Something far deeper than the measures of the world.
By Niharika Mookerjee
NEW YORK: Every Friday afternoon when I pick up my daughter from school I wait for the sight of a young girl, about 17 years of age, who dances with absolute abandon to the music, reverberating from the school speakers. “Standing in the hall of fame, and the world’s gonna know your name…”
And there it would set her off, her arms flailing, delight plainly visible on face, she would shout out to strangers so loud that everyone on the street would drop off whatever they were doing to get a glimpse of what was going on.
I, for my part, couldn’t get enough of a sight of sheer joy running wild.
Kids her age would walk past her, hurriedly trying to catch the bus; teachers would give her an indulgent smile while her escort helped straddle the backpack on her shoulders to get her on her way home. Reluctantly, she would stroll out of the school grounds with emotion still pulsating. While on the other side of the road, I wished she could have been allowed to dance just a second longer.
It brought back to my mind the time when I worked as an assistant at an orphanage back in Kolkata with children, who were deserted by their parents, maybe due to extreme poverty or some unknown duress.
Working with them, my life was full of surprises. Nothing was ever routine. They responded from a place deep within themselves, challenging me, exhibiting to me that all the years of diligent learning from textbooks was of little importance to the life they lived.
They would suddenly hug me, then on an impulse break into tears, soon after, quite unexpectedly, run and hide behind my skirts or even pull my hair. One little boy even stuffed crayons into his ears and laughed in glee. Of course, I as an adult was horrified. Quite like the lyrics of the song: they send me away to teach me how to be sensible, logical, responsible, practical/And they showed me a world where I could be so dependable/clinical, intellectual, cynical.
Yes, I have to admit, oftentimes, I would be left bewildered, overwhelmed and quite at a loss. They couldn’t express their feelings with words or logic – they were in need of something much more. They let their hearts speak unadorned – they were angry, happy, and sorrowful and in no way could I just clamp down and tell them to get in line and listen to me.
But it was also a time when I sensed the bare beauty and mystery of the human soul. They were untaught, without any cunning of the well-read and the complex. No erudition, no big words – just a magnificent glimpse of a wild spirit. They had no idea of the safe haven of a mom or dad but needed no instruction on how to express affection.
It was not just about the pain and struggle of getting by each day that they taught me, but also about the simplicity, humility, love and grace that each of their untouched and gleaming faces showed.
Forget about luxuries; they barely managed a meal a day. It all oscillated up on donations by society ladies. But their smiles were never dim. The beauty of their spirit surfaced despite the deprivation. If somebody gave them twenty rupees, they would jump in delight and plan out a whole basket of sweets they would buy on their next field trip.
It just went on to reveal that something far deeper and more profound than what we assume as good living was at work there. Something far beyond the capacity of human reason.
While I have no inclination to romanticize poverty, I cannot help but be mesmerized by the smiles of street children, whether in Philadelphia or Kolkata. What joy did they have in the sunlight and pouring rain that kids growing up in wealthy households needed to buy from malls to possess?
It made me believe in the words spoken to me long ago by my Hindi teacher, who had dealt with handicapped children: “Beta, Budhi hee sab kuch nehee hai, there is something deeper, far more fundamental than just the brain that is involved in a human being. Something that is not quite quantitative but which we eventually lose touch with as we grow older. Then we begin our strife for power in whatever form it may present to us. Some find it in the form of physical beauty, some in material excess, and others through intellectual authority. All for a moment’s foolish glory. Yet in between our monumental efforts to be self-worthy, we realize in dismay that we have accomplished so little…and lose our joy.”
And that young girl, dancing so carefree on the summer lawn, doesn’t know it but for the world to know her name, she will inherit this “same frantic steeplechase toward nothing” as William Faulkner had called it.