Over the course of the trip so far there have been a number of books both read and recommended for reading on trains and in our spare time. One such book is "Tuesdays with Morrie", in which the author records his weekly meetings with his old professor who has a terminal illness and only months to live. Each chapter of the book describes Morrie's final thoughts on death, life and society, with many of the questions and statements written proving to be very challenging and thought provoking.
The beginnings of the book briefly recount Morrie's initial reaction when first diagnosed as terminal, including thoughts such as "Shouldn't the world stop?" & "Don't they know what has happened to me?". The world is then seen as continuing on as normal, everyone continuing to bustle along with their own existence - totally apathetic to the plight of the old man.
When I first began to read, we had just completed the leg from relative isolation in Varanasi, to the organised chaos of Delhi. The days spent in Varanasi were ones of rest where there was very little contact, if any at all, with the "real" India. The hotel was secluded, away from the noise of the street, and there were no beggars or real slums to be found. Arriving in Delhi, we were once again confronted with vast hordes of people and smog, and I found myself shutting it all out and withdrawing to the safety and friendly company of the group. This exclusion of those unknown to me, was often done with the pretense that I was tired, or would be open to the experience of India later.
That particular chapter of the book really hit home as to how often I can do that, often forgetting that the people that walk past me have lives of their own, and those who I walk over in the street in both India and New Zealand have their own uniue stories to share. The question then is can I show both the empathy and humility to recognise those who are different from myself? A real challenge to ponder as we approach the halfway point of the tour.
Alex
The beginnings of the book briefly recount Morrie's initial reaction when first diagnosed as terminal, including thoughts such as "Shouldn't the world stop?" & "Don't they know what has happened to me?". The world is then seen as continuing on as normal, everyone continuing to bustle along with their own existence - totally apathetic to the plight of the old man.
When I first began to read, we had just completed the leg from relative isolation in Varanasi, to the organised chaos of Delhi. The days spent in Varanasi were ones of rest where there was very little contact, if any at all, with the "real" India. The hotel was secluded, away from the noise of the street, and there were no beggars or real slums to be found. Arriving in Delhi, we were once again confronted with vast hordes of people and smog, and I found myself shutting it all out and withdrawing to the safety and friendly company of the group. This exclusion of those unknown to me, was often done with the pretense that I was tired, or would be open to the experience of India later.
That particular chapter of the book really hit home as to how often I can do that, often forgetting that the people that walk past me have lives of their own, and those who I walk over in the street in both India and New Zealand have their own uniue stories to share. The question then is can I show both the empathy and humility to recognise those who are different from myself? A real challenge to ponder as we approach the halfway point of the tour.
Alex
I like your question Alex....thought-provoking and potentially life changing for those who choose to consider it.
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