By G Venkatesh
I walked down the forest path in Karlstad, Sweden, wondering how best I could ensure that a box of 36 colour pencils (used to different degrees), when given away could continue to be used so that they could fulfil the purpose they were fabricated for, as completely as possible. I recalled a tarot reader having said that ideas do not come to us when we think, but rather when we have stopped doing so. They come unbeckoned from somewhere beyond the astral realm. I stopped the train of thought in its tracks, to let the engine cool down a bit, and surrendered to the divine process of ideation and inspiration.
The next day, I was walking down the very same path – this was a routine after a couple of surgeries, for the purpose of recovery and regaining strength in my lower torso – when I saw two little girls (less than 6 years old, perhaps) playing in the garden to my left. An idea bubbled up. I hastened to my apartment, fetched the box of colour pencils and rushed down to the garden where I had seen the little girls. They were still there, on the swings. I walked up casually, making sure not to scare them (my bearded foreign face told me that I need to be careful here), and called out from a distance, in Swedish – “Hallo, vill ni gärna ha den? (Hello, would you like to take this?)”
The younger of the two came a bit closer, looked at the box in my hands, and asked curiously – “Vad är det? (What is it?)”
I explained that it was a box of 36 colour pencils, some used more than the others, and that I wished to gift it away to them. As more and more questions were hurled at me, I could not help but smile and recollect Rudyard Kipling’s poem:
I keep six honest serving-men
(They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.
The elder of the two girls then came down to brass-tacks, and asked, “Är det verkligen gratis? (Is it really for free?)”
I said yes, and she took it from my hands.
As I was about to turn around and walk away, I heard some murmured whispers behind me. I thought they would have opened the box, started counting and marvelling at the various shades of blue, red, green and yellow in there.
“Vänta, vänta…(Wait, wait).”
I turned and they came running towards me. The younger one was now holding the box of pencils in her hand.
“Vi vill gärna betala dig (We would like to pay you for this).”
I repeated that it was a gift and one does not have to pay for gifts.
“Nej, nej…vänta (No, no, wait).”
The older one then started searching in the little pouch she had around her waist, and fished out a 2 SEK coin. Summertime in Sweden, and little kids are provided with some money by their parents, which they carry around in these mobile piggy-banks strapped around their waists. Once they have accumulated enough, they spend the money on purchasing ice-cream or chocolates or candies.
“Här, (Here),” she said proudly with a smile across her face. “Den är för dig (This is for you).”
I accepted it with a smile, which hid mixed feelings. I did not wish to deprive the little one of the feeling of pride which she was experiencing – of having put aside money to ‘buy’ this gift from a stranger.
What it was that triggered the desire to monetarily compensate me for the gift I gave them, I would never know. I would also not wish to know. Maybe because I was a stranger to them, who also looked a bit bedraggled after the surgery. Maybe it made them feel good to also give me something in return for what I had given them. That would be another thing I would surrender to the realm of ideas, which had played a part in bringing these two little girls momentarily into my life that day – the invisible hand of God, of ideas floating around in the ether ready to inspire those who are fit to receive them.
G Venkatesh is an Associate Professor in Karlstad University, Sweden. E-mail: Venkatesh_cg@yahoo.com
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