About a decade ago, I was part of an exercise group of women from villages near Christian Medical College Hospital, Vellore, who suffered from headache, tension, backache and general depression. The idea behind the weekly exercise programme started by the hospital’s low-cost effective care unit was to give the women time for physical exercise and a chance to meet others with similar difficulties, to share their stories and find strength and friendship. At first, the women were stiff and unsure of what their bodies could do. But, with encouragement, they worked hard at touching their toes, twisting their waists and doing some basic yoga asanas.
For the first time, they realised that they had waists, hips and legs and that they could sway to music. They learnt to relax and reshape their bodies. The stiffness, aches and pains gave way to a lightness of being, joy at new friendships and an eagerness to experience new ideas.
Sharing and caring
Apart from the exercises, we also had a time of sharing and caring. We heard about what had happened in each other’s lives the past week. Domestic violence and family relationships were the big issues. The women began to counsel each other and came up with ideas and solutions for many problems. We also shared the joys — the birth of a baby, a child who had passed the 10th standard exams, and weddings. We began celebrating birthdays — a string of jasmine and a box of sweets to take home was given to the birthday ladies as we sang “happy birthday”. As new friendships were born, old prejudices died; new understanding and fresh insights into relationships were gained. The group became a place for belonging, strength and refuge. I had just read My Grandfather’s Blessings by Rachel Remen. In her book, Dr. Remen describes how a volunteer bereavement group that made little red hearts for grieving children lifted a little child’s broken spirit.
Red hearts
I searched our little town for red velvet. I brought the material to our group and asked if they would like to make little hearts out of it to give away to those who were admitted in the wards alone and in pain. With great joy, we cut out little hearts. The women took them home to stuff and sew and brought them back the next week.
They had made about 50 red hearts of all sizes. Then the women went to each ward and gave these little hearts away, explaining to each person they gave it to that they had made it specially for them so that they would know that someone was praying for them for healing. The patients were delighted. Many of them had had operations. The soft velvet hearts fitted so snugly into their palms. For many, it was the most beautiful thing they had ever held.
A couple of women came over to see what it was all about. “Can I have one too,” one of them asked. I nodded, “Who is it for?” “It’s for a little boy who is in the bed next to my daughter,” she replied. “His mother can only come in the evenings, so I look after him.” I was touched by her compassion. The other woman said, “I’m going to give my heart away to whoever needs it.” That phrase has stayed with me ever since. I wonder who needs my heart today!
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