family

my plate of food was placed in front of me. it was approximately the size of a wombat...a big wombat (think fatso from 'a country practice' circa 1988). i began to do some rough equations in my head to ascertain how many hours it was going to take me to get through the wombat, then i discovered this was just the first course. now by virtue of the fact that my last name is wallis, i can confirm that i am one of the lucky few who was bred specifically for challenges such as this. i can put away a fair amount of food when i’m feeling emotional enough! alas, my stomach was still recovering from the gastro-inducing mashed potato incident of early february. i was certain the mountain of food would kill me, or at the very least render me unable to walk, if i soldiered on and ate it all.

i was sitting in a room about the size of a bathroom...a small bathroom. in the room there was one half-sized single bed which was doubling as my chair for the meal. my dinner table was doubling as the bedside table. the kitchen area was as big as a large lunchbox, and the rest of the free space could probably have held 5 or so people standing up. my new indian family gathered around to serve me and witness my attempt at taming the wombat. my indian sister translated my wishes to my indian mum and dad. i repeatedly apologised for the fact that i didn’t think i would be able to finish my meal, although i’m not sure the translation was happening with 100% accuracy, as every time i spoke up indian mum would pile another mound of chicken onto my already exploding plate.

i felt so at home. indian mum and dad mocked me openly as i attempted to eat with my hand and we laughed together as they mimicked my pathetic attempts. indian mum wanted to use her own hand to feed me...i think this is probably something my own mum would have offered to do if she ever found herself  in the same situation. mums will be mums no matter the country.

5 people live in the room i was eating in. 2 sleep on the half-sized bed and 3 sleep on the floor. my indian family is very poor in one sense, but living in close proximity has bred a deep love between them. they love well. in this way they are rich i guess. i’m not sure i would love my family so well had we grown up living in this amazing room.

the meal seemed to go on forever as my stomach stretched in new and different directions. it hurt, but i still loved it. finally i could eat no more...and finally, that message seemed to translate to indian mum and dad. indian dad only forced me to eat one more thing...a banana...convincing me that it would help to digest the wombat more speedily. thank God for bananas.

then indian dad did the most beautiful thing. my indian sister held a bowl beneath my filthy eating hand and poured water over it. indian dad picked up my disgusting hand with his clean hands and rubbed it, splashed water on it, and made sure it was completely clean.

again, i am astounded and inspired by a simple truth. we will never change the world because of what we have, but by how much we are willing to give. sometimes it’s about giving money (because you and i both know that’s something we have more than enough of), but more often it’s about being willing to grab someone’s filthy hand to let them know we are all in this mess together.