A friend and fellow Karma Kitchener is celebrating her birthday. She’s requested a table for ten at 7:00 pm. Generosity is a kind of joyousness. If that makes sense to you, then what more joyous way to celebrate your birthday than at a Pay-It-Forward restaurant?

We want to surprise her with a cake, and we want to make sure there is enough to go around for the entire evening. We call a special bakery in Berkeley.  We show up and look at glass cases filled, row upon row with delectable works-of-art. We choose two beautifully iced vegan chocolate mousse cakes along with a large lemon almond torte.

Viral balances the wide cardboard boxes on the way to the cash register. Everyone is curious. The woman ahead of us in line smiles, “ Having a party?” she wants to know. “It’s more of an event that we do every week,” says Viral smiling. “Can I come?” “Well as a matter-of-fact you can. It’s an experiment we’re running – a pay-it-forward restaurant,” says Viral. “An experiment in what?” this woman is genuinely interested. “In generosity,” says Viral.

Her face lights up. Instant delight – and oddly enough – gratitude, even though she knows so little about it, and even though she doesn’t know us at all. 

Before his cash register opens Viral explains a little more. About the menus with no prices, and the circle of giving that is the only way to contribute.

While he is busy paying for our cakes, she comes up to me. Gives me a hug before saying, “You two just made my day!” Then she wants to know if we own this restaurant. “No – we just volunteer there on Saturday nights. It’s open 5:00 to 10:00 pm at a restaurant on Telegraph called Namaste.” She knows of it. “So it’s all been word-of-mouth?” she wants to know. “Pretty much. We didn’t want to advertise. It’s a surprise to a lot of guests who walk in – to have their meal served in the spirit of a gift.” “I’ve got goosebumps just listening to you,” says the woman. She is carrying her bags now and walking up to Viral whose arms are also occupied.

“Consider yourself hugged,” she says joyfully, and then repeats what she told me, “You’ve made my day.”

She walks out then, into a bright, busy Saturday afternoon. We follow in a bit, touched by the fact that a stranger at a grocery store was so touched by two strangers buying cake to give away to guests at a restaurant not far away.

As we are heading out in our car, she drives up and pulls over briefly next to us. We wave and she rolls down her window, “Do you accept donations for what you’re doing?” she asks. Spontaneously Viral answers, “Sure!” He jumps out of the car,  “ You can read more about it at Karmakitchen.org,” he tells her. There are cars waiting behind us. There’s no time to say much more. He takes what she offers and jumps back in the car. She drives off in one direction. We head out in another.

“Do we accept donations?” asks Viral tardily, turning to look at me.  But we both know that there was no question of refusing what she held out. Not so much a donation as an offering. Viral is holding what she gave him between closed fingers. He hasn’t glanced at it yet.  “Oh my goodness,” I say when I look down.

It’s a one hundred dollar bill. Just like that.

A one hundred dollar bill. Not from one of our guests. Not from someone who’d experienced the place, been greeted by our Maitre D, seated at one of our tables and served by one of our volunteers. Not from someone who’d eaten one of Vishnuji’s splendid meals, or tasted Kamalji’s famous naans. Not from someone who’d sipped a sparkling lemon surprise or ordered one of our special desserts. Not from someone who’d been tagged with flowers, a book, a wisdom scroll or a simple smile stone.

A gift beyond measure. From a perfect stranger – we don’t even know her name – for whom just the shared story of this special space was enough. For whom nothing more than that was needed to make her day.

Some presents change hands in impromptu ways, in unplanned for moments – there isn’t the time, space -- or need to “prepare” them. “People give one another things that can’t be gift-wrapped.” A line I stumbled across last night.  Everything than means anything about Karma Kitchen is like that. It can’t be gift-wrapped, not in crinkly tissue paper or carefully chosen words. But it can and will be passed on in countless different ways …

Sharing this story with You is one of them.

Consider yourself hugged :-)