Plopping myself down on a dainty chair I try to catch my breath after climbing up the steep and narrow staircase to the rooftop. It is only after rambling through my bag for my sunglasses and shifting them onto the bridge of my nose that I’m able to take in the magnificent sight in front of me – the Boudhanath Stupa in Kathmandu with the early morning sunlight reflecting of it in it’s full glory. A splendid sight. Do yourself a favour and Google the Boudhanath if you are not familiar with it.
I order an espresso from the waitress and as I listen to her footsteps descending down the staircase I’m surprised to realize it is only nine in the morning. So early and what a full day it’s been thus far. As if on cue Buddhist monks from the nearby monastery starts chanting the mantra “Om mane padme hum” and in those few intimate moments with only my thoughts everything is vague and yet clear.
As my mind goes back to the Home for disabled children where we are volunteering I’m struck by the realization that I witnessed something extraordinary earlier that morning.
Allow me to paint the scene - for the duration of our stay we would walk at the crack of dawn from the family-run guesthouse to the children’s home. A good twenty-minute walk from the valley up towards a hill. Just far enough for one to be slightly flushed upon reaching the Home’s big iron gate. We would then spend the next two hours helping the kids get ready for school, reading the paper with them or just chat about those things that connect us all – this would normally be sport related. Mostly Soccer/Football in that neck of the woods.
This particular morning, the kids could go play, as it was a public holiday. The boys grabbed a soccer ball and set of for a field next to the school. I was reading the daily paper with some of the girls and after an hour or so decided to follow the sound of the excited shrieks and constant dialogue to the adjacent field.
The area could hardly be called a soccer pitch – for one, the boys shared the space with some wandering cows. Secondly, the supporters watching from the sidelines did not make it easier either. Every now and then one of them would be overcome by such a huge degree of enthusiasm that they would have no choice but to jump in to join the fun, if only for a minute or two. After loud protesting from the actual players the spectator would sheepishly return to his sideline post with a huge grin plastered on his face. Unbelievably entertaining to watch.
What caught my attention though was a boy called Shree chasing after the ball with tremendous energy. The day before, I spent time reading the paper with him and learned he suffered from polio as an infant. Crutch and all he was tearing up the field. Shree was literally all over the place – chase, defend, kick…and repeat again. What an extraordinary display of passion it was. I felt privileged being able to watch him work his magic that morning on the pitch.
The rich smell of coffee brought my wandering mind back to the rooftop as the waitress carefully placed the cup on the table. Looking into the painted eyes on the stupa I found myself hoping…hoping to take a wee bit of Shree’s passion with me when I return to my everyday life in Singapore.
