The Giver's Gift

Recently read Chitra's blog on the giving tree. Re-read it a few times, to catch and savor all the layered meanings. The story of the giving tree is one that I have read in childhood. I remember being deeply moved by the tree's selflessness - the ability to give even to the point of self-destruction. How selfish we humans are, I remember thinking - just taking from nature and trees with no thought to anyone but ourselves.

Until I read Chitra's article, I didn't stop to consider the possibility that the giver is enriched by the very act of giving, by being true to their nature.

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes**

Mercy, along with its sister qualities of compassion and giving, are perhaps twice blessed, to borrow Shakespeare's words. Possibly the very act of giving, blessed the tree and the boy, who lived and grew together in harmony.
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We find very few giving trees among us. I have had the privilege of observing such a being in close quarters, and can vouch for the fact that kindness and giving, can only come from a full heart. Regardless of a person's material wealth, it takes a richness of heart to give, and give freely.

These acts often get misjudged. There is a temptation to label such people as naive, not street-smart, unwise, or plain sucker - depending on how kind one wants to be. Of course, there are exploiters of such people too. In a world that is not just competitive but becoming increasingly individualistic, we tend to measure everything in terms of gain and loss. Giving comes with so many strings and expectations attached, as people are not accustomed to giving for its own sake. Everything is mentally labeled as mine and not mine. Extended families are becoming rare; nuclear families are falling apart, and in countries like India, one child is becoming the norm. Sharing is done only conditionally, often with the expectation of a return. Grabbing and grasping social climbers are the role models, and in such a scenario, it is hard to see a true giver's worth. We often hear dialogues such as:

"I did x, y and z but what is the use?! There is no reciprocation!"

"I tried to prove my love to her by showing how selfless I was. But the woman still didn't return my love. Ha! She's not worth it."

We hear so much of this, that even if it was in our nature to give, we become conditioned socially to expect something in return. Or when someone chastises us for being such a sucker for getting nothing in return, a part of us agrees - and we agonize in private thinking what fools we were - fools, to have been so giving! We forget that the act of giving itself is a joy. We allow other people to define us.

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In the two dialogues quoted above, the undercurrent seems to be that the person was selfless, and yet their worth wasn't appreciated. The irony of the second dialogue is often lost. If one were selfless, where was the need to expect benefits? Isn't love - or more specifically, the type of love - something that comes naturally, and cannot be forced? For example, a man may do umpteen things for a woman to impress her, and get her to fall in love with him. The woman may like the man and respect him, but only in a platonic way. At some point the man may get peeved and think that she is ungrateful, simply because she doesn't love him in the way he wants to be loved. He thinks that his "selfless" actions have gone unrewarded.

It seems to me that this is not love, but a passive way of controlling someone. This is a person trying to steer things in the direction they want, by seemingly doing selfless and loving actions. If things don't go the way they want, they act like a martyr, and claim that other person is ungrateful. Not just in romantic relationships, but even in cases where someone wants your friendship but doesn't feel they are worthy of it. They put you on a pedestal and do things to make themselves worthy in your eyes, and expect "paybacks", which you are totally unaware of.

Even if you give them your friendship, they don't trust it. They want "proof". They have a mental calculator that they did x+y+z for you, and you have done zilch in return. They want you to do some things for them, and you don't realize this implicit expectation. You would have been happy to do this for them had they asked, but they expect you to realize this on your own. End result: they get hurt, you feel like a cad.

In reality, the natural flow of your affections/actions has become impaired due to the other person trying to steer things to where they want, while appearing to be selfless and loving. You end up angry at the person and feel annoyed with yourself for being angry, as you can't pin down a reason. You think, after all, the person has been so loving and selfless and how can you do this to them? You try to do things that they would like, to make them - and yourself - feel better. But there is an underlying hunch that what you are doing is not born from the heart out of free choice, but are forced actions in response to an implicit demand. You alternately dislike the person and dislike yourself and its just - ugly!

The act of giving has become too loaded. Where is the joy in such giving? Shouldn't some things be above the math?

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True giving, as any truly beautiful feeling, is born out of free choice. No force, no coaxing. No martyr dramas. A person gives simply because they want to - and the giving is so natural that they barely remember it later on.

A while back, I remember reading something about emotional affordability. The article in effect, said that one must give only that which is emotionally affordable to them - as in give it, be happy, and forget it. If the emotional cost of giving is too high, expectation of a return sets in. If this expectation is not met, feelings of being used follow. If one gives only that which is emotionally affordable, then one scarcely remembers it. Its free, unfettered and joyful - and such are the gifts that are twice blessed.

Some people have high emotional affordability. They have an innate ability to rise above their own needs, be truly detached, and joyfully give much more than others. It could be that they are not suckers, but are more evolved - and have a natural generosity of heart, often coupled with a resourcefulness to generate more so that they can give more.

A true sannyasi must be a truly rich person, for he/she keeps nothing for themselves. Instead, they give what they have, leave the rest to God, and walk with their heads held high, knowing He will provide.

I have observed that as we age, our giving ability increases. Hinduism's four ashrams (stages of life), symbolize that in a way. There's the first 25 years of Brahmacharya where one grows and seeks knowledge and means to earn. Not much giving going on here, only taking. Then comes Grihastha, the stage of householder, where one earns and learns to give for the family. The next 25 years, Vanaprastha, is where one is an elder who is mentally prepared to do more for an extended family/community, and provide guidance while slowly starting to renounce control and attachment to material things. And finally the Sannyasa, where one has truly renounced attachment to worldly things and is on the path to self-realization. Any one stage is far more giving than the previous one. You keep giving in incremental amounts, until it becomes natural - or reaches the limit of a person's innate ability to give. The one who is least attached, and hence most evolved, reaches nirvana. And the cycles of birth and death (most Hindus believe in rebirth) are a path to this evolution....

The giving trees among us may be those who are higher up in the personal evolution tree. Our own growth cannot be forced, but has to happen in its own time. Meanwhile, it may be worthwhile to become more cognizant of why we give - and if we give while expecting a return, to be honest with ourselves about it. Some are gifts, and others are barter transactions...either is fine, as long as we are not confused which is which.
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** Excerpted from Portia's plea to the judge in Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice.