Small Acts of Compassion

"It's not happening to me"

"Why should I get into the middle of a bullying session on my way back home from school, when I am not the one who is being bullied?"

"It's better if I don't say anything to these two girls, because they will turn and make me the victim of their obnoxious bullying, and I know what it feels like to be relentlessly bullied."

These were the thoughts that ran continously on my mind, as I sat next to a girl, not a friend that I spoke to very often, but an acquaintance I occasionally shared a bus seat with, on our forty-five minute bus ride, from school to our respective bus stops. It was one of those bus rides back home, not my favourite, especially in the afternoon of an unbearable Delhi summer day, which came with these two just as unbearable, if not more, girls so proud of themselves that they couldn't bear some fall out that would have happened with my bus seat partner, that they resorted to making a mockery of the girl, from the way she looked to her plain old school bag.

The apparent comedians in their head started with laughing and some other "funny" jibes on my bus-ride companion, as they now fully turned around their bus seat, directly facing us, so that they could enjoy the gloomy look on the face of their victim, who was now looking out of the window, after the attack of shame from the two big "how dare you not listen to us, our parents have psychologically trained us to not accept no for an answer" girls.

Now, the jokes from the apparently old and "tacky" school bag had gone a little too far, and had became about the doctor parents of the girl. The doctors had trained the girl to stay calm and quiet, but had not trained her to go up to the bus teachers and stop this word attack from former "friends". As tears rolled down her face, a lump developed in my thirteen year-old throat. The tug of war of " should I get into this and of course get bullied myself or should I just wait and get off at my bus stop and think about this terrible sight and feel bad about it for a week". You would think that an eight grader at that point would enjoy these jokes and laugh along with the bullies and I agree with your thought. I have seen it happen as well, but here is the twist.

The biggest truth of life is that once you "know how it feels" you know how it would impact your fellow human begins as well. Experiences do fuel compassion and very rarely is that compassion a natural gift, as it was in the case of great personalities like Mother Teresa and Princess Diana. Ten years ago, my thirteen year old self, of course, did not realise that the reason behind why I was feeling so bad and felt like crying myself for my bus partner who I sat with for forty five minutes once or twice a week. I just felt like it was happening to me because it HAD happened to me on several occasions, particularly in this school-bus set up. Bullying is not taken seriously, as it's seen as merely a word attack or jokes between children, but I know the impact that it can have.

This feeling of being "attacked" becomes a feeling of worthlessness and exclusion and can stay with you, in your mind, for years to come. This is my twenty three year old understanding, but now, if I rewind to a decade ago, I just wanted to cry at the sight of this session.

Tears rolling down my bus partner's face, the jokes had now become about the specs that she was wearing and that were now getting attacked by the jokes of the bullies and the tears of the victim. I was feeling like the pair of specs myself, in my head, not knowing what to do and where to go. Unlike our apparently "funny" specs, I did have an option and I finally opened my mouth.

One-Two-Three...

"You know you have made her cry, who even are you to make jokes about who she is" I dropped the bomb and the fumes came out from their mouth, that were in the form of harsh statements about the interrupter of their session of enjoyment.

"I want to stop this harsh treatment but I am not that fit to retaliate to these harsh statements on me." This new thought ran through my mind as my heart filled with a heaviness of feeling bad, now about "us", the always quiet bus partners.

There was, of course, no end to this war of words, obviously much harsher from the other side as I continued to not make fun, but speak about how what they were doing was wrong and trying to change their ways. This should not happen, ever, to anyone is the only feeling that my, not so bright , thirteen year old self could identify at that time. The only effect of my action, however, was that the wrath of the bullies turned from my bus partner to me. It's okay, I was still used to this. The compassion in me, made me a part of this vicious session, detrimental to my developing sense of self, at thirteen.

This is not an outcome driven deed. This episode ended with the first bus stop, where one of the bullies was dropped, followed by the second bully. My partner, simply smiled at me and said thank you and sorry, as I told her not to feel bad and shunned the attack of words. We did not end up becoming best friends or even reporting to the assigned teachers (not that much would have come out of that. Some systems in India are too old school stubborn to understand the severity of such exchanges between children).

However, as much as their vicious words on us, impacted me and made me feel sad and anxious for days to come, I recognised the idea of compassion. I stood up for what was going on and tried to empathise and in turn stand up for someone who was unable to help herself and was being made to go through something. The problem here was much deeper and would require older authorities to take action and teach these children how to behave and make them understand that what they were doing was wrong, but the lesson of compassion was the good deed that I did not only for her, but for myself. Of course, it would have been ideal to report this then and take stricter actions, but at that time, the fear of people and making adults a part of this tussle ruled my childish mind.

I would like to narrate this small tale to students of Primary and Secondary school and make them understand compassion and further make them understand how wrong bullying is. What I did was a small act that stayed between my bus seat partner and I, but it made each of us stronger as we had each other to share with each other, what was happening to us and to make ourselves believe that the problem was them and not believe their words. Compassion was the driving force between our exchange and gave us strength. It was a small good deed of standing up to the very wrong and in turn provided strength to someone who needed it.

A good deed is not just an over empowering or monetary action, but sometimes it can come in the form of empathy that leads to support and understanding. A good deed can be as simple as making someone understand the difference between right and the wrong, telling them not to believe the unnecessary external voices and being confident and fearless regardless.

On hindsight, I believe that what I did was not a good deed towards just the victim of the bullies, but the bullies themselves. I never acted like them or tried to make fun of them, but I tried to make them understand that what they were doing, was wrong. A good deed also involves making people understand the wrong in their actions. Sometimes, it's way deeper and requires psychological help and sometimes it is required to be taught very seriously to our children, as bullying can have an impact on child's mind for years to come.

A twenty-three year old me is now very happy with the small deed of the thirteen year old me and I will always stand up for the right, in the right way, all the way from bus rides to now tram rides in a new city!

Learn lessons and pass them on, lead through compassion and in this way contribute to your list of good deeds.