Subash Tora II

Note: I'm in Pune, living as a paying guest with Mira Sadgopal, a Swarthmore alum (class of '68). Every day I meet and talk to many people, and share with and learn from them. What follows is the second half of my encounter with Mr. Tora; the first half was posted on 18 Nov.

The Continuing Story Of Subash Tora

This morning I met Subash at the Cave Temple again, and we soon realized we had made a serious mistake. He needed Rs. 30,000 - not Rs. 3000 - although he had consented earlier when I wrote the latter on a piece of paper. I had a hunch this might happen. We had genuinely misunderstood each other. He thought we could buy the window and some building materials, but I thought that was a bad idea, knowing the rest of the money was a long way away.

In an amazing demonstration of the fundamental Indian way of detachment and willing acceptance, he took a deep breath and released all the hopes he had created in the last two days. He was still sincerely thankful for my desire to help, and ready to go home friends.

Instead, over chai, we brainstormed. He needed a job, to support his family and save for the addition. He was wasting a lot of time and money with buses and rickshaws, looking for work. A bicycle would allow him to find work more easily. And a good bicycle was like a good pair of shoes - as much a status symbol as a practicality. With a nice bike, he would have a slight advantage over the thousands (tens of millions, really) of other unemployed.

Subash started to get excited at the prospect of getting work. He thought he could save up, and when he was close he could write or contact me (via Mira). I agreed I could offer some money, but only some and only after he had raised most by his own work. If I was in India, I would come and help with the building. I genuinely offered this, because I felt that if he found work and was able to save Rs. 25,000, while supporting his family, he had more than earned the Rs. 5000 I offered.

So we picked out a nice bike, with all the 'fittings' - lock, rack, chainguard, and bell. I paid the cost: Rs. 2350 ($55), thinking of all the people in America that would sympathize with this man and approve of the gift. While it was being put together, we sat and had chai.

Subash was curious about why I was helping him. I explained that many Americans care about, and want to offer help to, the Indian people. My friends in America had given me money and emotional encouragement, and I was going around India trying to help by making friends. He said that made him very happy, and I said it made me happy too. I thought sharing and helping was important for the world, every day and everywhere. I asked him, cautiously, if we was a Dalit (an 'untouchable'), and he proudly said yes, and told me about the famous Dalit Dr. Ambedkar, who wrote in the Indian Constitution that all Indians were equal. Subash thought India was a great country, but it would be even greater if all people were treated equally. I emphatically agreed, and told him about a similar ideal in America. I tried to explain to him about my website, but he didn't really know about the internet and I couldn't explain it sufficiently. To keep in touch, he offered to write a letter (we had exchanged addresses, etc) in English and send it to the US. This will be hard, since he doesn't speak any English, or read or write English or Hindi. He said his friends would help. I told him to contact me (via Mira), when he got a job. He told me to tell my friends in America that if they come to India, they can stay with his family 'for eight days'.

Delighted that I had taken several photos, and had promised to remember him 'hameshaa' (always), he wanted a photo of us for his house. We went to a studio, where we were dressed with suits and ties. He insisted on combing my hair, and as revenge I insisted on paying the Rs. 40 ($1) fee. He intends to send one copy with his letter. I got the picture with my digital camera.


our glorious studio photograph


Subash and his bike

In my opinion, this whole experience was really, really great. I learned a lot about the Dalit way of life and the struggles of the unemployed, not to mention the Hindi language. By sharing with him, and buying him a bicycle (as well as the food earlier), I could give him new inspiration and hope for the future. Judging by how appreciative he was, and by how many times he stopped in his tracks to look skyward and mutter a prayer, he was genuinely and utterly thankful. And I was, too, for somehow finding myself in this role as ambassador of compassion.