Compassion without boundaries

The morning rush hour at the Post Office.  One can imagine the rush at the public service utility frequented by many Italians.  We wait for our numbers to be displayed. Old, young, tourists, all have flocked the office. There is hardly anything out of place.  It's clock work, all take their respected tickets, just wait for their turns.  Some of the staff are really charming, the 'ciao' and the 'arrivederci' are in sync with their personalities.  An old man had just reached the counter after his wait, the walking stick is precariously perched on the counter. And then it happens without any warning.  His trousers are down.  There is nothing much to cover his nudity.  Strangely there is only a studied silence.  There is not even a giggle.  What happened next was not from any operational manual.  The official across the counter rose from his seat, got across, gathered the trousers of the old man and helped him inside the office.  There was an assuring arm around his shoulder.  A few minutes later, both of them emerge.  It is just another day at the office.

We spoke among ourselves.  Good that this was this world, where the human being is given the highest respect.  Perhaps in another continent, another country, there would have been sneers, jokes, giggles, suffering and humiliation. Before anybody else could make a move, the official was there.  We were lost in our thoughts, the compassion of the official, who just thought to leave his seat in a gesture of compassion, taking care of the old man, a complete stranger, as if he was somebody dear to him.

Maybe there could be an argument that this was an odd case, may be not. But I prefer to believe that compassion has no boundaries, it is definitely universal.  Compassion could be a universal virtue, but 'to be compassionate' is another thing.  It is easy to theorise that compassion is associated with certain cultures and continents.   It is easy to establish that compassion has its roots in the cultural fundamentals of a race.  But to practise compassion in daily life situations takes a lot of courage and loads of sensitivity.  I was easily ready to  forget all the jeers, all the strange looks and mannerisms that we confront on a daily basis because our skins happened to be dark.  But a single act of compassion was enough to convince me that compassion has no boundaries.

Roman Carnival

What was all that commotion about? At the rear end of the bus there was some unusual activity. Such commotion was reserved for  'troubling events' like, when a drunkard or a smelly vagabond entered the bus, or when an unsuspecting tourist was pick pocketed in the notorious 'tourist frequented' buses of 40 and 64. In fact, a pair of youngsters had entered the bus.  The boy had  an elegant medieval moustache etched on his boyish face. The girl was a catwoman, complete with a  foreboding pair of whiskers and a tail.  The tail was the reason of all the commotion. Being 'touched' while travelling in the public bus is quite stressful for many Italians. Without doubt everybody was sympathetic; perhaps the pair had stumbled out from some carnival parade.  Midday and perhaps they ‘resurrecting’ after the late night party.  Whatever the commotion had given way to smiles and talk of the carnival.

 I had completely missed the carnival, not that it is an important appointment in my scheme of things.  The semester exams had gobbled up all my natural interests and had substituted it with all the machinations of studying and preparing.  I had missed the fun even though the city of Rome had marketed the carnival vigorously.  As usual the traffic was in a mess during the days of the carnival.  All the social networking sites were flooded with posts of carnival revellers, enjoying to the hilt during the day and into the night.

  The carnival had its origins in Rome in the Middle ages. But down the years Rome has lost ground for its carnival antics.  In fact Venice has stolen the show. People flock from far and wide just to be part of the carnival of Venice.  The waterlogged city of Venice and its shops are in a perennial carnival mood, selling souvenir masks. There are traditional shops in the meandering alleys of Venice which fashion out exquisite masks round the year.

 The carnivals were designed to brighten the bleak days of February.  These elaborate festivities, patronised by the Popes, slowly grew into a national event capturing the attention of tourists who came just to watch it.  Well, it had a purpose, a preparation for the austere days of the Lent. The elaborately painted masks and the pageantry shows had their origins in the Roman feast of Saturnalia, the period when there was no distinction between the slave and the master.  In fact the carnival was a great leveller too, everybody was the same under the mask.  Pope Paul II Barbo is credited with the present course of the carnival, Via del Corso, the socially upmarket mile long, straightest road in Rome.

  Races added charm to the carnival apart from the costumes, masks and games. Barbary horses,imported from Africa, bred and raised in Rome, marked their starting block at Piazza del Popolo. Spiked metal balls were tied around them instead of riders.  The horses raced through the long straight street, the spiked balls spurring them. Finally they were caught in nets around Piazza Venezia.  This famous race was so popular that Via del Corso derived its name from it.  However the carnivals were not without its mystic charm, often concocted.  Popes banned the carnivals in the later periods.  Even though the city of Rome has tried to revive the tradition, Venice, San Remo and Rio de Janeiro have eclipsed Rome when it comes to carnivals. Well, another  visit to Venice during the carnival won't be a bad idea.

When I met the Holy Father.

My heart is still in my mouth, the energy is refusing to die down.  It is the same excitement I had a quarter of a century back, when  we were surprisingly overcome by the warmth of Pope John Paul II.(The day I learned the word, The Holy Father)  One of the many questions I had to answer after my arrival in Rome, is about my meeting with the Pope.  Have you met the Pope? Got a snap?  Yeah, the thought was overbearing in my mind.  In fact I was a dot in the multitude during many audiences, but not this close.  Amongst the pilgrims I had to be content to be in the presence of Santo Padre, to hear him and receive his blessings.  This time it was for real.  It was wonderful to hear that many priests shared the same sentiment, to be touching close to the Pope, exchange pleasantries and if lady luck smiles, a snap with him.  But the opportunity had eluded many of us, as the Pope found it difficult to cede to the ever increasing demand of personal audiences.  High on our agenda was the issue of the proximity to the Pope, even it was for a fleeting second.  Jokes rang loud and clear that perhaps  the only option was 'Photoshop'. 

The Pope continued his good tradition to meet the priests of his diocese, the diocese of Rome, the day after Ash Wednesday.  The gates were to open at the stroke of ten and we were present a couple of hours before.  The security guys were just elaborating the details. The tourists were filing in slow and steady. We had already formed a line where we thought was the opening door.  But old timers suggested the real course and the first thing that knocked us down was that we lost our first places.  The drizzle had died down, tourists and pilgrims of myriad shapes and sizes were trooping in dime a dozen.  The line behind us began to  bulge and familiar faces began to flash wide expectant smiles.  Without doubt all were scheming and plotting to reach the Hall of Benediction, to occupy vantage posts for that elusive touch and blessing of his Holiness.  The stern Swiss guard was in no mood to smile, but his salute had all the precision of a Swiss watch when he opened the doors.  From then on it was a gold rush..  "Piano, piano," (Slowly, slowly) rang the half requests of the Swiss guards, but it fell on deaf ears.  Skipping and hopping, waiting for no one, the race began.  Energy spent, panting and puffing  the hall seemed to be distant and distant.  In a matter of a few minutes, all had scampered to be near the barricades, the  only separation between me and the Pope.

Another wait for an hour, this time with the assurance that 'the' moment is right ahead.  Priests trooped  in, the late comers with anguish and grief  wrung on their faces, the experienced old timers, opening breviaries, spending time socialising and cracking jokes.  The window from which the 'Urbi et Orbi' speech is addressed just added to the magnificence of the hall.  The hall is packed to its capacity.  The clock strikes eleven and  the Pope enters guarded and accompanied.  There is a welcome applause, the flashes keep on smiling, the pitch is feverish and  I am ready for the moment to be in a touching distance with the Pope. The Pope is at his sporting best, smiling, holding hands, blessing, it is no rush hour traffic.  My heart is in my mouth, for some strange reasons, my heart is pounding.  I am near to the Pope. However the thought does not escape my mind...what if I do not get a freeze moment?

The Pope seems to be patience personified.  Even the priests who positioned themselves away from the barricade had enough time to receive his blessings.  My time had come. I was in no mood to relinquish it. I too took my time with the Pope, that fleeting second, which I will cherish to the end of my life, without the aid of any snap. The handshakes, blessing, laughter, excitement all continue till he reaches the podium.  His discourse is on the letter of the Hebrews, his exhortation and explanation is crisp and clean.  The prayer and discourse ends and the Pope is back by the side of the barrier, this time on the other side, perhaps spending more time.  The overwrought excitement translates into cries of Viva il Papa. 

A few more minutes and the curtain closes, time stands still. The trek down is peaceful. All beam broad smiles, content with the moments spent with the Holy Father.  Joy and laughter ringing in the air, the only odd sound was the Swiss guard prodding everyone 'Avanti'

The wait continues.  This time it is with prayerful hopes that the battery of the Vatican photographers would have snapped  at the right moment.  The wait continues into the evening, the thumbnails are published in the official photo gallery.  I am partially happy, there is a snap.  But...  I scour the other site, describe it as 'despair', I find not even my shade.  My mood is down, page after page produces happy and joyous moments, but without my face.  The penultimate  row of photos and I am literally over the moon. Perhaps the snap of the whole album, my moment captured in the technological wonder of binaries, the only snap where there are only two people, a snap in detail, my bent head  moving in to kiss the caring hands of the Pope.  I jump up and down in delight. The face of the Pope is three quartered,  but the sentiment is grabbed, my freeze moment. 

Fasting Differently

Fasts have a tendency to be oriented toward things like giving up food or television. But there are many other creative ways we can welcome Jesus' healing touch.

1. Fast from anger and  hatred.  

Give your family an extra dose of love each day.

2. Fast from judging others.

Before making any judgements, recall how Jesus overlooks our faults.
3.Fast from discouragement. Hold on to Jesus' promise that He has a perfect plan for your life.
4.Fast from complaining.                                                    

When you find yourself about to complain, close your eyes and recall some of the little moments of joy Jesus has given you.
5. Fast from resentment or bitterness!.                                  
Work on forgiving those who may have hurt you.
6. Fast from spending too much money.                                
Try to reduce your spending by ten percent and give those savings to the poor.  (Dorry)

Thanks to the presentation that is doing the rounds today in the inboxes. A timely reminder to goad each one to a conversion of the mind. Harsh words like these, "remember, man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return." should normally unnerve any person. When the ash takes shape of crooked cross on the forehead, thanks to hurried fingers of the celebrant, it is a cold blooded reminder into the end times, that you shall not escape death, that dust is your final form of matter.

But science and technology has falsely defied such affirmations. Funeral houses have taken over the ‘dust’, the body is embalmed. The rouge and the cosmetic box works wonders and the silence of death is not chilling any more . Death is presented euphemistically, the dead no longer disconcerts anyone. Death is presented amongst lavish bouquets of soothing flowers and sober rituals. Death no longer inspires the fear of God in man. But nature will take its due course despite our challenge to nature with litres of costly embalming fluid. We are sure to turn to dust. 

Realistically our lives are dotted with a single certainty; death. Humans we are, we still want to refurbish our dead hair follicles, smoothen all the crumbled skin, appear young even when the final countdown has started; all futile efforts to defeat death. Ash Wednesday smiles gently at the futility of such human exercises. Perhaps when the dead are dumped by hundreds in mass graves, when dead bodies are burnt in the public squares, death and ‘dust’ are not unsettling anyone anymore.What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun? One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh...(Eccl 1) 

The ash smeared forehead reminds you that you are mortal, subject to rot and decay. It is high time to submerge into yourself, change the course of your travel and join the road to victory. The ash, smoking remnants of the palm leaves, is an emblem of victory, epitomises the link between penance and victory. The ash which wears off from the forehead is the testimony of your realization, the ultimate reality of death, the importance of penance, the victory of Jesus. Did it wear off from your forehead or did you chose to wipe it off. Did this simple testimony cause you heartburn? When Christ walked out of the tomb to guarantee resurrection for you, are you in the certitude that returning to dust is the beginning of your resurrection. Let your Lent be creative, creativity that leads to your resurrection.

Denouement: Cupid style

"Love, its a special day, 

You should celebrate and appreciate." 
croons Kina Grannis in an angelic voice.  Thought the video suited my thoughts, even though this is scribbled after the Valentine's day. In fact  I had kept my eyes open for this day. Nothing extra ordinary here, apart from all the red roses that came out and the media flooded with red hearts and products merchandised with the flavour of the day.  Couples, lovers locked in arms and smooching sensuously did not paint a different picture, Oh God,  it is the order of the day. 

A thorough scanning of the headlines of the major dailies of India made me sit up and notice, this time with a difference. There was not even a single instance of eve teasing or violence  by the 'Love brigade' of the insular Shivsena and their kin.  All the lovers in India could breathe a sigh of relief as they could unabashedly exchange their greetings and love and celebrate.  Phew... Valentine day  revellers would be secretly thanking the youth brigade of the ruling Congress who doused Pramod Muthalik with a deadly concoction of threat and black oil, which must have bruised his confidence and his audacity.  All the build up to uproot all foreign practises and invasion of the culture of India ran into muddy shallow banks with a single smothering of ‘black oil.  Perhaps the ‘Moral Police’ lost its steam when a bomb ripped through the German bakery killing many including foreign nationals. 

The denouement was not in the cards, but hope this soft withdrawal of the upholders of Indian culture and practices would initiate a search into the real heritage of India, not the politically and parochially motivated nationalism.

I had a riveting conversation  with a youngster, who on the day of San Valentino was in pangs to leave a friend, who had decided to follow his vocation to become a priest.  She was torn between her urge to see him as a priest and to cling on to him as her good friend.  She was at a loss to explain that she was about to lose her best friend, not her boyfriend.  To imagine him as a priest was the last thing she had in her mind.  She did wish him the best, but was scrupulously guilty to think that the mere thoughts of not wishing him to be a priest was a deadly sin.  She was not ignorant, she knew how this wonderful young man, who was the leader of the youth prayer group would be incredible in his future ministry.  She knew too well that he was to transcend human barriers to love a bigger community, yet remain a human being. But she could not let him go. Neither could I convince her that he was just starting a journey. Her grief was not cosmetic.  Weeping and pouring her heart out in front of me, she seemed destroyed. “ You don’t know how difficult it is to find a true friend”  I was more than convinced of the friendship they shared, the aching twinge of being separated as friends, when he joins the seminary to fill flesh and blood into the reply “yes, here I am”.  The tears wouldn’t stop, her angst was genuine.  My words or reassurance were of no value, I thought so.  She had genuinely tasted and experienced real friendship.  The words on the poster flashed across my mind, presented  to me when I moved out from a parish, I lost the poster, but the words are very green.  ‘Keep old friends,  make new friends; one is gold, the other is silver.’ 

Impartiality and Political Correctness

The British Broadcasting Corporation, (BBC)  does not need an introduction, specially to the English speaking countries.  A source of  true information, with its coverage all around the world with the Queen's English, has won over millions of die hard fans.  BBC has transformed itself to be the only source of information in some war torn countries, its Radio and TV have become lifelines to scores of information parched people.   BBC is known to stand for a number of values, many of them which have resonance in the secular world.  As the national broadcaster of Great Britain its USP is undoubted.  Seldom have people doubted the integrity and resourcefulness of BBC.  I should confess that I too belonged to that fan league till I listened to  Mr Mark Thompson, while he was in the Pontifical University of the Holy Cross, Rome, speaking on 'Broadcasting and Civil Society.'  I just remembered the adage that springs from popular wisdom that all idols have to be adored from afar.  The more you come close to it, the more it disappoints you.

Mr Mark Thompson was thoroughness personified when he detailed about the policies, organizational structures and  the highs of the organization.  BBC was highlighted as a champion of the public space, impartiality written all over it, in fact reflecting a full range of views, satires, debates, etc.  Mr Mark was vocal on the assault on 'Public Service Broadcast' all over the world.  Add to it 110 journalists who lost their lives in the line of duty the picture is not definitely rosy. The royal charter of BBC declares its services as 'accurate, independent, impartial'.

But equally obvious is the role of BBC in sidelining quite a lot of issues.  Mr Thompson, a Catholic himself, was in  knots to explain his Catholic faith while working in a secular BBC ambience, hardly convincing anyone.  When he tried to bracket religion as  cultural outreach, a programme in the genre of culture,history and knowledge, I was witnessing the finesse of the idol of BBC crumbling.  Religion was a word he did not want to include in his programme but he did speak at great lengths to impress how BBC functioned like a well oiled machine. 

The questions from the audience did let the cat out, when he said that  an anti-Catholic bias 'may be case', the  real reason behind the devoted stand against Catholicism and religion.  Questioned about the impartiality of BBC even in a tail end section of the news,(Weather) he was not forthright with his comment.  When he proposed that they were impartial when it comes to British politics, he was admitting that like any other news broadcaster, that they had interests to be safeguarded, areas to be kept under the wraps, subjects that do not interest them, omissions of convenience and above all a compelling need to be politically correct.  Impartiality to the event and the person irrespective of the issue and the top guns in the managing board would do a lot to make BBC  stay on course with its royal charter.  Religion discussed openly in its forums without subduing to policies of political correctness would make it more appealing.  

Mr Mark personally seemed to be sincere in his approach to the Catholic Church. The broadcaster has  a history of rough and shoddy handling of Catholic Church. Will the forthcoming visit of Pope Benedict XVI  bring to light the secular dimension of BBC or is it going in for some real change? The Pope has been expressed his solidarity with the bishops of England against her culture of death.  The national broadcaster will have to find a right strategy during the Papal visit; the acceptance of the Anglicans and the war against secularism and the culture of death could be testing waters for the church of England and BBC, the national broadcaster of England.

The excitement of snowfall.

Finally, finally it snowed in Rome. After many different versions of the last occurrence of snow, I preferred to believe the largest number, 24 years, official or unofficial, who cares. It was sheer excitement to see snowflakes raining down from heaven, pure and pristine.  After a couple of weeks ploughing, sliding   in heavy snow, which almost ruined my Christmas vacation, I find myself surprisingly excited to see Rome carpeted with snow. What is happening? I thought snow was an inconvenience after the first 'aahs' and 'oohs'. The slushy roads  and the traffic snarls, the slippery pavements, it usually makes life miserable.

But in Rome there was an excitement for the past couple of days when the 'meteo' announced, 'it's going to snow'.  In the office, the signora was quick to say that all heads will be strained looking out of the windows, just to see snow falling.  There was a mini discussion on when it snowed last. There were worries of the traffic  bottlenecks if it snows heavily. She was even suggesting to go home early.  Excitement.  People were on the streets gleefully taking in  the snow. Excitement. Once it started to snow rather heavily, the children did have a field time playing in the snow. Excitement. Nobody seemed to be concerned about the problems of snow, the problems people around the world are facing right now, the problems of power shortages in NY, the lack of salt that paralyses motorways, the freezing temperatures that constantly indicate that 'the world is negative', etc.

Excitement. Everybody seemed to be sure that this is just a gift.  It is not going to trouble us.  Confirming all such beliefs, the rain came down heavily soon after, the sun too had a bright and sunny peak and in a couple of hours, everything was as usual. There was no trace of snow. The white carpet was unceremoniously removed, even before the sensation sank in. But that did not matter. Those who had longed to see the snowflakes blessing the earth had seen it.  Those who were waiting to see the snow in Rome had seen it happen right before their eyes.  Everything seemed to be scripted right to the last syllable.  Blessed are those who saw Snow in Rome.  There is nothing wrong in being excited.  What happens if it snows for a week? We will still be excited.

The Story of Teddy and Mrs Thompson.

This story I hope will continue to inspire many. If I try to explain a word of it,  I would be robbing you of a great opportunity to listen to the story.  My only wish is that you watch this and be inspired.  Happy inspired viewing ahead...

Wanderings in Switzerland

Through the view finder.

Viamala Schlutz, the mountain pass which was  formed from years of rock erosion.  St Martin at Zillis Church, a nondescript church (Reformist )with a wooden ceiling  full of pictures from the Holy Bible.  Juf Avers where practically the  roads ended, the enchanting and winding passes of Oberalp,Furka, Grimsel and Brunig, the Glacier cave,  Meiringen Schlutz, yet another wonder of nature, the divide created by rock erosion... treat for the eyes.

Gastronomy and Missionary Spirit.

Leau Vive,Via Monterone, 85,Rome

What has food to do with missionaries and evangelization? The time tested theory of entering the heart of the man through the stomach!. Oops no.  Leau Vive is refreshingly delightful and avant garde evangelization.  Step into the simple but elegant 'Ristorante Leau Vive' and you are ushered in with a  a broad smile from one of the nuns who is the front desk manager.  You are into a restaurant run by nuns to support missionary work.  There is a spring in the step and another nun with a more broader smile comes to offer the delicacies of the restaurant. The finest of French cuisines prepared and served with oodles of sincere smiles by a lay-hood sisterhood of missionary nuns from five continents dressed in traditional costumes.  The Renaissance frescoed roofs just dips into the ambience lending it an unmistaken elegant touch. The spread is delicious from the best of French delicacies. The sisters break the traditional classical music that surrounds the diners with  a rendering of 'Ave Maria of Lourdes' and a short interpretation of the Bible is also on cards on some evenings.   With a restaurant chain extending into five continents, this is no small shop...http://www.restaurant-eauvive.it/ 

The dinner exploded with another surprise, when the singing sextet came in with a surprising 'Auguri'.  It was an afternoon well spent, but I could not but go back to the thoughts of how daring these nuns were to raise resources for missionary work  instead of the traditional methods.  I was taken up by the ingenuity of the idea to appeal to the heart through this gastronomic delight.  Maybe a cue taken right out of the words of Jesus, that nothing which enters you can be the source of evil, but what comes out of you.