A kind man

He was a kind man. Or at least, he thought of himself as one. Among his family and friends, he was known for his humble nature, sometimes even for being selflessly helpful. Picking up his niece from school, helping his ailing father, letting his friend stay in his apartment until he found a house, he would do everything. Even at his workplace, he carried himself with this same humility. Everyone loved him, and more importantly, he loved himself for being that way.

Until one day, when it all shattered.

That was no ordinary day. At work, he had to correct a mistake in a presentation before his manager found out. He and the team had worked hard on it the previous week, and it was very important to him that things went according to plan that day. On top of that, he was going to meet his wife in the evening. They had been having issues in their marriage, and she had been staying at her mother’s place for the past two weeks. After postponing the meeting twice already, he felt he must not delay it any longer.

Trying not to overthink, he drove steadily. At one crossing, he stopped at a signal on a relatively empty street. The footpath was sparsely crowded. He kept staring at the signal, willing it to turn green. As the red timer blinked down, he heard a thud. A truck had hit a speeding biker, and in a split second, the biker collapsed on the ground, severely injured.

Before he could grasp the situation, the signal turned green. Engrossed in an entirely different chain of thought, his hands started the bike, and his foot shifted gears. The bike accelerated forward, not stopping to check on the man. He had no immediate reason for not stopping. He just kept going and reached the office.

;

The presentation went well. He corrected the mistake, and everything was fine. He didn’t tell anyone about the accident, but the image of the injured biker lingered with him. He kept wondering whether he should have stopped. The thought led only to guilt. To stay sane, he kept telling himself that the couple he had seen walking from afar must have stopped to help the man. The biker must be fine now.

‘What if he’s not? What if he had died and would have lived if I had helped him? What if the couple never stopped? Were they even there? Was I the only one on that road? How could I be so selfish? How could I not help him? Am I guilty of his death?’

Before lunchtime, his self-image as a kind man began to implode. Whether the biker survived or not no longer mattered. What mattered was his own action (or inaction), which screamed selfishness back at him. On any other day, he would have helped. He knew that at his core. That day, though, was an inexplicable exception. He was under stress. He was lost in thought. And, right now, he was hungry.

;

After lunch, he was less harsh on himself. Surely there had been people walking by. He also remembered a shop nearby. He comforted himself by imagining a scenario where others rushed to help as soon as he left. Normally, he would have been among them, but that day, he wasn’t. That’s okay. There’s always someone who helps. The world is a kind place like that, he thought.

;

That evening, he met his wife. Things went smoothly at first, but soon an inevitable fight began. She accused him of being “too kind,” saying that it only served his image, but didn’t reflect his true intentions. Although he partially realized this to be true, he argued back, saying that kindness was something he truly believed in as a person.

;

Riding home, his mind went haywire. Most people who knew him would defend him, he thought. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Others might say he could at least have asked someone to help before leaving. They might try to frame a win-win solution, but he knew for a fact that it simply wasn’t possible that day. If it had been, he would have done it. And then, a small percentage would definitely say: “You are selfish. None of your personal concerns should matter when it comes to helping a dying man.”

Even if, without being concerned about any facet of his life, he had helped him, people would have called him a cynic or a madman. No one would have understood him for spending half a day to save that person. And yet, deep down, he wondered if being called a madman was still better than being haunted by silence and inaction. Perhaps true kindness was never meant to be understood by others, only lived. He wasn’t sure if he had lived up to it.

But that day, the pressure had been too much. If his manager were so kind as not to judge him a bad professional for being late; if the foreign investors were so kind as not to misjudge his company’s reputation for his mistake in the presentation; if his wife were so kind as not to judge him for postponing their meeting because he spent half a day saving a person’s life; only then would he have done it.

But there will always be reasons.

The implosion that began in the morning was reaching its end. He realized that being kind is easier when there is nothing to lose. True kindness emanates from those who practice empathy despite their reservations. Was he one of them? Or was he just another “kind” person who wouldn’t go the extra mile?

He arrived at that question - and at the same signal where the accident had happened - at the same time. He looked at the ground. No trace of the accident. He looked around, only to find a Hijra (transgender person) begging him for money. The signal turned red, but he stayed still, pulling out his wallet. Honking started behind him. He took out some cash and handed it over. The Hijra gave him a blessing and walked away.

Ruminating on that blessing, he started the bike and drove home.