Love really is all around #1
No man goes hungry
The book of my heart ❤️
As mentioned in my last post about anger and our reactions to it, for the next few posts I am going to turn to the wonder of people. To the kindness, the thoughtfulness, the ‘spur of the moment’ random acts, and the deeply ingrained heart, love and humanity that pervades our world, even though it often doesn’t feel like it.
I sometimes feel like I am fairly ‘new’ to writing, having only done it as my full time job for less than a year, but I realise I have actually been writing all my life. When I first had an idea to write a book, it was a collection of tales about people I had encountered in life, and the amazing, often small but so deeply significant actions I had witnessed. That book is, and always will be my first book in my heart. It’s not the book that’s being published, I’ve never submitted it anywhere, and even though I don’t know if it will ever see the light of day, I regularly dip into it myself, and it brings me such joy.
So as we come towards the end of the year, feeling a myriad of emotions and sensations - exhaustion, reflection, stress, joy, gratitude - I am going to share three of the stories that are in that magical book - the book that currently exists just with me.
The night before…
At 3am on one cold December morning, my then thirteen year old daughter (Fiver) came upstairs and woke me: ‘mum, there’s a noise outside’. I figured it was just the wind in the trees and a pre-Christmas overactive child’s brain so I didn’t respond instantly… but then…I heard the smash. I sat bolt upright, suddenly awake and hypervigilant in a deeply primal way. Himself was on his work Christmas do and was probably going to stay up in town, so it was just me, Fiver and ten-year-old Taz in the house, along with our geriatric spaniel.
I heard another almighty ‘bang’.
Fiver and I held hands in an unspoken connection of strength and solidarity, and tiptoed downstairs, Taz remained curled up in slumber, blissfully unaware - never have I been more grateful for her being such a deep sleeper. Downstairs, I turned on the lights, and saw the silhouette of a six-foot-plus man in a puffa jacket and beanie outside the window. Some still sleepy part of my brain thought it was my husband trying to get in, possibly making a racket due to having had one too many sherries at the Christmas party, so I went to open the door (that stuff doesn’t just happen in bad horror films), and as I turned the latch and opened it just a sliver, I saw his eyes up close against the glass of the front door. They were wired and dark. It was not my husband.
I slammed the door shut, punched off the lights and sent Fiver upstairs.
In the ensuing moments, I entered a strange state of calm and defiance. My voice strong and steady: “Who are you?” As he tried to reach in the window that was cracked ajar by the wire of fairy lights. “Why are you here?” As his muddy boots walked up the glass. “What do you want?” As his arm reached in the top window, making ugly patterns in our foamy spray snow scene as he tried to unlock the big window below.
“You are NOT coming in.” As I slammed the window on his fingers.
My instinct answered that question I never knew the answer to…’how do you think you would react if…?’. I did not fly or freeze, but became lioness extraordinaire, accompanied by my deaf, blind spaniel who momentarily forgot she was arthritic and incontinent, and barked and bared her teeth like a rabid Alsatian. By my side, giving me strength, protecting us with her life.
“You are not coming in.” As I stared him straight in the eye through the glass.
This is my house.
“You are not coming in.”
After a time, the man left, the police arrived, the area was searched. Nothing was found - save for the smashed flower pots that had been thrown at Taz & Fiver’s bedroom window, the footprints casting a grim backdrop to the spray snow inside and the brick that had bounced off the front door. Himself came home, Fiver and Fizz (spaniel) slept, Taz remained in her dream cocoon throughout, and I stayed up all night.
It all turned out fine as nothing more was heard and he never returned. You may be wondering what is heartwarming about this story, aside from our amazing brave doggie and daughter, but hideous as it was, this recollection is really just context for the beauty of what came next…
Let no man go hungry
The next evening I was due in London to celebrate my sister’s birthday. I did not want to go. I had had no sleep, my mind and body were still recovering from the events of the middle of the night, I did not want to leave my daughters…but Himself was home with them, and it was a special night, so I dragged my sorry arse into gear and headed out.
The place I arrived at, and the hours I spent that evening surrounded by the best of friends and celebrating my sister, soothed my soul.
We met at a wonderful place called ‘The Amrutha Lounge’, in Earlsfield, SW London - a cafe/restaurant quite unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. The philosophy is centred around community, connection, friendship, sharing and love. The preparation of food for others is such an expression of love, and although I am no chef, I take great pleasure in producing meals for those I care about. This attitude shines through at Amrutha in spades. Every single plate has care, thought and consideration sprinkled throughout. It’s a place where you feel looked after, like you’re at home. It is hard to describe but love translates through every dish they serve, all handmade from scratch, vegan, healthy, delicious, and oh so aesthetically pleasing!!
I’m not a vegan, and some of us had low expectations for a restaurant that served no meat, dairy or alcohol, but oh what a treat it was. There is no pressure or judgement at Amrutha, you can BYO drink and keep bottles cold in their fridge, or else take a night off the booze and just enjoy the incredible food.
More than the gorgeous food and welcoming surroundings, however, the thing that makes this place so special is their ethos of ‘no man goes hungry’. They actually mean it – no (hu)man goes hungry. Anyone can eat here. If you can’t afford to pay that’s fine, you will receive plentiful food, and simply a request that you volunteer some time to give back to the community instead. The recommended menus are the tasting menus, where the food keeps coming – no decisions required - and you pay what you deem a ‘fair price’. They suggest what these ‘fair prices’ might be, and to date not one paying customer has paid under that guidance, which rather speaks for itself.
I met the owner, who has Hindu roots, and has since travelled through Buddhism, Christianity and other philosophies and religions, and settled in a remarkable spirituality that blends the best bits of all. He blew my mind, and I could have talked to him all night except he had to get back to the washing up. This is soul food like I’ve never known, literally and metaphorically. I’m so grateful to my sister for introducing me to it, a special place indeed.
The perfect ride home
At the end of the evening, I took a taxi home - which is most unusual for me - but I was feeling so extremely fatigued from the weekend’s events. I fully intended to curl up and sleep in the back, but instead I found myself swept into the most beautiful and enlightening conversation with the driver, a lovely man from Afghanistan. He told me some of his life history, how he was imprisoned under communist rule for being an intellectual (simply because he had been to university), and how his family had to bribe for his release and safe passage to the UK 35 years ago.
We discussed how it can’t be easy being an immigrant to the UK in these strange times of fear and intolerance, nothwithstanding the lack of employment, and he spoke with honesty, humility, wisdom and courage. He missed his homeland, but the homeland of his childhood, not the place it is now. He mourned for those that suffer and are dying in what he described as ‘the current corrupt state’, but he remained full of gratitude for everything he has. He did a Masters degree here in the UK, but no one will employ him in his area of expertise so he became an Uber driver. There was no bitterness from him, just a deep sense of peace that can only be borne of experiences most of us will ever know. His words touched my heart. We laughed and talked for over an hour and by the time I returned home I felt safe, loved and inspired by the generosity and warmth of these other gentle men that I also met for the first time that weekend.
As I thought back to the stark contrast of the previous night - where I encountered aggression and attack from a stranger, I reflected on what a privilege it was to have met such special others the very next day. Such is the fabric of life.
It was that second night that inspired me to write my very first book of tales of ordinary people doing extraordinary things, and that has ultimately led to my life now - as a writer. That night also inspired me to reframe my ‘would-be’ house intruder as perhaps someone who just needed something in a way I’ve never had to experience – maybe he just needed a home, food, shelter and somewhere to rest, and we looked like we could offer it. I no longer felt scared by my experience and reflected that perhaps my stranger from the first night just needs to meet more people like the others I met along his own way.
How does this make you feel?
Do you have somewhere like the Amrutha Lounge in your community?
Have you experienced that feeling of belonging and care somewhere outside of your home and friends?
I’d love to hear.
Love & lemons 💕🍋
Em x
Gosh that must have been such a shock, I’m so curious to know who it was and what lead him to your house.
I have been to a place in Australia with a similar concept to the one you described called Lentil as Anything. I met so many people as a customer there but I also volunteered too, I love the concept.
Thank you for sharing these special stories. In particular thank you for sharing you later kind perspective about the man who tried to break in. The world needs reminders that even humans who do Bad Things are humans, with their own complicated or simple back stories. He went away and you didn’t shoot him - a win-win. (I guess you might have wanted to if you’d had a gun handy?)