lilindiangurl147 asked: The Influence of a Red Chili Pepper
As a person from Indian decent (the country), our family cannot live without the taste of it. When my mother sits on the couch eating parathas and aloo ghobi, she gestures me to get the dried red peppers for her. Even when I am eating a mere slice of cheese pizza, I cannot fully enjoy it without a sprinkling of dried red pepper flakes. Having very strong Indian roots has taught me one very important lesson:
NEVER GO ANYWHERE WITHOUT A TUBE OF DRIED RED CHILI PEPPER FLAKES!
Little did I know about how much time and effort one must put in to produce the spice.
A few years ago, my family and I visited the vibrant state of Rajasthan. As we drove into the village where we were staying, heaping mounds of dried red chili pepper on the ground caught my eye. As we were escorted to a local farmer’s house, a disgusted sensation came to me when I saw the small mud hut that was only inches taller than me. It had no electricity, no running water, and worst of all, no cell phone service. “We’re going to have to stay in this dump for a week?” I thought.
During the second day of the trip I was forced to interact with some of the villagers against my will. Seeing that I had no choice, I sat out on the front step of the hut. With a frown on my face I looked around. Finally my eyes rested on a petite girl with ragged clothing, picking red chili peppers from a pile. Her hair was neatly tied into two braids with ribbons. She looked emaciated and worn, yet somehow she still had a smile of delight on her face. Her name was Anarkhali and she became my best friend on the trip.
From her I learned all about my ignorance of the real world. Her family, consisting of a mother, a grandfather, three brothers and five sisters, makes only about half of the five dollars I get for free every week only if they meet the demand of their employers. She has to walk two miles to scoop up about bucket of water. She wears the same thing every day because her family cannot afford to buy her new clothes.
She graciously explained to me that the income of the village comes from the crops it grows; dried red pepper is the most prominent seller. Most of the people in the village spend their entire time picking the dried chili peppers while getting very little money for the tedious task.
Anarkhali unknowingly taught me that not everyone lives as leisurely as I do. I realized that gifted people live all over the world, most unjustly contained in their living conditions. One cannot just do one generous act and think that he or she has done enough. There can never be enough service because there is always going to be that one individual who needs help. Anarkhali has helped me realize that I need to teach others who are as ignorant as I was to do more in life than just have good grade and make a good living. It is my duty to do as much as I can to help families like Anarkhali’s.
As I sit here now, I think of Anarkhali and her family. How is she doing right now? Is she working, or did she find a spare time to start reading the book she so eagerly wants to read? Though I keep in contact with her, months go by before I receive any letters. But when I do, it brings me back to that village. That moment of remembrance brings me back to volunteering at my local library, making a dinner for the disabled, and even donating my own blood. The next time I crave the spice of the dried red pepper flakes, I know that I will have done something meaningful in my life.
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