Listening

The promised Mumbai essay:

Amidst the bustle of a weekend evening at a Mumbai beach, S. and I sat together, looking out at the ocean, feeling the grittiness of sand between our toes, smelling the salty air that carried scents of different street foods, punctuating our conversation with long moments of silence. Periodically, a child would come and ask us for money, or a vendor would try selling us chanas. We would decline, then lapse into silence. I would remark how much I loved looking at the ocean because of the sense of freedom and vastness it offered me. He would remark that he enjoyed looking at the ocean just because. One of us would point out a certain person on the beach, perhaps someone who stopped her walk every 20 meters to strike a couple of yogic poses, and we would share a laugh. I thought of the absolute comfort this particular friendship affords me: we can talk for hours, or we can be silent together, and neither situation is uncomfortable.

In one of our silent moments, a middle-aged man approached us. I noticed that his clothes looked a little worn but not tattered. His shirt was buttoned wrong, though, and for some reason, that made me uncomfortable. The man looked directly at S. and started talking about something—his family, someone who died on the beach, things I couldn’t understand. He talked in a mix of English, Hindi, and Marathi, rambled for ten minutes or more, periodically bursting into tears. My initial concern slowly turned to confusion, then to impatience. I couldn’t follow a word of the conversation, so I looked helplessly at my friend, but he was looking straight at the stranger and seemed to be listening intently. I began running sand through my fingers and looking out at the ocean again, with a periodic sideways glance at these two men, so different in every way, engaged in the strangest conversation. Later, while the man was sitting at some distance from us and sobbing, I whispered to S. that I didn’t understand a word. ” “Neither do I,” he responded, “but I just wanted to listen.”

The words stunned me. Between S. and me, I'm usually the people person, the relationship builder. But here he was, quietly teaching me the simplest and most important foundation of every relationship. What a beautiful heart, I thought, a heart that knows that words may not matter but the act of being there for someone does.

I’ve often thought back to that moment. It makes me wonder what the act of listening means, what it means to be listened to even by a complete stranger, and why it means so much. It makes me think of the countless conversations that S. I have had over the years, of all the times when I was sad or joyful and he had no words to offer me; he listened even when he didn't understand. And it makes me smile at the memory of a young man I know so well, a young man who often claims not to have a heart but who taught me one of the heart’s most important lessons.

Back again

Wow, almost two months since my last entry... that's LONG even for me. I cannot begin to fill you all in. But, since I mentioned my upcoming (at the time of the last entry) rural sojourn the last time I wrote, i feel I should write a little about it. And soon, I will post an essay (still being written) from another trip (a holiday this time) that I made to Bombay over a long weekend in Feb.

So, the rural trip. Let me take a shortcut and post (parts of) a diary entry from one of those days. Maybe I'll add in more stories and interesting tidbits another time, this one serves as an overall update!


Thursday, February 5
8:20 PM

Dear Diary,

Sorry I disappeared after that last rushed entry. I have had a very FULL two days, much enjoyment, and much EXHAUSTION! In fact, as we speak, there some music and dance happening outside that i would ordinarily have loved to be a part of. But, right now, I am too tired. In fact, I went to the door, then got overwhelmed by the sound of 70 people singing, and came back to my room!

So, i visited 6-7 villages today. i don't know how to sum up my day, really-- talked to many kids and schoolteachers (super inspiring people, most of them!), explored several BEAUTIFUL natural spots, drank too many cups of tea, didn't eat nearly enough but ate too many sweets (but then, i did have 5 full meals yesterday), travelled in a jeep over land- won't call it a road- that should NEVER have seen a jeep, interacted with villagers in 2-3 places, took lots of photos, tasted absolutely fresh honey, expereinced killer exhaustion and dehydratoion... yes, that's just today. Yesterday, I spent 4-5 hours on a motorcylce (the major chunk of them with 3 of us on the bike), met and talked to girls in two schools where S works, talked to their teachers and hostel wardens, sang and danced (yes, even danced) with the girls at the camp here in Bhavangadh, ate five meals, spent a few minutes at a riverside, also took lots of photos... I probably did lots of other stuff too! So yeah, my days here have been very full-- I feel I have lived a week in the last 2 days. On the whole, I have enjoyed myself thoroughly, but I'll admit I am looking forward to being home and sleeping in day-after tomorrow!

Questions that this trip has raised? Most important, do I belong in the village or the city? Or, rather, where do i WANT to belong? Both, I guess. I feel calmer, happier, more myself here than I have felt in a while. But I also miss the... umm... connectedness of city life. Actualy no, I don't miss it yer- it's been good to take a break from phone calls and the internet and all that. But if you ask if I'd be happy like that for months or years, I don't think so. Haha, once again, I belong somewhere in between! (At least, the advantage of being on the border is that both sides give you the benefit of doubt ;)).

Dinner time now, more later,

Love

Aditi