We got to travel to the state of Andhra Pradesh this last week to work in a couple colonies that are only visited once a year. Both colonies were great to work in and I got to stay in a hotel and eat delicious food.
Some of you may have heard about the rather high temps affecting Southern India as of late, it has been rather hot... Very hot. I want you all to know I have been drinking plenty of water and that as we drove back from Andhra Pradesh, on Wednesday, we were blessed with rain, but not before we bought mangoes. There were at least a dozen roadside mango stalls near the top of a large hill which we had to drive over in order to get back home. I was thrilled when we stopped, because I had seen these stalls on our way into the city of Tirupati and was sincerely hoping that we would have time for a visit on our way back. As I exited the volunteer van, my eyes feasting and my hunger roused at the sight of my favorite fruit, I was greeted by a white haired elderly woman selling threaded strands of jasmine blossoms. Her small bent frame and dark leathered skin, common features among the elderly selling their wears along the roadsides of India, did not strike me as anything new as I met her eyes. It was her eyes that got me. They were pleading. A strand of sweet white jasmine, "20 rupees", one of the stall workers translated for me as the old flower girl continued to speak in Telugu. I was already struck, she could have named her price at that point for though her hands were full of flowers her eyes had hold of me.
Many people, including myself, have said that the eyes are the window to one's soul. I do not think that to be the case, not anymore. I think, now, that the eyes of the people you meet are really mirrors that reflect your own soul back at you. What you think you see in the other person is really in some part of you. I could not ignore the beggar within myself when I looked into those eyes, for all their pleading and searching was my own. Pleading for someone to buy a lei. Pleading for some guidance or direction. Searching for a kind heart. Searching for some purpose or meaning. After we purchased our mangoes. I was sad. I was tired, my heart was tired. I wished I could have bought mangoes from all the stands. I wish I could buy flowers from all those who came to me. I wish I could do more.
My final words for this post are: First, the following pictures are from the Cuddapa and Tirupati Colonies, none of them are from the mango stands (those pics make me sad). Second, here is a poem - enjoy.
Blossoming white chains
Piled on a small clay plate
Fragrant in the breeze
Hands like dry tree bark
Will pass you that precious strand
For but a small price
You will take the blooms
Flowers you have not, instead
Fragrant strands of pearls
Some of you may have heard about the rather high temps affecting Southern India as of late, it has been rather hot... Very hot. I want you all to know I have been drinking plenty of water and that as we drove back from Andhra Pradesh, on Wednesday, we were blessed with rain, but not before we bought mangoes. There were at least a dozen roadside mango stalls near the top of a large hill which we had to drive over in order to get back home. I was thrilled when we stopped, because I had seen these stalls on our way into the city of Tirupati and was sincerely hoping that we would have time for a visit on our way back. As I exited the volunteer van, my eyes feasting and my hunger roused at the sight of my favorite fruit, I was greeted by a white haired elderly woman selling threaded strands of jasmine blossoms. Her small bent frame and dark leathered skin, common features among the elderly selling their wears along the roadsides of India, did not strike me as anything new as I met her eyes. It was her eyes that got me. They were pleading. A strand of sweet white jasmine, "20 rupees", one of the stall workers translated for me as the old flower girl continued to speak in Telugu. I was already struck, she could have named her price at that point for though her hands were full of flowers her eyes had hold of me.
Many people, including myself, have said that the eyes are the window to one's soul. I do not think that to be the case, not anymore. I think, now, that the eyes of the people you meet are really mirrors that reflect your own soul back at you. What you think you see in the other person is really in some part of you. I could not ignore the beggar within myself when I looked into those eyes, for all their pleading and searching was my own. Pleading for someone to buy a lei. Pleading for some guidance or direction. Searching for a kind heart. Searching for some purpose or meaning. After we purchased our mangoes. I was sad. I was tired, my heart was tired. I wished I could have bought mangoes from all the stands. I wish I could buy flowers from all those who came to me. I wish I could do more.
My final words for this post are: First, the following pictures are from the Cuddapa and Tirupati Colonies, none of them are from the mango stands (those pics make me sad). Second, here is a poem - enjoy.
Blossoming white chains
Piled on a small clay plate
Fragrant in the breeze
Hands like dry tree bark
Will pass you that precious strand
For but a small price
You will take the blooms
Flowers you have not, instead
Fragrant strands of pearls
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