On Friday, as the WEF was ending, I got into the train at Davos to head to Zurich. It was really crowded.

“Oh! I have to find a seat for this journey,” I thought to myself as I walked into the 2^nd class carriage. “We should have booked me on 1^st class. This is a real mess.”

I was feeling weak from a fever I was recovering from; it would be taxing on my body to have to stand for a two-and-a-half-hour ride.

All seats were taken. Except one, and this one was holding someone’s luggage. I looked at the man next to it, and asked if he could remove his bag so I could sit there.

“No, I don’t want to do that,” he replied, looking at me as if he didn’t care.

“But you need to do this. There’s no other seat left. This seat is for passengers after all.”

Again, he resisted. I stuck to my request. Everyone was looking at us. I didn’t want to attract attention or have an argument. But. I. Needed. That. Seat.

He scowled a bit, and, under pressure, took down his big bag. I switched to helping him find a floor space where he could place it. He ignored me initially, but on my third attempt, he listened, and we were able to find a way to fit his bag in the narrow aisle next to our seats.

I looked at my erstwhile opponent and smiled. I didn’t wish for him to feel bad about what happened.

He opened up then, with a grim expression on his face. “I am extremely tired. I have been standing continuously for 12 hours every day for the past few days at my job. These last two days, I had to do it in shoes that were 2 sizes less than my size, because someone mistakenly walked away with my shoes.”

“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. What do you do?”

“Security.”

“So you were part of the Davos security team?”

He nodded.

I continued. “It has been so cold at Davos. It has also been snowing a lot. And you have been standing in the harsh weather creating a secure environment for me and other guests, protecting us from bad actors. I am so grateful to you. Thank you for your service.”

He smiled for the first time in our conversation.

I learned that he was 19 years old. Security was his thing right now, helping him earn well, though he hoped to move to a desk job in the future.

I felt good. We had connected, the tension had dissipated, and order in this tiny corner of the universe had been restored. I had no idea that we’d only just begun.

He learned that I was flying to New York. “I visited America a year ago. To Atlanta, to meet my mother.”

I learned that his parents had divorced and gone their own ways, both being remarried. He had continued to live with his father.

“So when you went to Atlanta, you were seeing your mother after how long?” I asked.

Something shifted within him. “I had last seen her seven years ago, when I was eleven. That’s when she left for America.”

Wow. I couldn’t even grasp what it must be like to have lost the presence of his mother at that tender age of eleven.

“What was it like for you, to meet her again after so many years?”

I thought he would tell me it was awkward, that they both had to re-acquaint themselves with each other after this long gap, with him now a young adult. She had basically missed his teenage years.

“It was quite a powerful experience for me. She poured all this love into me. Hugging me, caring for me, feeding me. She just kept giving more and more affection.”

He took a deep breath, then added, reflectively, “I am not used to getting such love.”

A tear welled up in my eye. That special bond between a mother and her child. Unconditional, undying love.

“I hope you will go to meet her more frequently from now on.”

He nodded. “Yes, I plan to. And what do you do?” he asked me.

“I support people in their pursuit of success, at work and in life. Through training and coaching.”

There was a pause. Then he spoke. “To be honest, I have never felt attached to material things. To needing this or needing that. I keep my life quite simple.”

“That’s a beautiful way of life,” I responded. “So what is it you are seeking?”

He took a deep breath. “I was telling my mom this. I wish I could take every person’s suffering, across the world, off their shoulders and onto my own.”

Wow. That is not what I was expecting to hear as his life’s goal. “I admire this care you feel for others so deeply. Make sure to keep building your own capacity, to be able to do some justice to this goal.”

He looked at me curiously. What did I mean by that?

“For you to help others in this way, you have to be strong and healthy and joyful, in body, mind, and soul. Then you can do your life’s greatest work. Mother Teresa would say, ‘You cannot give what you do not have.’”

He smiled, and nodded.

“I realize I will die before I can come close to relieving the world of all its suffering. But wasn’t it Martin Luther King who said, ‘You can kill a man, but you cannot kill an idea’?”

“That’s a beautiful thought. As you move forward in life, make sure to preserve time for solitude. It’s when you tune in to your inner voice that the right guidance will come to you.”

“I am constantly in solitude,” he replied. “I enjoy solitude. I do not have many friends, with my life the way it is. As a kid, I once texted my grandparents to ask if they were free so we could spend the evening together. I did not receive a response, but then the next day I saw photos posted on Facebook with them partying the night before. I do not have a lot of people in my life.” He shrugged.

I sensed in him a young man very rooted from within, but still striving to understand and connect with the world around him.

“I never have conversations like this with anyone,” he continued. “My father, and people at work…they don’t understand this part of me.”

“This is such a beautiful part of you. It is the universe, speaking to you. It is your true friend within. You are blessed to be so connected with this part of you.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I am sorry for not being at my best earlier today. I was very tired. I should not have been that way. That’s not who I am.”

“Oh, I understand. We sorted it out right away. Now I’m sitting here, with you, and we’ve found a place for your bag too.”

We had to change to another train midway. On that next train, there were no seats for him or me. I was tired, so at some point, I closed my eyes to try and get some sleep even while standing.

“You can lean on me if you like,” he offered. I smiled with gratitude.

Upon reaching Zurich, he shyly raised his hand to shake mine. I gave him a big hug, told him he had an adventuresome and rich life ahead of him, and that there would be many kindred connections he would make in his life journey with people with whom he could explore this deeper side of him. We exchanged contacts, and parted company.

The week at Davos had been full of meaningful conversations with remarkable people. And yet, fate had saved the best for last.

Warmly,
Hitendra

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