The rain was relentless and it was getting late. I wanted to grab a quick dinner and call it a day.

I stood unwearyingly in a long line to order one falafel - a tasty fried seasoned chick pea mixture stuffed inside the pita bread and topped with a salad mixture and sesame sauce (tahini) - for just $2.50. My Iranian friend from the Faculty Resource Network Seminar I attended in the morning suggested that I try the famous falafel at Mamoun's Falafel. Established in the heart of Greenwich Village in 1971, the restaurant has been turning out tasty authentic cuisines for 38 years. I could not wait to take a bite of the Middle Eastern delight.

At last, it was my turn to place an order. However, to my dismay, I had no cash and credit cards were not accepted. I was extremely disappointed and scanned my surroundings to find an ATM. With little success, I looked further; my eyes fell to a small store called The Land of Buddha, one among the very few Tibetan stores in the United States. I somehow knew that I would get help there. With high spirits, I walked into the store and explained my situation to a humble, compassionate man behind the counter. He comes from Nepal and to me he was kindness personified. He gave me three dollars instantaneously and with no reservations. I promised that I would return with the money the next day.

I lingered a little longer to look at all kinds of Himalayan handicrafts. Most items in his store came from Tibet, Nepal, and Bhutan. It was a charming place with jewelry, Tibetan carpets, antiques, DVD and CDs related to Buddhism and Yoga. It had religious items like thankas and singing bowls galore. You could also find prayer wheels, prayer beads, and incense sticks as well as traditional Tibetan style brocade dress, shirts, and Pashmina. This was home away from home. I felt like I was in a store on Big Bazar Street in India, where I was born and lived for twenty five years, before immigrating to the United States.

With three dollars in hand, I once again stood outside, holding my red umbrella to shield myself from the rain as the line inched slowly into Mamoun's Falafel. Finally, I got my falafel and I sat on the steps adjacent to the restaurant to take my first bite with a big smile, all the while thanking the kind man who made it possible for me to taste the Middle Eastern cuisine.

On the next day I returned to The Land of Buddha around 11:30 A.M. and found it closed. As I walked down the street, I saw many small boutiques, tattoo parlors, bars, dance clubs and restaurants lining both sides of the narrow street. It was fun to walk on MacDougal Street with so many different ethnic restaurants: Yummy Village, Japanese Sushi, Ritz Asia-Asian fusion, Pasta Bristo Grill, Hummus and many more. A few men were unloading groceries in front of a restaurant and were getting ready for the hectic day ahead.

I made my way to another boutique, Nepa Bhon, where Renu, the proprietor's wife from Nepal has been doing business since 1993. The shop deals in Nepalese Papers, mainly "Lokta" paper products. The 'Lokta' shrub grows in the high elevations of the Himalayan foothills and is used to produce paper sheets, photo albums, journals, stationeries, and picture frames. The products provide the only source of income for the villagers who grow, harvest and produce these goods.

It was wonderful to chat with Renu. She was warm, friendly, and conversant. We began to talk about the life and death of Buddha, Nirvana, and The Noble Eightfold Path, one of the principal teachings of the Buddha to end suffering (dukkha) and achieve self-awakening. The Noble Eightfold Path includes: Right View, Right Intention, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood, Right Effort, Right Mindfulness and Right Concentration. "Buddha was born in Kapilavasthu and died under the Bodhi tree in Bodha Gaya, 100 km from Patna, in Bihar State, India," she said. "Yes, Buddha was born in India," I replied. She corrected me by saying: "No, Kapilavasthu is in Nepal and many Indians think it is in India." She continued: "it is under the Bodhi tree that Gautama Buddha attained enlightment or Bodhi." I did not want the conversation to end as I was grossly immersed in every word she was saying. After our lengthy discussion, I found my way to The Land of Buddha, which was still closed. It was time to join my colleagues for lunch.

As I traced my way back, I saw the Dosa Stand. The rain never stopped and the day was gloomy yet, Kumar the man behind the vegetarian stand, in Washington Square was busy. The Dosa Stand was considered one of the best vendors in New York City. A posted article on his stand, by New York Times, described the countless accolades he had received.

Kumar was happy to see me and started talking in his native language, Tamil. He hails from Sri Lanka, and I from Tamilnad in South India, so we had much in common. He made me a spicy Sadha Dosa, which is made of rice and lentil and included two small cups of sambar (like lentil soup) and green chutni (made with green chilies, mint and coriander leaves). It was scrumptious. Then, he handed over a Masala Dosa (dosa stuffed with potatoes) to an East Asian woman who was in a similar predicament as I was, with no cash. She asked if she could pay him the next day. He happily obliged and bid farewell to both of us. I was deeply touched.

Subsequently, I traced my way back to The Land of Buddha, which was now open. I returned the borrowed money to the owner's wife, thanked her profusely, and parted with these words: "I will never forget your husband's kindness, which I will take to my grave." As tears swelled in my eyes, I said goodbye. It was time to go back to my afternoon seminar session at the Kimmel Center.

That night as I lay in bed, I reflected upon the day's events. I have never written any short stories and today I was inspired to put in writing, my thoughts, my emotions and what I saw and experienced. I wondered about why I was stirred to write; could it be the amazing discussions we had during the seminar? We focused on community outreach in a writing program developed at NYU's Gallatin School of Individualized Study. Could it also be the erudite colleagues in my program, including Dr. June Foley, the program convener and the first director of the Writing Program at NYU's Gallatin School of Individual Study? Maybe, it was the Chinese immigrants, the adult learners who read their writings aloud and shared their life experiences. Perhaps, it was a combination of all of these.

Now, I know that I will continue to write. I also plan to introduce a service-learning course at my university where I teach Yoga, Exercise Physiology, Kinesiology and Psychomotor Development. I would like to connect students with adults through a literacy project. To that end, I contacted the chair of the Computer Science Department, who is interested to collaborate and see that the minority community from the Historical Washington Heights, a neighborhood near our university, will be computer literate and become a "laptop community."

As I tried to sleep, I was reminded of what Marian Wright Edelman said: "Service is the rent we pay for being. It is the very purpose of life, and not something you do in your spare time. "

Submitted by,

Indhu Gopal

Indhu Gopal, Ph.D.

Health & Human Performance Department