"You have to maintain a fine balance between hope and despair. In the end it's all a question of balance."
-Rohinton Mistry, A Fine Balance
Janak Road smelt putrid. There was a man bathing on the sidewalk, another defecating in an alley, crows feasting on piles of garbage in the middle of the road, and a cobbler beside them. We cautiously paced forward until the cobbler looked up at us. It was a painful sight. Her body was emaciated and her feet insect-bitten; her daily profits of two rupees were not enough for her sustenance. In a hoarse voice, she said something in Bengali and pointed at my shoes. I didn't know what to do. I gave her twenty rupees and continued to walk towards the house.
I had asked my mom to take me to 1 Janak Road. For a while, she had wanted to visit for nostalgic purposes. I wanted to visit to understand 'the past' that is so often thrown around in the Vaidyanathan household. My mom pointed to the house and we walked in. The first room, where my mom and her family of five lived, was a space the size of my bedroom. 1 Janak Road was home to two other families. It felt more like a pigsty then a home.
As the claustrophobia overcame us, we walked outside. I looked up; the clouds were parting and I knew it was going to rain. When I looked back down, a boy of no more than ten stood directly in front of me. He made a cup with his hands and lowered on one knee, begging for 'Chawal'- rice. I couldn't look him in the eye. I gave him whatever I had left, tears slowly rolling down my cheeks. That child could have been me. And he was begging to feed his family instead of playing or going to school.
I looked at mom, my face wet with sweat, tears, and rain. She looked me in the eyes and told me that I should give these children hope rather than despair- the fine balance they sought but that seemed to elude them. My mom was in Calcutta to introduce a scholarship fund for students at Calcutta's National High School. How would I contribute?
Though Janak Road may be 12,000 kilometers away, Downtown Toronto is in walking distance from my house. Call it altruism, but I call it hope. Hope for a boy in a Covenant House shelter; hope for that boy who was trying to feed his family. My hope that no child will live in a shelter or beg. Therein lies the fine balance: hope and despair are intrinsic to one another- we cannot hope for better without some anguish. But what separates the optimist from the pessimist is the view that with
hope and action, we can defeat despair- that the glass is half-full.
It is my personal optimism in the face of despair that fuels my contributions to the community. Whether through Horizons, during which my tutees learn how to play an instrument, or through Holiday Hamper, an initiative that provided 30 families with basic necessities and gifts for the Holiday season- I work so that we never let our despairs overrun our hopes. My contribution may be a speck in the grand scheme of things, but my hope is not. It is contagious- and one day it will amount to change.
-Rohinton Mistry, A Fine Balance
Janak Road smelt putrid. There was a man bathing on the sidewalk, another defecating in an alley, crows feasting on piles of garbage in the middle of the road, and a cobbler beside them. We cautiously paced forward until the cobbler looked up at us. It was a painful sight. Her body was emaciated and her feet insect-bitten; her daily profits of two rupees were not enough for her sustenance. In a hoarse voice, she said something in Bengali and pointed at my shoes. I didn't know what to do. I gave her twenty rupees and continued to walk towards the house.
I had asked my mom to take me to 1 Janak Road. For a while, she had wanted to visit for nostalgic purposes. I wanted to visit to understand 'the past' that is so often thrown around in the Vaidyanathan household. My mom pointed to the house and we walked in. The first room, where my mom and her family of five lived, was a space the size of my bedroom. 1 Janak Road was home to two other families. It felt more like a pigsty then a home.
As the claustrophobia overcame us, we walked outside. I looked up; the clouds were parting and I knew it was going to rain. When I looked back down, a boy of no more than ten stood directly in front of me. He made a cup with his hands and lowered on one knee, begging for 'Chawal'- rice. I couldn't look him in the eye. I gave him whatever I had left, tears slowly rolling down my cheeks. That child could have been me. And he was begging to feed his family instead of playing or going to school.
I looked at mom, my face wet with sweat, tears, and rain. She looked me in the eyes and told me that I should give these children hope rather than despair- the fine balance they sought but that seemed to elude them. My mom was in Calcutta to introduce a scholarship fund for students at Calcutta's National High School. How would I contribute?
Though Janak Road may be 12,000 kilometers away, Downtown Toronto is in walking distance from my house. Call it altruism, but I call it hope. Hope for a boy in a Covenant House shelter; hope for that boy who was trying to feed his family. My hope that no child will live in a shelter or beg. Therein lies the fine balance: hope and despair are intrinsic to one another- we cannot hope for better without some anguish. But what separates the optimist from the pessimist is the view that with
hope and action, we can defeat despair- that the glass is half-full.
It is my personal optimism in the face of despair that fuels my contributions to the community. Whether through Horizons, during which my tutees learn how to play an instrument, or through Holiday Hamper, an initiative that provided 30 families with basic necessities and gifts for the Holiday season- I work so that we never let our despairs overrun our hopes. My contribution may be a speck in the grand scheme of things, but my hope is not. It is contagious- and one day it will amount to change.