Vow 1: Ahimsa, Learning Delhi, Sweaters

With the FDI bill in hot debate perhaps the most sensible vow to practice first is Swadesh (buying locally produced goods). Yes, I suppose this is my not-so-subtle tiff with the bill, but as I was walking to work this morning, I started thinking more about ahimsa, non-violence. Gandhi's idea of non-violence extended beyond the physical act, encompassing non-violence of speech, of thought. I used to think it shouldn't be so difficult; I'm not one to physically lash out at anyone. But midway through my morning I realize I've already failed on two counts- one- giving the finger to a cyclist (I don't even know if that means anything here but still) and two- glowering at my computer screen, wondering if googlesites is intentionally making me feel like an incompetent idiot. Throughout the day I notice little things. How often I swear (even if it's in my head), or how easy it is for for me to fume at myself, muttering “idiot” under by breath. It's too easy for me to resent the bus driver, want to punch the rickshaw that narrowly missed me on the road.

I think about it on my way home from work, stopped by a family on their way to somewhere. They are young, thin, and brown, and for a second I think I must know them. This has been happening more and more to me these days- I recognize the saris I only see on village women, bright with swirls of gold and silver sequence. The dressing up sari, the traveling sari. And I wonder, where did you come from? Are you from my village?

She starts speaking rapidly, explaining that they were traveling from Maharasthra and something had happened to their money. I had stopped paying attention. This is also happening more and more these days- listening and speaking as if I hadn't just spent a year in trying to painstakingly learn some combination of Hindi and an obscure dialect of Marwari, blocking out the hand gestures and facial expressions that I had learned to watch for.

I try to explain as patiently as I can that I don't have the money. It's not a lie, I really just try to carry just what I need for the bus fair. “It's cold. I have nothing.” My thin grey cardigan is nothing special, but she's right, it's cold.

I leave the family, sweater-less. Thinking. I'm trying to understand the transaction that just occurred, and I find that my eyes are prickling. I'm confused.

As I walk home the economist voice in me screams, how could you give away your sweater? The social worker chides me for perpetuating the problem, for creating dependence, for not seeing that there are poorer people who need sweaters. But what does my voice say, the one that is trying to live a non-violent life in Delhi, a city where I see violence everywhere. And for once, I'm silent.

I'm carefully not thinking about it till dinner, or something. I guess. Well I guess when it comes down to it I wouldn't have cared if it was someone else. If it were my friend, even if she was wearing Versace shades or carried a Louis Vuitton bag, I'd give her my sweater and not really care if it came back to me or not. So why does this feel so different? After awhile it doesn't. When I think about it, maybe it's luxury to be able to “give things.” But it's also really cold outside. I think I have a lot to learn about Ahimsa, about Gandhi. It's been two days- I've sworn at least five times, thought someone's shirt was ugly, and... and maybe started to re-learn what it's like to give from a space of love.