful in my mouth, I barely felt a thing. After India, very little tasted hot to me.

India changes your definitions. Hot is a small example; poor is a big one. In terms of material wealth, I saw more poverty every day in India than I've seen in my entire life in America. And it was poverty of all varieties. In the city we saw tarp lean-tos lining every main street, stump-bandaged lepers squatting in the subway entrances, and ragged children dodging traffic to beg at tour-bus windows. In the rural areas old women and cripples line temple entrances, thin old men pedal tourists in bicycle rickshaws, and families in mud huts eek out a living on rice farms. Constant in both the city and rural areas were people begging and selling.

Don't get me wrong. There are well-off Indians-just as there are poor Americans. But poverty in the two countries differs by degree, visibility, and sheer numbers. Simply put: in India more people are poorer, and they're out en masse. There aren't ten or fifteen sidewalk vendors trying to squeeze a living from passers-by-there are thirty or forty. There aren't five or ten homeless people asking for change on the street-there are fifty or sixty.

It was extremely difficult to say no to the beggars but we had to, lest we be mobbed by a crowd after giving change to one. Instead, we tried to give them something else: compassion. We tried to smile at them, acknowledge their humanity, give them a friendly word. Although these gestures wouldn't fill their stomachs, we hoped they would stay with the beggars after we left.

Many times, though, we were the ones left with an indelible impression. Among the beggars, and among the general populace of India, wealth, too, is redefined. Poverty and prosperity are not a simple matter of possessions. Although people in India with an abundance of material goods are relatively few and far between, people with a richness of spirit are found everywhere you look. How can the poor be so rich in spirit-and even so often happy? They can be happy for the same reason well-off westerners can be unhappy. Though everyone needs food, clothing, and shelter, material possessions beyond the basics do not guarantee joy in life: attitude does. It is no doubt because real problems are so visible in India that anything not life-

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 threatening becomes a minor inconvenience. And even then, even in the midst of harsh living conditions, joyful spirits shine through. In India happiness is not a magic spell that only works when every condition is perfect; there are many things to be happy about every day.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in the children: their smiles are 1,000 watts. Two children in particular made an impression on me. They wore tattered clothes and had no shoes, but they taught me the meaning of real happiness. They tagged along with us one day for about an hour, holding our hands. They didn't ask us for money, but gently hinted about their bare feet when we went over a puddle. We couldn't do anything but lift them over, two of us taking an arm of each and swinging them over the muck.

Their smiles and laughs were contagious. They swung on us and we played ring-around-the-rosy. We bought them cookies on the sly, hoping we wouldn't be mobbed. Only one other kid noticed and hung around while we divided up the treat to our two friends. The boys first offered some to us. "No, they're for you," we said. "But maybe you could share with your friend here." And they did, with a generous and loving spirit. The picture I took of our two friends is hanging on my bulletin board here at school. I try to look at it every day and remember the new definitions I learned in India. Poverty is not a run-down house or a broken-down car. Poverty is a lack of the basics: food, clothing, shelter. But it's also a lack of joy, forgetting to be happy, letting the small stuff get you down. My eight-year-old gurus taught me that.


Eva Kaplan-Leiserson (at right in photo above with Jacqueline Flisher, Tara McKee and friends) spent three weeks in India this January on a study/tour program under the direction of Professor Kevin Brien. She is an English major with a minor in philosophy.

 Washington - College - Magazine / Spring - 1998 by MC

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