A man who is a leader in the Jain community came to meet with my boss a few weeks ago. He arrived terribly early, and my boss could not change her schedule to meet with him, so I was tasked to entertain him for over an hour. As we all know, I am blessed (or cursed) with the ability to converse with a brick wall, so entertaining him was not difficult, especially because he was considerably more interesting than a brick wall. We walked around the Cathedral and talked about our work and naturally, the conversation turned into one about India: his home, and a place I will always love.
I told him how I had visited the largest Jain temple in India, and how my travel companion fell terribly ill in their open kitchen, but how we both found the temple to be beautiful, and the religion fascinating. I bemoaned the fact that the food in America still seems to lack flavors, and recounted the story of how on one of my first days back in America, I dumped dry red chili pepper onto my pasta, just so I could taste it.
A few days later, a package arrived with my name on it at work. When I curiously opened the envelope, strong smells of Indian spices wafted through the air, transporting me back to family-style, eating-with-your-hands, loud, delicious, and spicy Indian meals. Inside the envelope were packages of spices. “A small token of Indian hospitality, just away from home” he wrote.
For him, it was nothing, simply an extra packet of spices at a store he most likely already frequents. But it brightened my week, and now every time I open my kitchen cabinet I am greeted with smells and memories of Mother India.
How should I pay it forward?
Yesterday a friend and I went to Karma Kitchen. Karma Kitchen is housed at Polo India, a nice Indian restaurant in Dupont Circle and every Sunday for lunch, a volunteer staff takes over and does their part in bringing community to the city. Everyone who attends Karma Kitchen is served a vegetarian Indian meal, waited on by volunteers who take the time to learn your name. "Your meal was a gift from someone who came before you,” the check reads. “To keep the chain of gifts alive, we invite you to pay it forward for those dine after you."
Diners can opt to sit at private tables or at a community table, but regardless if you choose to make new friends or just foster the friendships you’ve come with, you are adding your presence to a place that is trying to change the way we view transactions: some things don’t have to be strictly purchased, rather, they can be earned through kindness.
(For my readers on the West Coast, karma kitchen originated in Berkeley. Both coasts can check out the website so you can participate here)
I wish the news talked about stories like this more often. If I wrote down every day the kind things, the giving things, that have been done for me and that I witness, I might be able to go through a journal a week. I want to try to do this, to remember the good over the everything else.
It might be naive to think that one day all restaurants and transactions in general could be like Karma Kitchen. It might be naive to think that every new face you share an aching memory with will you mail you a remedy, or that a remedy always exists in the first place. But it is not naive to remember that strangers are kind, and compassion is everywhere we go, if we choose to be compassionate first.
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The last month has been a roller coaster of laughs and tears; of letting go and of giving in; and of stress and relief. I guess that’s life, but this month felt extreme. But in the midst of it all, I was constantly reminded about how fortunate I am to have a life that is surrounded by beauty and beautiful people.
A continent bursting with incoming opportunity. A friend who posts ideas of endless possibility and beauty. Innovation and investment in the future. Imagining far away. Art for the masses. After the rain, DC summer is only a sangria pitcher away.
But the most beautiful of all:
Old friends, a new beginning:
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