September 7th, 2011
I am now on the 8-hour train back to Delhi. I had a wonderful time in Amritsar. I met very interesting and compassionate people. I learned tons about Sikhism and experienced life at the niwas. I am starting to miss Pondi and am happy to be heading home. I am so thankful for Gurprakesh, Shivakumar, Vijaybhai, Arti Arora, and the Sikh Who Gave Me His Shoes for watching over me.
I wrote this poem this morning, inspired by a real event and all that I have learned here. As you enter the Langar dining hall, volunteers hand out utensils. Dada means grandfather.
Langar kitchen, Amristar
September 7, 2011 5:30 am
Namaste dada, what time did you rise?
Was the sky black tar or sweet lavender?
Thank you dada for your gift,
This morning’s bowl and spoon.
Pressed palms to my chest, a thousand thanks to you.
A pat on my shoulder in delighted surprise,
Nay dada, there is no need.
I recognize the Divine in you as clearly as I see the glory
of the white ibis in the fields of Punjabi wheat.
My tin bowl half-filled with hot chai, my heart filled to the brim.