Compassion

 
 Whatever happens in our lives, something worse could have happened instead, couldn't it? As we are, we are well enough! So the best thing we can do to express our gratitude for life is to be kind to people.

 This happened long ago. I think I was in seventh grade. One day a new boy came to our class. He was small and rather shy. He wore thick-framed glasses.

 No one our age wore glasses like that—only old people did. His parents had bought him those, so what else could the poor fellow wear! When we teased him, when we went after him, he would shrink even more with fear and bite his ballpoint pen even harder.

 It wasn't that he liked to bite his pen; it was his habit. None of us were his friends. It never occurred to any of us that we could befriend him. Yet we needed him—to tease, to have fun with. "Hey! Does your pen taste really good? Let me see, give it here, give it here!" we'd say, snatching the pen from his hand and throwing it somewhere far away. This was our game. We wanted him to argue with us, so we could all gang up and give him a few blows!

 But he never said anything to us. As far as I remember, he would quickly lower his eyes (perhaps to hide his tears), curl up in some kind of shame, and suddenly run away. Looking at him, you'd think he had committed some crime! We were the ones doing wrong; yet the one we wronged had to flee! Even as children, we were growing up with such a wrong lesson.

 After returning home, his mother would perhaps ask him, "What did you do at school today?" "Had lots of fun, Ma!" "Made new friends?" "Yes Ma, many!"

 We might see through him, but his mother couldn't! We might enjoy it when he cried, but his mother wouldn't! Why cause his mother pain!

 Sometimes he would stand huddled in a corner of our school playground, watching others play. Looking at him, you'd think the poor boy had committed some terrible crime!

 This went on.

 One day they left. His father had been transferred somewhere else.
 That's it! Nothing more than this. No other incident, no major event involving him.
 One day he was in our class, now he's not.
 He had no friends. No one missed him. Story over.
 Let's say his name was Bablu. No one misses the Bablus. There's nothing about Bablus to miss.
 Now the question is, today, after all this time, why am I writing all this? Am I feeling remorse? If I am, why? What's the point of such remorse after two decades?

 Whether you believe what I'm saying is up to you. I was indeed kinder to Bablu than others in the class. I never once abused him, never once spoke harshly to him. When others would snatch his pen and throw it, when they'd push him to provoke him, when they'd chase him calling him "four-eyes," I would sometimes try to reason with them. Though I never protested very strongly. I was quite naive, and I was afraid they might beat me up!

 I never behaved badly with Bablu, but those memories still disturb me deeply.

 Some truths cause me pain. These words might sound commonplace, but I can't help thinking about them. Because I think about them, certain failures of this life cause me pain.

 I feel the most remorse when I see that toward many people, I could have been a little kinder if I'd wanted to, but I wasn't. Perhaps I deliberately wasn't. Or it's not that I "deliberately wasn't"—I just wasn't, that's all!

 Right before my eyes someone I don't know is suffering. I've helped them occasionally, but less than my opportunity and capacity allowed. I could have reduced that person's suffering a little more if I'd wanted to. But I didn't. Since they weren't anyone to me, I didn't think much about their pain!

 When we look at someone, we first place a telescope before our eyes. We calculate whether they're someone to us or not. If they are someone to us, then even if they're far away, we see them right in front of our eyes. If they're not someone to us, then even if they're right in front of our eyes, we want to see them far away.

 Now let me look at myself a little. Whom do I always remember? The one who was dear to me but wasn't beside me? Or the one who was beside me, though not dear to me? In times of trouble, who spreads more warmth in our hearts? The dear person who's far away? Or the distant person who's nearby?

 Is there any need at all to maintain a relationship with someone who wasn't kind to me during my difficult times?
 Kindness teaches us to see life. Even if showing kindness to someone requires you to accept some temporary loss, still be kind to them. You'll see that one day this very loss will return to your life as blessing and peace. One who can be kind doesn't need to go to heaven—they already live in heaven!

 When I think of those who looked for logic during my times of trouble, I feel intense disgust. And when I think of those who showed kindness then, I completely dissolve myself in the dust of their feet.