Random Acts of Kindness

On my nine, yes, nine hour train ride from Delhi to Lucknow this weekend I sat between, amongst, in the throngs of many people. I was on the second class train, which in Indian terms means everyone and their mother, brother, sister, two babies, huge suitcases, goods wrapped in large cloth sacks, mamaw and papaw and enough tiffins for a day’s journey need apply. It was on this journey that I realized how incredibly old and set in my ways I have become.

Caro at 23 traveling in India for the first time: “Ooh! Second class train, what a fun adventure! We should only travel on second class to really get a feel for India!”

Caro at 27 living in India for the first time: “Holy crap. Dear dear God, create within me an effective, strong bladder stopper so that I will not have to take a pee pee on this dirty train because there is a huddle of 30 men and women in front of the squatter train toilet that I will have to maneuver through where I know I will drop that one piece of tissue that I have brought to the loo through the hole that is the toilet. If you help me resist the temptation of chai, coffee, and water I will be dehydrated but forever grateful. Amen.”

But I digress.

On the train, in these throngs of people pushing and shoving to board and exit my train car (there are assigned seats, but there are also many “general” seats that are basically standing room only) I began to notice some random acts of kindness which, though small in gesture, have always meant much to me in meaning.

The sixty-plus auntie who must must must be in far greater back stiffness pains than I shifts her weight and lovely sari to allow a young mother with a sick two-year-old child with a “general” seat to skootch beside her.

The kind uncles in my compartment (“compartment” is used quite generously here) who give me some of their snacks and ask about experience in India so far. And even though human rights (HR) somehow turns to human resources (also, um, HR), I am warmed by their small acts of generosity towards a perfect stranger. As the train was pulling into the station at Lucknow, one of the kind gentleman said to me that it was good I was open to new things, that although taking food from strangers is dangerous, he was happy I let him feed me his masala cheesy poofs.

It reminded me of another act of kindness that I used to see all the time in Korea that I wish could translate to the States and elsewhere. Any time a “senior citizen” (affectionately known as halmonis and harabojis, grandmother and grandfather, respectively) boards a bus in Korea, their juniors immediately offer their seats, giving them first priority to rest their feet. That in and of itself would be miraculous to see in DC. But it’s what sometimes happens after, when the high school student or young mother, who is inevitably carrying a paper bag because Ko-reans love to carry paper bags the time (fact), stands up and offers his/her seat that makes me smile to myself. The halmoni or haraboji insists on taking this package and placing it in his/her lap, carrying it through the rest of the bus ride for the person now standing.

It’s such a feeling of community, this short bus ride across town, where everyone is helping to relieve a burden in some small way.

These small acts, however, will not change my mind about second class seater trains. I may be an elitist, old, stubborn, rejecting-the-simple-volunteer-lifestyle-outright snob, but my back and neck will not forgive me if they are forced in such contortions again.

More on Lucknow in a bit.