We slept in the heart of Bhitarkanika National Park and Wildlife Refuge in Orissa, at a government guest house; but we are up well before dawn and back on our boat before first light. The night had been clear but moonless; and in the early hour, the eerie landscape reveals itself with equal measures of reluctance and mystery.
What a nice surprise to see that the current issue of Newsweek magazine (July 16, 2007 issue) carries a very nice story on the Ashok Gadgil’s Berkeley National Laboratory Darfur Cookstove Project, entitled “Flames of Hope.”
Yoo-Mi and I had the privilege to work in Darfur, Sudan in November and December of 2005 as part of Ashok’s four-person team doing the initial field research which would enable us to design a fuel efficient cookstove for Darfurians living in the refugee camps. Ashok and LBNL scientist Christie Galitsky conducted the research in the camps of South Darfur; Yoo-Mi and I did the same in the North Darfur camps.
I’m glad to have grown up the lone male in a house of amazing women – my mother, sister and, for a short-but-significant while, two sister-like close friends. As a consequence, I have always been deeply suspicious of traditional designations of gender norms and have tried to develop a strong sense of myself without leaning too heavily on the easy crutch of normative male privilege. (You-all can judge how well that’s going.) More importantly, I am one of the few men who reflexively returns the toilet seat to the down position. No one has ever accused me of failing to “get in touch with my feminine side.”
Until last week, that is.
“Is she a model?” Lisa D’Costa with a fan.
All the world has a prurient, voyeuristic fascination with celebrity. In America, the process is so well-advanced that fame is self-reflexive and self-fulfilling. People like Paris Hilton, though lacking any talent or meaningful social value, are considered “famous for being famous.”
But India far outstrips even the American love of the famous. Americans thrill when chance allows them to brush-up against celebrities; Indians crave such opportunities. No event in India should take place without the “felicities” of a celebrity. And if the famous can’t make an appearance, the demi-famous will have to do.
Each of us bears the imprint
of a friend met along the way.
In each the trace of each.
– Primo Levi
In fact, we bear the imprint of every life that intersects with ours – whether or not the people we touch are friends or perfect strangers, whether the interpersonal contact occurred in dramatic fashion or was barely noticeable. But some people teach us lesson that are so profound that we cannot help but think of them as mentors. Here are a few of mine.
Ashish Mehta has taught me the ineffable value of constant awareness. It is the channel through which compassion and thoughtfulness flows. I consider this the most important ethical insight I have ever been shown – and the most difficult to live up to.
David Cavagnaro taught me to respect the earth and showed me the interconnection of all living things.
Guri Mehta and John Silliphant have shown me the beauty of modesty, and that white-hot brilliance is never negated by soft warmth, quietude, and humility.
My father, if by negative example, showed me that a sharp intellect is valuable, but empty without compassion and kindness. Eric Zakim reminds me of the astonishing potential of intellect wedded to decency, common sense, and groundedness.
My mother taught me that a person who is full of joy and unfettered by self-doubt can do just about anything, and do it far better than they have a right to expect. She, Trishna Shah, and Uma Prajapati have demonstrated that, while moderation and striking “balance” in life is all well-and-fine, undaunted people can almost literally do-it-all, which is even better.
Nipun Mehta and Jayesh Patel taught me that the opportunity to serve is not only found in doing of grand, dramatic philanthropy, or even in the doing of Mother Teresa’s “small things with great love.” It exists in every human interaction.
Roger Sleight showed me that, despite the common wisdom, one could reach the top of the legal profession, representing soulless corporate clients, while growing in humanity and exercising ethical leadership.
Viral Mehta is my paragon of generosity and friendship.
Pavi Krishnan serves as a exemplary reminder that if one is open to the magical interconnectedness of things, it is impossible to ignore the joy and beauty in every moment.
Rubin Macaya and Phillipe Mollard taught me the joy of fearlessness. This has, perhaps, been the most formative lesson of my life.
Yoo-Mi Lee and my sister Betsy reveal the very limits of human perfection. Every day. Neither have ever entered a room they did not make a better place by their presence. I cannot hope to aspire to this; but neither can I be unaffected by it.
There are two common threads in this admittedly incomplete list. First, the people who have mentored me have done so by example, not in a didactic way. Second, either I know way too many people named Mehta or way too few.
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