Painting

Within hours of a thirty-plus hour journey to Kolkata, India last year, I had a sobering experience. I had groggily endured many hours journeying first up over the Hudson Valley in New York and then over Russia and down through Afghanistan and Pakistan. Even though we moved at amazing speeds, my body registered every mile in that "miniature" economy class seat. The trip was punctuated by a ten hour layover in an airport with seemingly more machine guns than seats. I just wanted to unwind on some kind of a bed and re-evaluate why I left Schnecksville!
I experienced a bit of belated concern midflight about what I'd do if my friend Diganta didn't show up! I was relieved that my apprehensions were unfounded when I found him double parked right in front of the airport. As we navigated through the bustle, congestion, and smells of Kolkata, I increasingly realized how unsettled he was. It wasn't the traffic or any factor I could identify. When I pressed Diganta to find out what was wrong, he tearily told me how he just got a call on his "mobile" (everyone in India has cell phones). A friend of his had died during the humid darkness of early morning. The significance didn't register with me at first until I looked into his eyes and saw a desperate urgency. The funeral had started and he was "trapped" with me.
Once I realized the situation, I readily agreed to detour to my first Indian funeral. Once he'd raced out of the city and hurriedly put on a black shirt, we trekked down an overgrown path to belatedly pay respects to a body that was just being covered with the first spades of damp earth. I will never forget that experience that reminded me of the numerous pets buried in various parts of our back yard. Because of the fact there was no other furniture in the widow's home; I sat on the bed that the deceased had occupied hours earlier. My thoughts and words to the grieving widow seemed so empty and meaningless. I asked Diganta what would happen to her, and he said she would be OK until her two son's married. I was afraid to pursue that. I sensed that the life of this young (by my standards) widow was fragile as well.
However, when I stepped outside of the cramped hut, one of the sons approached me with a question that I will never forget. He said, "Uncle, may I ask you a question? Is it true in your country that they paint people's faces and charge thousands of US Dollars before one can be buried?" I answered "yes" to the first of what would be many questions that have forever shaken my "secure and all-knowing" western world values.
I would encourage you to relish our blessings in what to us are increasingly unnerving times. However, don't resist having our "blinders dislodged" to the billions of precious folks we have "outgrown" in our self-centered culture. They have some valuable but unsettling messages for you and me. I suspect we secretly long for the pure basic values they represent. I sure do.