Give It Next Time

Among the list of objects that are not allowed in check-in baggage before boarding an airplane in India is a surprising one. Outside of the usual suspects—lighters, e-cigarettes, and power banks—one might be shocked to see none other than coconuts! But, indeed, this is true, and also a potent point for a lesson. Some Indians like to travel with coconuts, even though they are susceptible to exploding under pressure, because you never know when you will need one. The humble coconut holds a sacred place in Indian culture. Every part of the fruit offers itself up for delightful consumption or practical use. One can worship with it, drink the refreshingly sweet water, eat the insides, use the milk for cooking, the oil for massage and glossy hair, the husk for making all kinds of objects—baskets, mats, roofs. Fittingly, this is a story about generosity and the humble and versatile green coconut. 

In August 2024, I was on a trip to see my aging parents in India. We were in the bustling city of Pune, population 7.5 million, in the state of Maharashtra. The city has mushroomed into concrete slabs—no longer sleepy yet mercifully still ringed by the lumbering lush mountain ranges called the Western Ghats.

Everyone was grumpy during the afternoon lull, and my kids (then ages 8 and 11) were restless. Knowing just the thing to shift the energy and inject some joy into those doldrums, I went in search of coconut water nourishment. Tumbling out of an anonymous high-rise, I found myself on half-broken roads with no sidewalks. Monsoon rains had formed murky, muddy puddles everywhere, and it was treacherous to cross the street, dodging scooters, cars, cows, and humans. No big deal if you’ve ever lived or spent time in India but certainly not for the faint of heart.

The coconut seller was on one side of a huge puddle. I couldn’t help notice his feet in threadbare flip-flops on the wet road. He skillfully stripped the tops of the coconuts with a very sharp knife, exposing a thin layer of the white skin, and then strung four together with a wire. An easy and creative carry package. Rummaging for money, I realized I didn’t have enough change to pay him the right amount. As he extended his arm over the monsoon trench to hand me the coconuts, without missing a beat, he said, “Give it next time.”

Give it next time. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that. Here was a man who did not hesitate to offer his generosity. I was a stranger, a much more materially privileged one, and it didn’t matter when it came to his spontaneously giving me his trust and the coconuts. Freely, happily, lightly given, no hoarding for a better sale, a buyer with the right amount of money.

The Buddhist lineage is built upon the practice and teaching of unfettered, openhearted generosity. The Buddha, as he was preparing to take his last breaths, said that he had given everything he knew. Dana, or generosity, is also the first of the paramis, or perfections, of the heart, the beginning of the spiritual path, so it’s very important. Generosity is said to lead to abundance; generative in nature when practiced, it produces happiness. 

As this year draws to a close, I invite you to reflect upon the many acts of generosity that have benefited you in your own life: the seen and unseen acts of support, sustenance, and love over the years. I invite you to reflect upon the many times you have been generous for the benefit of others. Reflecting in this way is a practice in which we pause and take the time to recognize the generous as generous. Reflecting in this way opens the heart and gladdens the mind. Do we always recognize generosity?

Generosity is said to lead to abundance; generative in nature when practiced, it produces happiness. 

One of my favorite lessons about recognizing generosity comes from the mealtimes of my childhood. The traditional way of sharing a meal in the community of Bohra Muslims, which I was born and raised in, is to sit around and eat from a thaal, which is a large round steel platter. In my home, my parents, brother, and I would eat together. Meat was seldom on the menu because, in those days, my family couldn’t afford it. My dad would grab the best pieces of meat and give them to me and my brother. Occasionally, he would take something in his mouth, realize it was tender and delectable, and then offer it to one of us. This would be met with revulsion by us clueless children who thought it was gross. 

Not until I had my own children did I realize my father’s selfless act of love and generosity. My notion of what I perceived as pure and impure was challenged, and I learned about embodied generosity and embodied receiving as key components of this practice. Giving takes so many forms and shapes, and we can be open to exploring what this means for each of us, going beyond obvious dimensions of generosity.

Tibetan Buddhist nun Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo teaches that in Buddhism there are three kinds of giving. “First is the giving of material gifts. Second is the gift of the dharma. That means being there for others, listening to them, trying to help them, giving them advice, trying to help people to clarify their minds. But there is also the gift of fearlessness, of being a protection, of helping people to discover their own inner courage—to give that to someone is considered a very priceless gift.”

For many of us, learning to receive can also be a growth area of practice. Can we learn to receive with an open heart and allow ourselves to fully take in what is being offered? As a parent, one of the greatest gifts I aspire to give is unconditional love, and I only have to open my eyes to see the unbidden and boundless joy that is given to me on a near constant basis by my kids.

To connect with another lifelong teacher of generosity, we might gaze down at the earth beneath our feet or up at the vastness of the stars in the sky. Nature in all its humbling glory is the original benefactor, giving us the gift of life and all that nurtures it. Buddhist elder and environmental activist Joanna Macy connects the dots between nature and the dharma, “To be alive in this beautiful, self-organizing universe—to participate in the dance of life with senses to perceive it, lungs that breathe it, organs that draw nourishment from it—is a wonder beyond words.”

Returning to the coconuts, I simply could not walk away without paying for them, and it was my turn to reciprocate. I overpaid and said we could make it up next time, knowing we were leaving Pune that evening, extending the field of generosity.

In this season of giving, may you share and receive with limitless generosity, and may you recognize the goodness therein. May it be so.