All through the past year and a quarter, on several Wednesdays, I have simply shown up at a simple serene house on an ordinary suburban street in the heart of Silicon Valley, to sit in silence with a group of 50-60 people, talk and listen in a circle and end with a shared home made meal eaten in silence. The meal is always offered with a radiant smile. The open big heart of ServiceSpace Ma who has cooked and served these meals to thousands of people over the past seventeen plus years, every Wednesday without fail, touches something deep inside me.

Growing up in India, it was an early lesson in life that food is the way you show love. When you cook something special, you send a plateful to the neighbors. When you visit someone, they offer you better food than they eat ordinarily. When I visit India now, family and friends will insist on me joining them for meals and spoil me by cooking my favorite things. Many will start the meal by setting aside a small first bite for the birds, as they take a moment to thank God for the meal. Accepting the Wednesday meals from Harshida didi (she is too young for me to call her Ma) week after week has fed my heart, so it's overflowing with this story I must release urgently now.

I grew up as an only child of a single working mother. I ate enough meals alone as the latch-key kid that I learned to eat in front of the mirror for the illusion of company or to invite myself to the neighbors' when possible. I was determined that if I ever had kids, I would be home to serve the food, which I stubbornly did. My child does not care for it, but I realized early that I was simply doing it for myself. Harshida didi has been the only person who has consistently, reliably, predictably, joyfully and always lovingly been there to offer me that warm home made meal. That feels to me like unconditional love for that is what I tried to give to my child.

In another phase of my life, I worked as a strategy consultant, traveling the world with a platinum frequent flyer card on multiple airlines, living in five star resorts and eating in Michelin star restaurants, with amazing food and faultless service, and eating with colleagues many of whom are friends. While enjoyable, that experience did not have any trace of love in it. Even when they remembered me by name to make me feel as if they knew me, or eliminated the monetary part of the transaction by simply keeping my credit card on file or billing it to the company or the room, there was always an awareness that this is fake. The greetings and smiles were simply emotional labor expected of the staff towards the guests. Love still remains outside the reach of the best transactions that money can manufacture.

In contrast, I felt love with the very first meal that Harshida didi offered me, which coincidentally had my favorites, toor daal and brinjals cooked to perfection, and homemade yogurt that reminded me of my childhood. I also feel that instead of saying thank you, my gratitude will be visible if I pass this love on, in selfless service of the kind I am capable of. Inspite of it sounding like a corporate motto, this experience taught me that "Love is Selfless Service with a Smile!" Dear reader, if this is not unconditional love, I'd like to know what is your experience of it?