Sometimes you have to visit the less fortunate for a much needed lesson in humanity.
Once someone told me that, ‘the giving hand is better than the receiving hand; because God does not cause the giving hand to be the receiving hand’.
I had made this the cornerstone of my life, until ironically, I had in relative abundance.
Unfortunate, I know.
The act of giving is religious, morally and culturally celebrated since the beginning of time and will be celebrated till the very end. What makes me so confident in making this statement is not only stories and tales, fictitious and non-fictitious, that I may have heard over the course of my life, but even present day experiences of the act of just giving.
To sustain and nurture this level of empathy and love for God’s creations softens the very hard of hearts, or it should do if one calls themselves human.
Personally, it reignited what once was a flame. It is a way of thinking that inspires a way of life.
This thinking overtime helps towards the genesis of a conscience as clear as droplets of glacial water, trickling down and feeding what rivers of the Himalayan region on Kashmir. The same water that eventually reaches the city of Muzaffarabad, the final resting place of my maternal grandmother, whose life was a beacon of generosity and selflessness. These waters also pass close to the hamlet Khari, where my paternal grandmother is laid to rest. A woman who gave more love than any and sacrificed her comforts.
I dedicate this broken thought process to the memory of the great women in my life; their memory serving as reminder to do right by their upbringing.