The Ledger

I've seen him on the bus several times: an older gentleman, thin but not frail, of Indian (as in India) descent. Balding, he usually wears dress pants, a shirt and tie, a sweater vest, and a leather jacket.

On his lap he holds a notebook of sorts, or what appears to be something like a ledger. It has about 12 columns and perhaps 60 rows, per page. In each tiny cell, he is writing something small and illegible, over and over, until he fills up the page, then moves on to the next page.

I spot him right away as I board the bus today, and my curiosity gets the better of me. I sit directly behind him, about halfway down the bus. After a few minutes, I tap him on the shoulder and inquire if he'd mind if I ask him what he's writing.

With something like delight and relief that somebody has taken an interest in him, he puts the pen down and turns around to explain. "I am writing the name of my god. It is an act of worship."

I inquire further. "You're from India?" He confirms this. "Hinduism has several gods, does it not?"

"Oh, yes. I am writing the name of Rama, the chief of our gods." He shows me the cover of the ledger. "This type of faith is a very small minority in India. Perhaps only one in a thousand Indians believe and worship as I do. But still enough to sustain demand for publishing this book."

"The writing of the same name, over and over, must facilitate meditation," I offer.

He smiles. "Well, it is sometimes difficult to concentrate as I write," he concedes. "The pressures of my day, my mind wanders, it is hard to focus on my worship."

"I know what you mean," I reply. "As a Catholic, I pray the rosary. The prayer beads are repetitious, and we are to focus on specific mysteries from the life of Christ as we pray. But my mind does wander and I easily lose my focus too."

"Yes, yes," he agrees, and is silent.

"That is very interesting. I'll let you get back to it." He nods his thanks and resumes his writing-worship.

A noisy Indian (as in aboriginal) family is at the front of the bus; father, mother, four young kids, and an obvious baby in the belly. The eldest child is being a typical seven year old - bouncing around, unnecessarily fussing with the baby in the stroller, but not doing anything too bizarre. At least, not bizarre in my view - my own family is eerily identical in makeup to this one.

Suddenly the mother reveals just how loudly she can yell. "YOU'RE EMBARRASSING ME ON THE BUS!" she bellows at the child. "SIT DOWN!" Sulkily, the child sits, pouting.

I think to myself, "No lady, if anybody embarrassed you just then, it was you."

The Indian (as in India) man turns around to me to make a similar wisecrack. Our discussion tacks into the realms of child rearing, discipline, and the joys of parenting. His sole daughter is 24; he has no grandchildren. But I think he'd be a pretty fun grandpa, should the day ever arrive.

There's my stop.