The art of giving

The art of giving doesn’t come naturally. Let me share a story to illustrate my point. We’ll travel back thirty years, to a time when I was twenty-four and stationed in a remote village on the border with Myanmar. I worked for the government, overseeing a vast area of 230 square kilometersdense forests, rugged mountains, and about 50,000 poverty-stricken people. My duties included monitoring the borders and ensuring other government departments fulfilled their responsibilities.

My office-cum-residence was a two-room wooden shack. One room served as my bedroom, and the other, with a small wooden desk, was my office. There was no plumbing; I relied on rainwater and used an open-air toilet. If I was lucky, electricity might flicker on for an hour a day, though it often vanished for months. For senior staff, this place was considered a punishment transfer. But for me, just starting my career, it was an adventure.

My day began at 4 AM, and by 5 AM, I was dressed and ready to face whatever came my way. In the northeastern states of India, the sun rises earlyIndia’s single timezone results in the sunrise by five in the morning and sunset around four in the evening.

I had a staff of five, but they only showed up once a month on payday. I couldn’t blame themthere was nothing for us to do. My days were spent devouring newspapers, novels, comicsanything I could get my hands on. This was the pre-internet, pre-smartphone era when the printed word reigned supreme.

Near my shack stood some abandoned buildings, originally built for government officials who never arrived. With my shack on the verge of collapse, I decided to move into one of those buildings. But I needed permission from the local government’s senior-most official. Fortunately, he was visiting a nearby village. The village was five kilometers away, a walk through winding mountain roads.

So, with a member of my staffa local manI set out at 11 AM. By the time we reached our destination, it was already 2 PM, only to learn that the official wouldn’t arrive until 5 PM. Tired and hungry, we had no options, as the village had no hotels or eateries. My colleague suggested we visit his friend who lived nearby, and with nothing better to do, I agreed.

His friend’s home was a simple hut with a large yard, where pigs roamed freely and hens pecked at the ground, keeping the courtyard tidy. My colleague called out his friend’s name, and we were soon greeted by a man inside the hut. He was seated on the floor with his wife and four children, all of them having lunch.

The friends exchanged a few words in their local dialect, and before I knew it, the wife placed two plates on the floor and gestured for us to sit. These were poor, penniless villagers, and I hesitated. But my colleague informed me that it would be disrespectful not to accept their food, according to local customs.

So, I sat down, and the wife filled my plate with rice, adding a watery soup with a few floating vegetables. I had never seen so much rice in my life, but in this house, I was expected to finish it. I struggled through the plate, feeling the weight of their generosity with every bite. The children, still eating, watched me quietly. When I finally emptied my plate, the wife immediately refilled it. I started to protest, but my staff member reminded me once again about respect.

This time, I ate more slowly, and as soon as I finished, I quickly put my hand on the plate, shaking my head in the universal ‘No’ sign. Stuffed with nearly a kilo of rice, I could barely walk, but I managed to get up, thanking the lady of the house and smiling at the children before we left. I wanted to offer the family some money as a token of gratitude, but my colleague firmly advised against it, citing local customs and respect.

Later that day, we met the official, got the approval, and I moved into the building, where I spent the remainder of my tenure.

Even today, nearly thirty years later, I still remember that day when I shared a meal with that family. They had almost nothing, yet they gave what little they had to a stranger, expecting nothing in return. To this day, I haven’t witnessed a greater act of generosity than what I experienced in that humble hut.