Channelling Good

A practical gift from a traveller to India has long-term consequences for the recipient Murray Pitsikas lives in Western Australia. He loves singing as well as the outdoors – particularly going on picnics.

TRAVEL HAS LONG BEEN A HUGE PART OF MY LIFE. I am not your typical traveller. Over the last 46 years of travelling and the 65 countries I have visited, I have never pre-booked accommodation nor joined an organised tour. I prefer the no-frills experience. I like to limit myself to 7kg of luggage – enough room for the necessities and two radios.

I was in my early 30s when I decided I would buy radios from garage sales in Perth and give them to people I encountered during my travels who were down on their luck. Since then I’ve always packed one radio for personal use and one to give away. Collectively, I have parted with more than 300 radios over the last three decades, but there was one exchange that has really stuck with me.

In late 2006, I visited the sacred Hindu city of Puri on the eastern coast of India. It was my third visit, and over five weeks, I explored the city’s fabulous buildings, feasted on masala dosa, and indulged on cardamom tea and fresh home-baked biscuits at street stalls. One evening, after I had finished my swim and the sun was starting to set, I noticed a young man no older than 25. He sat on the beach clutching a full bottle of alcohol. “Are you fond of alcohol?” I asked him.

“No,” he replied. “I normally don’t drink, but this is once in a lifetime,” he replied in broken English. “What’s the celebration?” I asked. He told me he was unemployed, depressed and disappointed with his life. He explained that the alcohol coupled with a jar of tablets would solve his problems and that I was witnessing his final hour. Shocked by his confession, I sat with him and we talked at length. We discussed the beauty of his beach, with its sunshine and white sand. We talked about the joy of good health when

there were people living in the city suffering from leprosy, elephantiasis, tuberculosis, malaria, to name a few. Finally, I told him that while he had his youth, mine had vanished at my 53 years of age, and from my position, I thought he had a lot to live for. All the while, my radio was playing quietly in the background. “Here, have my radio,” I offered. “It’s a great companion no matter what.” I could see that he was quite shocked by the gift, but accepted it with gratitude.

By August 2014, I had long forgotten my encounter with this man and returned to Puri to escape the Australian winter. Three weeks into my trip, I finished a swim at the beach and went to an internet café to send some emails to family and friends. I am not particularly techsavvy so I asked the shop attendant to help with setting up the emails. As I typed away, I noticed some music coming from a grubby radio sitting on the front desk. When I approached the desk to pay, I asked the shop attendant, “Have you had your job long?”

“Since January 2007,” he explained with a smile. “I heard the job advertised on my radio and came straight down.”

“Well, that is a fine radio,” I said, taking a closer look.

“Yes,” he said. “It was a gift from the Australian gods.”

This was the same man I had met on the beach all those years ago and, while he didn’t recognise me, this comment caused the memories to flood back. I didn’t remind him that it was me who gave him the radio, but I couldn’t help but smile to think how far they had both come.

I paid him, then wandered down the street and bought myself a cardamom sweet tea and some biscuits to celebrate.