For many months Caroline has told me that Papa is the wisest and kindest man she has ever known. Ghandi and Jesus rolled into one, and walking the earth, is how she described him. She has a saying: "There is God, then there is Papa, and then there is everyone else."

He is, at first appearance and upon first meeting, deceptively simple. Unprepossessing, he greets everyone and seems to be a typical Indian man, chewing his betel nut which turns his teeth red. "I am so happy to have you here - you are all my children now," he proclaims, then hacks and spits. This is the sage? But he is kind and warm and very welcoming, escorting us to the hotel and making sure we have the best rooms and that the staff brings us mango juice as we filled out our visa information.

Later that night, during prayer, his heart had spilled from his mouth and with it, his wisdom, his infinite love and compassion for the children. He has given up a very comfortable life and a very lucrative job as a government official - the best type of job in India - and with his whole family, dedicated it to these orphans, bringing them into his family. He gets paid a very small allowance as the director of Sishu Sadan, and it's not an easy existence. He obviously doesn't look at himself as great or wise, however. Like Ghandi, like Jesus, he is the definition of humble. At prayers he told us, "I am a simple beggar. I need nothing, except for these children, my family."

Caroline tells us how, during the past few years she has raised money for the orphanage, building a wing and bathrooms and bunk beds for the children, she has asked Papa to let The Miracle Foundation make some improvements to his little quarters. To give him something that will make his life a little easier. "Let me do something for you," she tells Papa. "No, no, I need nothing," he answers always. "Let me buy you something," Caroline persists.

But Papa only shakes his head, gesturing toward the new bedrooms wing, the children in their new uniforms going to school. "You have already bought me the most important thing," he says. "You bought me sleep."

Papa is doing something in this ashram, something more than what we can see. He is the heart of it, and has created an almost tangible presence of love. These children, who have so little compared to us, are so happy and joyful and filled with love. They are all - staff and children - eager to give and to serve. They offer seconds and thirds of their precious food, serving us before eating themselves. They rush to bring us water, pull up a chair for us, take our shoes off and put them back on, carry our bags - anything and everything. They have so very little - yet they want to share it all. It is easy to think of a great many children in the States who have everything, more than they'll ever hope to need, and are unsatisfied; whiny, demanding, selfish kids. And it's not their fault - those are the values we have taught them. It's an embarrassment of riches. We have everything, yet we're never satisfied, never happy.

Our culture is one of great waste - we are an incredibly wasteful people. The U.S. consumes 80% of the world's resources, while 80% of the rest of the world lives exactly the way we are seeing all around us here. In fact, in the U.S. waste is a status symbol - people waste simply to show that they can afford it, to show off to other people that they have the money and resources to waste. I suddenly don't understand it, just as Papa never would. It's shameful, really.

By contrast to it, these children in the ashram are so filled with joy, even having so little, that it humbles you and breaks life down to its barest simplicity. Being here has made me see my own culture in a whole new light, and re-evaluate it. There is much to be learned from the people here - the wonderful, gracious, giving, polite, serene and peaceful people.