When I call back to the family at number two the man is hoovering the top landing. He invites me into his kitchen. His son is playing Play Station in the living room. When I ask he tells me he’s signing up because we are Buddhists even though he knows little about Buddhism. He asks me what difference Buddhism has made in my life. He asks about door-knocking as Buddhist practice. He asks what the key to a successful interaction on the doors is. ‘So Buddhism is about increasing awareness; about seeing things in a bigger perspective.’ He sums up my garbled answers so precisely I burst out laughing and tell him he’s articulating Buddhism better than I am. He tells me I exemplify what I’m talking about. The washing machine goes onto its spin-cycle. I tell him about the Birmingham Buddhist Centre. He says he’d be interested to learn to meditate; he gets irritable at work and because he supervises many people he can see that this has a lot of consequences. I tell him that that’s a strong motivator then, and that I’ll bring him a leaflet from the Centre.
When I look at my card I see that my next call-back is next door. I remember this house; its bright walls and the big orange abstract print on the wall. And I remember Sandra’s chattiness and smiliness. She had been feeding her baby in its high-chair and her top was all splattered. She’d heard about the Dalits and was interested in our work. Tonight the blinds are closed. I knock. An older woman comes to the door. ‘Hello’ I smile ‘I’m from a charity…..’ ‘Not interested.’ The door slams shut. ‘and I’m here to speak to Sandra.’, remains unuttered. Damn damn damn. What an idiot I am. I should have phrased it the other way round. I overcome the emptation to bang the door again.
