Given and gone
When in doubt, do the math. If you earn 10,000 bucks a month and are giving away 200 to charity, it doesn’t make you a charitable person. In your head, you might have done your best but the reality points at your blatant incompetence. Yes, it’s true that charity is not to be measured in wealth but by intention. What’s also true is that we care too much about the appearance of giving than giving itself. As far as the disadvantaged folks are concerned, we tend to hold them responsible for their fate. Which, in turn, makes charity more difficult than it has to be.
In an overburdened country like ours, only religion can make us donate against our wish. And that too with an invisible agreement that the Providence will do something for us in return. The very height of business, if you may. It could be anything from bestowing the dream job to landing a lottery to getting an Icelandic visa. Of course, I am generalizing here. Prayers and alms are better not put to scrutiny. However, intentions can be questionable. Sometimes.
In my book, if you aren’t giving at the risk of holding nothing in the end, then you aren’t really giving. If I am hungry and still manage to give away my share of food to a needy soul, then I’ve really given. Otherwise, I am just somebody with a full stomach trying to flatter myself. And we all know by now that we never do our best until we are emotionally invested in anything. To make matters worse, people are seldom invested in charity. Our heart bleeds for others under special circumstances. Terms and conditions and excuses applied.
Which is why I keep thinking of those two angelic souls who offered that bike-rider idlis and some chutney. This happened somewhere in the South and the rider stopped early morning at a roadside cart asking for a cup of tea. The couple, who owned the tiny establishment, promptly gave him a small plate with breakfast on it. When he proceeded to pay for the fare, they only charged him for the tea. To them, he was a guest from faraway land and appeared hungry. They couldn’t sell him what was meant to their breakfast. To me, that’s giving. To be in a condition where you’re losing but you still listen to the songs of your weary heart and do something that would make the divine in others take notice. That is charity. If the act doesn’t hurt you, it’s basically nothing worth thinking, speaking or priding about.
The same principle applies to a lot of human endeavours — personal as well as public. For example, Muhammad Ali used to count his push-ups only when he was in pain, when he couldn’t do lift his body up. Because, according to him, that’s when the number mattered. Seems like he wasn’t charitable to himself but thoroughly felt others’ pain. Isn’t that epic?
Touché!
