I set out for my morning walk after prayers and Mass. Since I was new to Nagpur, where I am posted since April, I requested a friend to accompany me so that we could take a route conducive for walk.
We walked together for two days and on both the days we returned after 10 minutes as she said, “This road is dirty. Let us go back.” Yes, the road was dusty and dirty and as soon I reached home I looked for a water tap to wash away the dust off my feet.
I realized that having a companion did not work. So, on the third day I took a different route all by myself. I took care not to miss the road so as to return home on time. Thus in the ensuing days I wandered on different roads as my main concern was to find a road without much crossroads. Needless to say it is impossible to find one without crossroads in Nagpur, India’s central city.
However, I continued my walks. And I enjoyed them. Sometimes I met the same people who were on the road as I am — for walk. Most days I came across different groups of migrant people sitting at one of the crossroads. Occasionally I stopped to talk to them. I also saw many men, women and children walking around with empty plastic sacks looking for usable things in the waste bins. They were in search of their livelihood.
It went on for some time when I chose to walk on the ‘dirty’ road abandoned in the beginning. It was to the other direction of the same highway I had walked until then. That was an eye opener for me. The road spotted three places of worship although few people frequented it at that time of the day. They included the one from where I began my daily walk.
Soon, it dawned on me that I lived somewhere on the line that divided the haves and have-nots of the city. The road was in fact dirty and dusty because the highway passed through the pockets where poor people lived.
I did not see here people scrounging waste bins. There was nothing to collect on this road. It had small tea kiosks, people pumped air for cycles, and, of course, the by-lanes led to poor houses. The roadsides often were dirty with human excreta showing the lack of toilets for the residents. I had to take extra care not to step on the dung of various animals too.
Animals abounded in those areas. But to my joy the road was broader, I did not have the hurdle of crossing many major crossroads. After a certain distance I found the road narrowing down because of an overhead railway bridge. The road was dusty. And my feet got dirtier and dirtier. However, I enjoyed it all. Dusty shoes, I said to myself, is symbolic of immersing oneself in the world’s joys and sufferings.
As I passed by a Gurudwara, Sikh temple, wisdom dawned on me suddenly.
My life is like the morning walk. To explore various areas of life I need to be free: free of any extra luggage even that of a companion. Whatever profession I choose in life each has its own responsibilities attached to it, it has gains and losses as I discovered the different roads I took.
My life’s paths are not always smooth and cozy. It is filled with dust of doubts and difficulties. The dust can be washed away by spending time in silence and reflection. There will be always crossroad where I need to stop and choose one direction that will give me joy and contentment. In life I need moments of solitude in the places of worship to revive me, to recharge me, to keep me in touch with the divine.
No one is watching your journey. It is you alone who is conscious of your steps. To get to know my people and reach their hearts I need to get my feet dirty walking through their by lanes.