He was traveling in another country on a business trip to meet with some of the heads of business to sort out certain issues. The running around from one factory to another due to the tightly scheduled meetings in that crazy traffic was maddening. But that particular drive for one hour to a factory away from the city to a far flung suburb was different. He had been mouthing “thank you” to quite a few people, all of them the who’s who in that country in those two or three days. Sitting in the back of the car, that drive of more than an hour raised a question, one which he felt was very important.
The road was not too bad, some pot holes, small ditches, making the drive a bit bumpy, but to over come these inconveniences, was the sight of the vast expanse of water extending on both side, seemingly endless. Extending up to the limits of human vision, and ending in the horizon was a treat to watch. Rain water had collected in an otherwise dry area, which was a brick making area, and had transformed the place into one of richness. He wound down the glass, the silence inside the car broken by the whir of the powered window, slowly as the gush of the wind disturbed the stillness inside.
Have I ever been thankful? Do I understand the meaning of thankfulness? What does it mean to be thankful? Do I really or have I really thanked anybody ever? The sunset not visible as the sky was terribly overcast, the lights of the city in the far distance seemed like the twinkle of stars. The placid lake disturbed by the wind causing ripples on the surface and the oar of a small fishing boat as it penetrated the surface. It was a means of livelihood for the people there and it was seasonal.
Not much of traffic, an occasional cycle rickshaw would pass with its bell ringing, the puller really having sweated his life out for the day, his eyes tired and shoulders drooping, sweat dripping down, but he continued seemingly oblivious to this. You never knew if he earned enough to feed himself and his family.
What was it to be thankful? His brother had taught him what death was, which he would not have known otherwise, his wife who gave up her career for him and never demanding, the neighbouring girl in trichy where he once lived who showed what it was to be unconditional, his other brother who helped him to understand how spineless this guy in the car was when he needed help long back in life, this other girl who flew the skies with her feet on the ground, very down to earth, who showed what spontaneity meant, his kids who exposed the violence in him.
To all these people whose company and association he enjoyed collectively and in private and who helped him to understand himself, had he ever been thankful? Not as a protocol and mere verbiage but an unsaid and honest sense of thankfulness. He was not sure. He knew one thing though, that he had been a hypocrite, could not express his softer feelings, lest he be considered a weakling. The car slowly heading into a bridge and the span of water extending for maybe four or five kilometers, the on coming headlights trying to pierce the resistive darkness of the imminent nightfall.
This reverie interrupted by his colleague.
“Sir, will this factory be passed?” His decisions were of utmost significance for the business and the job endowed him with lot of power, but he never let it get into his head, at least till then.
“I don’t think so, I will recommend a holiday probably, unless they change” and he kept quiet. His posture probably conveyed his reluctance to talk and the other person didn’t pursue the discussion further. The chimneys of the brick kilns stood defiantly in the lake, in anticipation of the dry season, when they would be active. Now they were quite and ready to be consumed by the darkness. There was so much of life in that surrounding stillness. A group of people clapping, singing and enjoying a boat ride. A young couple sitting on the bank enjoying nature’s romance.
When am I thankful? A mere shake of the hands and the extension of the lips would mean nothing, rather it is a stressful act, if I don’t want to do it. Is thankfulness devoid of humility? He had addressed a group of workers that afternoon in another factory. That factory had had a lot of problems and he had recommended a pull out earlier, later it was a conditional approval and things were supposed to have improved. He had visited the factory and while speaking to them, he felt thankful. He could realize the difference. Standing in front of nothing less than one thousand workers, most of them living below poverty line, his job had given him an opportunity to change things for them and it had. The conditions in the factory were better, payment regularity had improved and the feedback from the workers was in conformance to what he had seen. They were happy and he felt that upsurge, definitely not one of personal pride, but a deep sense of satisfaction, and there was a flash of thankfulness to his organization, which let him do something for a fellow human being, a sense of wholesomeness, no fragmentation, a sense of total integration from within.
The car passed through what seemed to be a market place, people selling flowers, cyclists riding with scant regard to rules, roadside hawkers busy, the petromax lights throwing light into the otherwise dark road.
Crossing his right leg over his left and leaning back, closing the windows, listening to the hum of the car’s aircon, he realized he had not been thankful generally, except to the organizations he worked for, as he enjoyed what he did and the opportunity they gave him. He had been selfish.
To thank a driver with the same intensity as you would thank a boss, to thank life for having brought him in touch with such nice people as much as to thank death which takes you to the tomorrow, His wife who had literally given up what was close to her, his brother who made him stronger by teaching him to die and yet be alive and the other who made him aware of his weakness, the two women who showed what friendship is all about, his kids who exposed the dark side in him. The very act of acknowledging their contribution was by itself an act of thanking. It is not something which can be expressed in words; it cannot be repaid or settled for life is not a statement of accounts.
Thinking about this, his eyes still closed, he again had the same feeling as he felt in the factory. It was effortless, a feeling that seemed to make him burst, an outcome of understanding what he was. As he opened his eyes, the dark sky with an occasional star, the dim moonlight reflected on the rippled water, the immensity of that moment and the sense of insignificance he felt after that introspection, that understanding, unbiased and honest, when he realized that he owed a lot to the spirit of life, to a stray dog or a beggar, or a small plant and the fact that he was endowed with the capability and free will to do so, made him understand what it was to be thankful. Not to hold but let go, not to bind or be bound but to set free, to be aware of the unmoving center, like the center of the hub in a wheel which is always at rest even as the periphery moves, acknowledging all happenings and to be aware of himself in all his interactions and relationships just as a mirror reflected the fact without warranting an interpretation, from that center would arise thankfulness, humility and love.
There was no need to verbalize for it was that drive, that expanse of water, and that stunning stillness which showed him who he was. He was thankful to the settling darkness which ironically reflected him so clearly. It is probably not a one time response, to lead a thankful life is a life of prayer, one of meditation with all senses open and alert, of love and holism. Thanking all of life in all its diverse forms and not begging; is what he felt at that moment as being really a life of gratitude.
As he arrived at the hotel and stepped out of the car, he genuinely thanked the driver, for he was a part of the exposure in the dark.
The road was not too bad, some pot holes, small ditches, making the drive a bit bumpy, but to over come these inconveniences, was the sight of the vast expanse of water extending on both side, seemingly endless. Extending up to the limits of human vision, and ending in the horizon was a treat to watch. Rain water had collected in an otherwise dry area, which was a brick making area, and had transformed the place into one of richness. He wound down the glass, the silence inside the car broken by the whir of the powered window, slowly as the gush of the wind disturbed the stillness inside.
Have I ever been thankful? Do I understand the meaning of thankfulness? What does it mean to be thankful? Do I really or have I really thanked anybody ever? The sunset not visible as the sky was terribly overcast, the lights of the city in the far distance seemed like the twinkle of stars. The placid lake disturbed by the wind causing ripples on the surface and the oar of a small fishing boat as it penetrated the surface. It was a means of livelihood for the people there and it was seasonal.
Not much of traffic, an occasional cycle rickshaw would pass with its bell ringing, the puller really having sweated his life out for the day, his eyes tired and shoulders drooping, sweat dripping down, but he continued seemingly oblivious to this. You never knew if he earned enough to feed himself and his family.
What was it to be thankful? His brother had taught him what death was, which he would not have known otherwise, his wife who gave up her career for him and never demanding, the neighbouring girl in trichy where he once lived who showed what it was to be unconditional, his other brother who helped him to understand how spineless this guy in the car was when he needed help long back in life, this other girl who flew the skies with her feet on the ground, very down to earth, who showed what spontaneity meant, his kids who exposed the violence in him.
To all these people whose company and association he enjoyed collectively and in private and who helped him to understand himself, had he ever been thankful? Not as a protocol and mere verbiage but an unsaid and honest sense of thankfulness. He was not sure. He knew one thing though, that he had been a hypocrite, could not express his softer feelings, lest he be considered a weakling. The car slowly heading into a bridge and the span of water extending for maybe four or five kilometers, the on coming headlights trying to pierce the resistive darkness of the imminent nightfall.
This reverie interrupted by his colleague.
“Sir, will this factory be passed?” His decisions were of utmost significance for the business and the job endowed him with lot of power, but he never let it get into his head, at least till then.
“I don’t think so, I will recommend a holiday probably, unless they change” and he kept quiet. His posture probably conveyed his reluctance to talk and the other person didn’t pursue the discussion further. The chimneys of the brick kilns stood defiantly in the lake, in anticipation of the dry season, when they would be active. Now they were quite and ready to be consumed by the darkness. There was so much of life in that surrounding stillness. A group of people clapping, singing and enjoying a boat ride. A young couple sitting on the bank enjoying nature’s romance.
When am I thankful? A mere shake of the hands and the extension of the lips would mean nothing, rather it is a stressful act, if I don’t want to do it. Is thankfulness devoid of humility? He had addressed a group of workers that afternoon in another factory. That factory had had a lot of problems and he had recommended a pull out earlier, later it was a conditional approval and things were supposed to have improved. He had visited the factory and while speaking to them, he felt thankful. He could realize the difference. Standing in front of nothing less than one thousand workers, most of them living below poverty line, his job had given him an opportunity to change things for them and it had. The conditions in the factory were better, payment regularity had improved and the feedback from the workers was in conformance to what he had seen. They were happy and he felt that upsurge, definitely not one of personal pride, but a deep sense of satisfaction, and there was a flash of thankfulness to his organization, which let him do something for a fellow human being, a sense of wholesomeness, no fragmentation, a sense of total integration from within.
The car passed through what seemed to be a market place, people selling flowers, cyclists riding with scant regard to rules, roadside hawkers busy, the petromax lights throwing light into the otherwise dark road.
Crossing his right leg over his left and leaning back, closing the windows, listening to the hum of the car’s aircon, he realized he had not been thankful generally, except to the organizations he worked for, as he enjoyed what he did and the opportunity they gave him. He had been selfish.
To thank a driver with the same intensity as you would thank a boss, to thank life for having brought him in touch with such nice people as much as to thank death which takes you to the tomorrow, His wife who had literally given up what was close to her, his brother who made him stronger by teaching him to die and yet be alive and the other who made him aware of his weakness, the two women who showed what friendship is all about, his kids who exposed the dark side in him. The very act of acknowledging their contribution was by itself an act of thanking. It is not something which can be expressed in words; it cannot be repaid or settled for life is not a statement of accounts.
Thinking about this, his eyes still closed, he again had the same feeling as he felt in the factory. It was effortless, a feeling that seemed to make him burst, an outcome of understanding what he was. As he opened his eyes, the dark sky with an occasional star, the dim moonlight reflected on the rippled water, the immensity of that moment and the sense of insignificance he felt after that introspection, that understanding, unbiased and honest, when he realized that he owed a lot to the spirit of life, to a stray dog or a beggar, or a small plant and the fact that he was endowed with the capability and free will to do so, made him understand what it was to be thankful. Not to hold but let go, not to bind or be bound but to set free, to be aware of the unmoving center, like the center of the hub in a wheel which is always at rest even as the periphery moves, acknowledging all happenings and to be aware of himself in all his interactions and relationships just as a mirror reflected the fact without warranting an interpretation, from that center would arise thankfulness, humility and love.
There was no need to verbalize for it was that drive, that expanse of water, and that stunning stillness which showed him who he was. He was thankful to the settling darkness which ironically reflected him so clearly. It is probably not a one time response, to lead a thankful life is a life of prayer, one of meditation with all senses open and alert, of love and holism. Thanking all of life in all its diverse forms and not begging; is what he felt at that moment as being really a life of gratitude.
As he arrived at the hotel and stepped out of the car, he genuinely thanked the driver, for he was a part of the exposure in the dark.
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