Baba Amte

…richness of heart of the poor people [and to despise] the poverty of heart of the rich.

Charity destroys, work builds.

I was tempted by Shankar bhagwan. He too has spondylitis but uses a cobra as a brace.

The halo of Fr. Damian was before me,[he said] and I knew that Sadhana would nurse me.

We all felt happy and excited because it was Diwali. My mother had saved lot of small coins from her shopping and gave them to me to buy crackers Stuffed full with sweets and feeling that life was grand I ran towards the market. Then I saw a blind beggar. He sat in the hot sun by the edge of the unpaved road while gusts of wind raised clouds of dust and rubbish over him. ‘Andhalalya paisa dey, Bhagwan’, he kept on saying to the passers , ‘Give one paisa to this blind man, oh! Bhagwan.’ In front of him there was a rusty cigarette tin. It struck me alongside my bright happy world there was a world of misery and pain.

Joy is more infectious than leprosy.

I rushed across and started putting such handful of coins into the tin which he held out to me that it almost fell from his hand with the weight. ‘I am only a beggar, young sir, don’t put stones into my bowl'. 'These are not stones but coins. Count them if you wish’. I said. He sat and counted and then recounted sorting out the coins on that tattered cloth. He just could not believe it. He went on counting and feeling the coins. It made me so sad. I ran home in tears.

The common man, he is the uncommon man

That microscopic look at village life taught me to hear the heart-beat of reality. To me the common man’s society is a maskless society. He does not carry that thick mask which the professional people, the upper classes, wear so that they might look nice and beautiful. Very often they do not dare to say what they really think and feel.

Compassion has no utopia, party or ideology.

When leprosy patients touched the soil, they transformed it into gold, but the politicians did that and made it into dirt.

I have to be cautious, but caution also has its own adventure.

I don't want to be a leader. I want to be one who goes around with a little oil can and offer help when I see a breakdown.

Consider the honey-bee. Its treasure is nectar, obtained even from the chilly plant. It is not at the cost of the flower. In fact, its act of extracting honey contributes to the progress of the flowers. You need not learn from Kahlil Gibran, Marx or Gorbachev, not even from Gandhiji. Choose instead to learn your lesson from the honey bees as your silent partners: they will show you how to develop without destroying.

I, who had never had planted single seed in the estate was expected to enjoy the comfort of a beautiful farm house, while those who had toiled there all their lives had only the meanest hovels.