Mr Subrat Ratho reflects on how gratitude, kindness and awe quietly shape our faith in humanity—often through the smallest acts of compassion.
A few days ago, I wrote about gratitude.
Or rather, I wrote about ingratitude.
The piece was prompted by a story someone told me—a story of kindness forgotten and generosity taken for granted. It seemed to resonate with many readers, perhaps because most of us have experienced moments that leave us wondering whether goodness is always appreciated.
Then, quite unexpectedly, life offered me another story.
It was a rainy morning. I stepped into a modest restaurant for a cup of hot filter coffee—partly to escape the downpour and partly to give my umbrella a well-earned rest.
As I stood there, a neatly dressed young man walked in, gently holding the hand of a frail elderly woman who had a bag over her head to shield herself from the rain. She looked as though she might have been a rag picker.
He found her a chair, ordered a hot dosa for her, and then quietly returned to the entrance of the restaurant to wait for the rain to ease.
There was nothing theatrical about what he did.
No announcement.
No camera.
No expectation of appreciation.
Just an instinctive act of kindness.
The woman began eating with the complete absorption of someone who was genuinely hungry.
As I left, I quietly took a photograph of her. That image has remained with me ever since.
It made me realise how profoundly our view of humanity is shaped by what we choose to notice.
A story of ingratitude can leave us disheartened.
A brief, unheralded act of kindness by a stranger can restore our faith just as quickly.
Perhaps the world has never lacked either.
There has always been selfishness and generosity, indifference and compassion, ingratitude and grace.
Every day, countless examples of each pass before us.
The stories we choose to carry with us shape the people we become.
As I reflected on that rainy morning, another thought emerged.
History is full of wealthy people who were unhappy, powerful people who inspired fear rather than respect, famous people who remained lonely, and even deeply religious people who were not always compassionate.
The qualities that truly lift us seem much quieter.
Gratitude keeps us humble by reminding us that much of what we value has come to us through the kindness, sacrifice and goodwill of others.
Kindness enlarges us because it asks for nothing in return.
It is often most beautiful when it is anonymous.
Awe is the quiet capacity to be moved by goodness, beauty or wonder when we encounter it.
As I write this on a rainy afternoon, I am reading a book simply titled Awe.
It feels strangely appropriate.
I suspect that these three qualities—gratitude, kindness and awe—have sustained civilisation far more than we realise.
