It is over 40 degrees Centigrade when I wake up. It feels like I’ve opened my eyes in a brick kiln. I get up, and get busy, taking care of minutiae, here and there. I make scrambled eggs, otherwise known as smashing up an egg once it's on the pan. I make a potful of tea, and ask my parents if they want any. They do. Into three cups I pour steaming tea and stir one spoonful of sugar in each. I eat my breakfast slowly, taking in the sounds from the trees outside, the whir of the fan above, and the stickiness of the sweat that pours down my face.
I put away the plates, and go outside. It is hotter here. I spot a bird, a sparrow on a wire, her mouth hanging open out of thirst and the heat. There is not much I can do to save her and others. I go back inside, fetch a bowl, and fill it with water to the brim and I put it on the wall and hope that some birds see it. By this time, the sparrow has flown away.
The day goes by, and I spend it, doing what I always do. Routine things. I realize the acts of kindness I am supposed to do are not finished yet and that means the project is still up in the air. I decide to write a thank you note to a stranger who was once kind to me. I do not know whether the other person would be happy or indifferent to my ramblings. I still send it.
Three done, two to go, I think. It’s sad how this is only a project at this point. I decide to give some staples to someone in need tomorrow. That would be my fourth act of random kindness.
For now, I go up to my siblings and ask them if they need anything. Of course, they want tea. With biscuits. I make them the tea, and as there are no biscuits at home, I tell them, this is all that’s there. They like the taste, and they seem happy.
I send the project forward, realize how small and insignificant these kindnesses were. Sometimes all we can measure up to are little things. Does that mean what we do is meaningless? I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not.