Little Bits of Brightly Colored Wisdom

I wandered through Chinatown in the early morning hours yesterday, intermittently pausing to watch a solitary man practice Tai Chi, or a young woman buy a pear from a street vendor. I was on my way to SoHo, and then I’d continue to Chelsea, but first, I wanted to find a group of men in a wooded corner of the Sara D Roosevelt park. When I arrived, they had already hung their birdcages on laundry lines, strung from tree to tree to accommodate their hobby.

I had heard about the Hua Mei birds, and the experience was just as I imagined. Delivery trucks rumbled by, taxis honked for no apparent reason, dilapidated coops pushed into the sky, on all sides, and ancient men sat silently as the world passed by, as their birds sung morning songs under the rising sun. Hua Mei birds possess a lovely little tweet, definitely worth the visit, but I won’t do ornithology justice here, so let’s just leave it at that.

From that corner, at Forsyth and Delancey, I headed west/northwest through SoHo and the West Village, toward the Hudson River. It was a wonderful morning for a 4 mile walk, each block so uniquely its own.

From a delicious café to an unpretentious art gallery stuffed with signed Andy Warhol prints, the day held a host of happy moments. But the highlight was the Village Stationery.

It’s a little card and paper shop, not much to speak of, until you observe the proprietor, Mr. Aslam, the pleasantest man I’ve met in New York City. As I shopped, I overheard him bless each person that approached the cash register. Not in a, “stand still; I’m going to pronounce an uncomfortable blessing upon you,” but rather a kind word, unexpectedly given. When I needed assistance, he jumped from behind the cash register and showed me where the writing pads were located. That in and of itself isn’t unusual, but it was his demeanor, his inner peace and happiness that just spills out, that was remarkable.

When I arrived at the cash register, I noticed the counter had scraps of bright paper under a sheet of glass. The brightly colored papers were each scribbled with a quote, like, “Responsible Life (living without hurting anyone – in thoughts, speech and action) is my fundamental duty”, and “Kindness is my job!” I’ve gotta say, he takes his job seriously. My personal favorite was, “My wisdom is my wealth.” Too true.

When he saw my camera, he asked if I would take his picture, but then he looked at his little idioms, not me, when I snapped the shudder. He reviewed the photo and was pleased. I think his gaze upon his little bits of wisdom was intentional.

Mr. Aslam is a blessing in his little corner of the world, and I was so very fortunate to have enjoyed the pleasure of his company for a few moments today. Like a few others I’ve written about thusfar, I hope to emulate him as I continue my own journey in life.