Seva

[Guest guest]

Baba's work will continue no matter what. Seva can be done in many ways, this

is one way. Enjoy this beautiful story. I don't know who the real driver is.

 

 

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.

 

One night I was dispatched to pick up a passenger at her home. When I arrived

at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground

floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or

twice, wait a minute, then drive away.

 

But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their

only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always

went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I

reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute,"

answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across

the floor.

 

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before

me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it,

like somebody out of a 1940s movie.

 

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had

lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were

no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the

corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

 

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the

cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly

toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing," I told

her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother

treated."

 

"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an

address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?It's not the shortest

way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm

on my way to a hospice." I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were

glistening.

 

"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have

very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would

you like me to take?" I asked.

 

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building

where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

 

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when

they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that

had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

 

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and

would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun

was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

 

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building,

like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

 

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were

solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting

her.

 

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was

already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching

into her purse.

 

"Nothing," I said. "You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other

passengers," I responded.

 

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

 

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

 

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door

shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

 

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in

thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.

 

What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end

his shift?

 

What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

 

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my

life.

 

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But

great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may

consider a small one.

 

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, ~BUT ~ THEY

WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

 

You won't get any big surprise in 10 days if you send it to ten people. But,

you might help make the world a little kinder and more compassionate by sending

it on.

 

Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well

dance. Every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special.

Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift from God.