29세 청년이 남긴 영원한 사랑의 유산

Some remembrances…

Belaben & Mia shared a poem by Ellen Brenneman:

“His journey's just begun

Don't think of him as gone away

his journey's just begun,

life holds so many facets

this earth is only one.

Just think of him as resting

from the sorrows and the tears

in a place of warmth and comfort

where there are no days and years.

Think how he must be wishing

that we could know today

how nothing but our sadness

can really pass away.

And think of him as living

in the hearts of those he touched...

for nothing loved is ever lost

and he was loved so much.”

And, I thought I’d share:

To Raghubhai, my Ahmedabadi brother, a brother like
no other,

I'll miss your smiles, Good Morning!s, Namaste!s,
Kemcho?s, Mazama?s, Aap kese ho?s, Aap kaha par ho?s...I know these are all
from the outer senses, and, to some extent, selfish, as you're likely in a
higher, free-er, lighter place now...your spirit, hugs, love, care, compassion,
empathy, friendship and brotherhood lives on.

You allowed me to play the role of Didi, even
though I'm the youngest of my siblings. And many times, you were like an older
brother to me, even though younger in age, showing me the ropes in Ahmedabad
and supporting me...even though you're the youngest of your siblings (if I
remember correctly).

I hope your spirit touches as many, if not more,
lives as you inspired when in the body of Raghubhai. My best of love and
blessings to you, wherever you are.

You taught me about love, from the Bada Dil (Big
Heart) you have-- more than the mere romantic type, a love that knows no
boundaries, goes beyond judgments and preferences, likes and dislikes, a love
that simply is and exists (in, and around, all of us).

It's probably the best lesson and person I could have
learned this from. You’re one of the best teachers I had, of how to live and
serve selflessly. I keep thinking unconditionally
giving can be a complete spiritual path by itself.

You'll always be my Ahmedabadi brother and always
live in my heart. I love you bhaiya.

And this is dedicated to you (my love for you may
be about the same as the love you shared in nearly every interaction I noticed
you had with the world):

http://www.servicespace.org...

Another poem:

“Kindness

Before you know what kindness
really is

you must lose things,

feel the future dissolve in a moment

like salt in a weakened broth.

What you held in your hand,

what you counted and carefully saved,

all this must go so you know

how desolate the landscape can be

between the regions of kindness.

How you ride and ride

thinking the bus will never stop,

the passengers eating maize and chicken

will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,

you must travel where the

Indian in a white poncho lies dead

by the side of the road.

You must see how this could be you,

how he too was someone

who journeyed through the night

with plans and the simple breath

that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness

as the deepest thing inside,

you must know sorrow

as the other deepest thing.

You must wake up with sorrow.

You must speak to it till your voice

catches the thread of all sorrows

and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness

that makes sense anymore,

only kindness that ties your shoes

and sends you out into the day

to mail letters and purchase bread,

only kindness that raises its head

from the crowd of the world to say

it is I you have been looking for,

and then goes with you every where

like a shadow or a friend.”

--Naomi Shihab Nye

And some quotes that describe how you lived:

“The fragrance always remains on the hand that
gives the rose.” –Gandhi

"Never doubt that a small
group of inspired volunteers can change the world. In fact, it’s the only thing
that ever has.” --Margaret Mead

It didn't seem possible at first. I read the news of Raghubhai's passing late last night. I'd just gotten up from meditation, and the words I was reading on the screen made no sense. How could he be gone, just like that? Raghu whose flashing smile I can still see so clearly when I close my eyes. Raghu who made a playful game of sneaking up next to us to touch our feet, before darting away, so quick and graceful on his hands, his incapacitated legs folded neatly beneath him. Raghu who could sing to God with a voice strong-winged as a bird, Raghu who found wholeness in broken places and learned to serve with a love that defied physical limitations. In the brief time I spent with him, he made me want to be a better human being. And now, though I didn't know him nearly as well as many others did, like all his brothers and sisters in service I feel a gaping Raghu-shaped hole in the universe.

After reading the news I sat down in tears, on the cushion I'd just risen from. And as I began to meditate a small voice inside said quietly, "He knew he was here to love and serve. He loved. He served. He lived a full life. Who are you crying for?" And I realized that I was crying for me and all the many of us who simply wish we'd had more time in a world that had him in it. And in that moment there was no grief only a wordless sense of awe and gratitude for the life he'd lived.

One of my favorite memories of Raghu is from several years ago. And it has nothing to do with his countless acts of compassion or his heroic generosity. It was a moment that gave me a glimpse of his whimsical side and his sense for the poetic. We were a big group meditating at Sughad, sitting together under the night sky. At the end of the hour we opened our eyes and went around in a circle sharing reflections. When it was his turn Raghu spoke in Gujarati and his voice was full of laughter. He said before closing his eyes he'd looked up at the sky and seen the crescent moon with a single star below it. "And all through the meditation I was thinking how perfect it would be if the star had been positioned just a little higher. Then at the end when I opened my eyes there it was right where I'd wanted it." We all looked up then, at the beautiful sight of a bright single star cradled in the silver curve of the moon. "I really need to learn how to focus better when I'm meditating," Raghu said smiling sheepishly. And I remember thinking then that he must have the soul of an artist or a poet. Because who else imagines rearranging the stars like that? There are other memories of course. Of sitting down to a meal with him and hearing from someone else how that very morning he'd stopped a woman from committing suicide simply by stopping and listening to her tell her story and giving her a cup of chai. There's the memory of weaving through the slums riding triples with my sister on his scooter laden with gleaming tiffin-boxes. The way I remember it, it was like riding with royalty. Children and puppies and grandmothers and schoolteachers and shopkeepers in tumbledown shacks all seemed to know him -- they came running out of their homes, lifted their hands in greeting, or shouted out his name like he was one of their own. And he was. I remember marveling at how well he knew the lives he served. How he stopped to touch the feet of one, and to check on the health of another, how he delighted the kids and how he never just dropped off food at someone's doorstep, but always went inside and sat down as if this one person was the only person on earth that he needed to be with.

He had such humor and dignity. I think of his straight-backed poise, and his way of looking directly at people when he talked to them. I think of his ready smile and the nobility of his heart. Noble. The word fits him well. He was truly a Noble Friend to all of us who knew him. He was one of those rare people who truly understood that in helping others we help ourselves, and in healing others it is we who heal.

He was such a luminous star in our lives. And I can't help thinking that now maybe he's just changed his position a little -- to find that perfect place in the sky.