The Man under the Tree

I was fourteen. As I sat in our new car, I happened to see an old man sitting on the footpath under a tree in a make shift structure.  He was using a broom to clean the area. It took me sometime to realize that the make shift structure was his house.  It was half the size of the car I was in. I observed as the man sat around performing his daily chores. He was cleaning the area, removing the leaves that had fallen from the tree that acted as the roof of his home.

I wondered if he was content with life, whether he wished for luxury, or was he so busy fighting for daily necessities that luxury was not a part of his thought, or whether he had given up on the idea of life all together. As I thought about that man under the tree, my own life and perceptions changed.

I wondered if he had any friends, if he had anyone to talk to, if he had anything to talk about. As I looked around his house, all I could spot was a dirty old mattress rolled and kept aside, a small kerosene stove, a single broken utensil and a dirty glass, an Indian version of a Chinese hand fan, and the broom. Then from somewhere he produced small pouches of supplies. He started the stove and made tea for himself. I just stared as he slowly sipped away. It seemed like it was the only thing on his menu for breakfast. I was filled with shame for myself, for all the demands I kept on my family regarding what I would and wouldn’t eat.

The broom he was using seemed to have come from a dumpster; it had outlived its useful life. I wonder if the same was true about the old man. As time passed I wondered where his family was. I always knew that no matter how the time might be, my family would always be with me. That was the thought that kept me going even in my weakest moments.
As I sat inside my world, looking out to his world, everything changed. My dream had always been to have a huge house on top of a hill, a garage full of cars, all the luxury that money could buy and more; looking at him, I was just glad to be where I was, for what I had, and that I was not him. It was the first time that I actually felt grateful for what I had. It was the first time I thanked god, it wasn't the last.