Property woes

One of our staff members returned this morning from his native village after attending the funeral of a relative.  I saw him down since his arrival and just before lunch asked if all was well.  He then started narrating his pain about retaining a small bit of land - all that he really owns, in his village - that too from the greedy hands of his own uncle.  What pained him most was this betrayal and backstabbing by his own kith and kin.  Those who should have been standing by him, are the ones usurping his share of the property.  Not only do they want the land bit but to grab it the tactics they are adopting are cruel: they forced this man and his family out of the rented house at midnight.  He, along with his wife, two small kids, aged mother were on the road just before midnight!  He couldn't bear it anymore and broke down narrating it.  This is the first time I have seen him weep.  The pain and humiliation of a son, a father, a husband ... was vivid. All this, around and about a one and half cent bit of land!  

He is still to recover from that shock and pain. Adding to it is the awareness of his helplessness.  No one wishes to get involved citing it to be a family matter.  Walking away from that land is like giving up the only thing he feels connected with back with his roots, especially his deceased father's legacy. 

 As religious, we own much land.  Keeping track of every bit of it and ensuring maximum utility is not something that we do or feel pressurized to do.  But I also know of the agony involved in securing these properties and ensuring that no one creates false documents and lays claim for any of these bits.  Although it is a big headache, it is not always a matter of life and death for us.  Worse comes to worse, we forgo the land and move on. We do not feel the pinch of it. 

On the other hand, most lay people, especially farmers in rural areas who have inherited land from their ancestors or simple city folk who have 'earned' miniscule plots after years of toil, face an uphill task to keep these land bits secure.  And by chance, if some greedy souls lay eyes on it, then they either spend their whole earning on it or have to give it up, due to sheer pressure of the big sharks.  The desperation and helplessness when faced with such challenges is deep and acute! 

Conversation with a stranger

 Two days ago I received a call from an unknown number. It was a lady on the other end of the call.  She introduced herself as a housewife, mother of two kids, living at one end of Hyderabad city.  She called because she wanted to enroll herself for some skilling course and procure some employment.  From her voice her desperation and need was evident.  I listened to her.  Asked her a few particulars about her location and educational qualification. Then based on the information gathered, I directed her to call one of our Dhisha units offering career guidance and job placement opportunities in Hyderabad. Also recommended that she visit the office and meet the Dhisha staff or coordinator to speak in person, since she lived not too far from there. Besides she could also see for herself if there was a course beginning at Tech Mahindra, which is right next door to the Dhisha office. 

She later texted me saying she wasn't able to get through to speak to the person whose contact I shared.  Then asking if there were any other possibilities or opportunities in Hyderabad itself.  I guided her as best as I could.  We texted back and forth over the next two hours, with her basically updated me. The last text hours later the same day was that there were no courses or programmes on offer through any of the people she contacted through my reference.  I had my hands full that day with a hundred and one other things and I couldn't right away offer her any further options. So I marked that whatsapp conversation as unread, to offer her a reply with some other options, in a day or two - when I could think of something.   

This afternoon she called me and stated that she joined a particular skill training course with MagicBus, very close to her residence - starting today.  And she began to thank me profusely.  At one point I told her, "It is I who need to thank you, for having the courtesy of informing me of this opportunity that has come your way. But why are you thanking me? Because I wasn't of any help to you." She replied, "Sir, your willingness to help me was a great blessing for me! That's why I'm calling back to inform you of this opportunity that I chanced upon." 

It has been quite sometime since I have had such an experience.  Some stranger getting back in touch with you, just to thank you for being with her in her time of desperation, for being concerned and willing to help... even though I wasn't really of any use to her. Right now, I'm thankful to God too, for I did say a prayer for her - that she would get help, because she needed it. That prayer was more out of my own guilt of being unable to extend her the help she needed, than anything else.  God bless her!  

Holy Saturday: Silence

Holy Saturday marks the death of God. The day is akin to an eerie silence that pervades all around us and everything is still. Bereft of all plans, all hopes, of everything we had, we stand still. Not sure what next. It is like Saul after he was blinded after his encounter with the Lord near Damascus. Utterly helpless. Not sure what the future holds. Not convinced of the past one has lived. Yet it is these days that mark the conversion of Saul to Paul. His introspection where he has nothing to claim his own or anything for sure is what paves the way for his transformation. Holy Saturday offers us the same tomb-experience. Of being silent. Of being still.

As Christians, we often kill this experience or brush past this opportunity for the silence is haunting. We prefer the sentimentality of Good Friday or the thrill of Easter Sunday. The stillness of Holy Saturday is too demanding. Yet one is challenged to live it. Imagine the state of the apostles, of Jesus' disciples, of Mother Mary. They did not have the assured guarantee of the Sunday resurrection. They lived through the Holy Saturday and therefore Easter meant more than Jesus' resurrection to them. It paved the way for their own transformation too.

The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas

For the first time today, I picked up a book from our own community library to read. It was The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas by John Boyne.  

I knew that this book was made into a movie too, but somehow never got myself to see it for it has something to do with the Holocaust.  This morning I said to myself, I will read the book and then watch the movie to see which is better.

The book is the poignant story of two 9-year olds on either side of the fence of a concentration camp in Poland.  One the son of a German officer and the other a Jew in the camp.  The book is narrated from the eyes and mind of the German boy, Bruno.

In spite of the tragedy and gloom all around, the story is lively and the child's innocence keeps it heart-warming - even through and to the extent of death.  There were times in the book, when I wanted to intervene, especially towards the end.  But found myself too stunned and lost for words. I still feel the hair on my hands stand up - watching helplessly as the two boys march on. The fact that those boys go through death, without being aware of it, makes it consoling; yet offers no comfort at all.

Few points that stand out for me:

• How children grow up - or to be precise, fed with - prejudices and theories which are totally contrary to their own world-view.  But still children grow up to believe in the 'theories' or 'rules' set before them because they are done by the ones they love most - their parents.  Their initial innocence is over-ridden by the 'truth' they are told, which they then retell others, even if it meant they do not understand or even do not accept them.  
• How right the children are and as an adult reading the book, you cannot but see it; yet in reality we act as adults! 
• As one reading it I could not but feel the pain and agony, but how much more would the ones who were in that context have gone through.  Not just the victims (Shmuel and the Jews) but even those who stood by helpless but vocal (the grandmother); the silent trying to make sense (Maria); the utterly helpless (Pavel). 
• How harsh realities of life make one mature way beyond ones years. Shmuel knows more of life than Bruno.  His occasional silences are an added confirmation of this fact, besides the times he shares about his life.  

Makes me question, more than wonder, the worth of my own life.

I will never get myself to watch the movie. 

David is no more!

He was stabbed below the heart and the knife dragged inside so as to tear his stomach out and his internal organs were all forced out. His gold necklace, telephone, money were all stolen. This must have happened at about 2.30 in the morning. Poor David, just 16 years old, must have bled to death there. No one helped him then, nor is anyone now. A touching incident which occurred on June 13, 2009 in far away Hungary ... but has a message for everyone!

Read more about the fragility of human life ... the cruelty of the human heart ... the helplessness of a wounded family ... of this incident.

Thanks to Fr Simon for sharing this part of his life and mission!