One Sweet World

On occasional Sunday mornings a few of my hotel-mates and I will struggle out of bed at 5 am to help a local Sikh couple serve langar at their gurudwara.  Langar is a wonderful concept: anyone, be it Sikh, Christian, Hindu, or Muslim, can come take a simple meal served by unpaid Sikh volunteers.  The only stipulation is that everyone is seated on the ground and everyone eats together.  The concept is called vand chakko, or sharing what you have and consuming it together.

The Sikhs I know have been coming to the gurudwara every day for many years, donating huge pots of dal and thousands of chapattis.  I know them through a funny coincidence.  One of the women in my hotel was previously housed at a guesthouse in Defence Colony, just up the road from where we stay now.  Every morning, she used to pet one of the stray neighborhood dogs.  One morning, her neighbor came outside to remark,  "I see you every day, always petting this dog!"  They struck up a friendship, and now months later she has convinced us to troupe en masse before sunrise into a crowd of singing, praying Sikhs.

Last Sunday was odd because it immediately followed on the heels of a trip to the Tibetan colony on the far north side of Delhi.  Before coming to India, I had just about as much exposure to Buddhism as I had to Sikhism.  Wandering into this colony was like entering another world.  Tucked away from the heat and crowds, we found a peaceful little market selling all types of trinkets, jewelry, shawls, carpets, bags, you name it, but without the pressure and the haggling of most Delhi bazaars.  The odd Buddhist monk shuffled past the stalls and a small temple ringed with prayer wheels stood at the far end, from which came the sound of bells and chanting.  Above the rooftops, prayer flags were strung in every direction, punctuated by "Free Tibet" banners.

Most poignantly, signs advertised budget travel to and from Dharamsala, the current home-in-exile of the Dalai Lama, and offered low-price phone calls home to Tibet.  You got the feeling that those staying in this enclave would really much rather be back in the mountains, not in the heat of the plains.  I spun a few prayer wheels for them, it being the least I could do. It's such a big world, so far beyond my past experience.

Still, I was reminded after the gurudwara that it's a small world, too.  We were invited back to the home of one Sikh gentleman for tea, and after our early wake-up call we were happy for the caffeine.  This gentleman is an avid gardener, and plants burst out onto his driveway, onto his terrace, and spill out down from the roof.  He's won several all-India competitions for his bonsai trees.  This week, one of my companions was coming along for the first time.  But, when we stepped out of the car, her eyes went wide.

"This is your garden?" she exclaimed.

When the gentleman affirmed, she burst out laughing.  "I came to India a few years ago and stayed at the guesthouse down the road.  Every day, I would walk past this house and say how pretty the garden was.  I even have pictures of it in my photo album.  Now here I am, having tea with the gardener!"

I am always amazed at the way the smallest things stay with you, even when the world itself is so very big.