Pawan

(Photos compliments of Christine and Mindy)

Meet Pawan, our tailor in Majnu Ka Tilla, Delhi.

I first met Pawan several years ago when we took a group of Buddhist meditators on pilgrimage to India. We went to the fabric shop just down the alley, bought fabric, and then ordered chuba dresses, robes and other items from the tailor at his little stand, only just as wide as his sign.

So with requests from my entire Sangha, it was with great enthusiasm that I went to order fabric for tailoring in the week before our AY group arrived. Yeshe went with me to help translate at both the fabric shop and the tailor. Remembering me from before (and the immense amount of fabric my group bought), the fabric vendor ordered chai as we sat and sifted through endless choices of maroon and gold fabrics. As part of selecting fabrics, the tailor is called in to measure or review measurements and tell the fabric man more precisely how much fabric you will need.

Having called for measurements, it was there at the shop I first saw the tailor Pawan again. His intent look and slight smile, he tells the fabric man that he remembers me from the last time I was there. He waits patiently in silence, a soft but intent look remaining on his face, watching the fabric transactions and occasionally calculating and calling out the amount of fabric needed. Towards the end, he silently slips away back to his shop to work and await my arrival.

Loaded with five heavy bags of fabric, splitting at the seams, I arrive at the tailor. The first set of fabric is Tsering's set, half-chuba, shenthap, ngulen .... we discuss how long the shenthap should be and he marks up a receipt. The air begins to get chilly as the sun moved a bit further down in the sky. At 5 PM it is not dark, but the sun is definitely on its way to set.

Unexpectedly, a drunk woman stumbles by, mumbling. People around her raise their voices in a loud exclamation. And off in the distance I hear shouting. Shouting, shouting, shouting. I turn to look at the drunk woman, thinking she is the cause of all the commotion. But she is now sitting quietly. I look back at the tailor, but he is no longer behind the desk. I look around and see him running down the street....disappearing into a narrow alley.

I turn to Yeshe, who is wearing a blank puzzled look. This is the first time I've seen her soft eyes without a smile. She tells me people are shouting that a small girl has fallen from a second story balcony, and no one is doing anything about it. They are all just staring at her. A small boy comes running, shouting for someone to help his sister. They tell the boy that Pawan has already left, and he retreats. It suddenly becomes clear that the small girl is actually Pawan's daughter.

I have emergency responder training, so I ask Yeshe to find out where the girl is, but no one seems to know. We stow our fabrics behind the desk and seek more information up and down the street, but no one knows anything more. So we return to the desk and stand blankly for a moment. I am thinking of what I can do, how I can help. There seems to be nothing I can do to help Pawan or his daughter because we hear he is already in a car on the way to the hospital.

But then I remember that I can say prayers -- a kind of energetic healing prayers. So I ask the name of his daughter, which is Kiritika. And then through Yeshe I tell the staff at the desk that I will pray for Pawan's daughter.

Yeshe and I return to Wongdhen, and she departs. I go upstairs and begin prayers for Kiritika. after a while, I feel a sense of relief, as if things might turn out OK. Later, after I have finished, I write about the incident on Facebook. And without being asked, members of our Sangha also begin to do prayers.

Two days later I return for tailoring, but the shop is closed. Those around say the tailor is ill. They do not know that I have heard about his daughter. The fabric is returned to me, and have to tote it all the way to Kathmandu. No one knows how his daughter is doing. I asked yeshe before she left, but to no avail.

Three days later I return from Kathmandu and prepare to receive the group. On the first day we will go for tailoring. I take the first group around 11 AM, and we arrive as planned at the fabric shop. On the way I do not see our tailor.

Chai is ordered and thus begins the forray into the sea of choices for chuba dress, half cuba, chuba shirts, kurtas and chinese style coats. A tailor shows up to measure, but it is not our tailor. I realize he is the one associated with the fabric shop, as they sew saris in-house.

It occurs to me that the fabric man will know about Pawan, and so I ask him. Happy news. He says the tailor is on the way, and the daughter is much better. Just then Pawan shows up to measure for chuba dress. I excitedly ask him about his daughter. In a reserved way, he responds that she is doing well and turns to help with the fabric. With those same intent eyes he watches the fabric being selected, quietly measuring when needed and then retreating to his shop to wait for our group.

We finish our selections and stop by the shop to be measured. Each person goes one at a time, our orders being placed carefully so that a friend can pick them up and deliver them to us in Dharamsala. The orders take quite some time -- there are many.

At some point, Pawan makes a motion and softly exclaims something to one of his employees. A stool appears and is wiped down carefully. Pawan offers it to me. I sit down, watching the tailor measure each member of the group. As the line dwindles, I send for our second group of shoppers for the day. The first group departs, and I am left resting on the stool at the tailors.

He looks at me directly for the first time since the accident -- a smile in his eyes added to that same intent look. And he begins to tell me all about his daughter's accident. How he ran to her and swooped her into a taxi. How the first and second hospitals did not have a doctor available. How it took him most of the night to find a doctor. And how it took almost two days for her to begin to recover. And how now she was just fine. Then he thanked me for praying for his daughter.

And then Pawan smiled a big proud smile and told me of his Nepali wife Asha, and son Pankaj, and his daughter Kiritika. He showed me pictures of his children and wife. He said thank you again. That was when I knew that something really special had happened. A stranger to him, a westerner, had offered to pray for his daughter. And it had touched him more than I imagined.

He offered to order tea but I wanted to wait since I would shortly depart for the fabric store. Our second group arrived, and I repeated the same process as earlier. I took them to the fabric store and then to the tailor for measuring.  I never did have time for that cup of tea. The measuring did not take much time, and we departed rather quickly, as I was behind schedule for the next activity.

When we returned from our two week trip, I saw Pawan one more time. I took a group for tailoring because we were not able to get sewing in Jaipur. Out came the stools for our group, a seemingly rare occurrence that was becoming uncommonly familiar. With great delight I accepted his offer of tea, instinctively knowing this would complete the circle of caring for each other. We drank tea and smiled as he worked his way through piles of kurta fabric, taking measurements and making receipts. A uncommonly common day.

Before I left, I asked him to write the names of his entire family, correctly, for me. I look forward to seeing him when we return to India.