In school, we had a poem by Rabindranath Tagore in English, entitled ‘The Least Little Grain of Gold’. It told the story of how a poor beggar, while walking down a deserted road hears the galloping of several horses behind him.

Surprised, he turns around to find that a grandiose chariot was coming his way. Perhaps even more surprising is the fact that the chariot actually pulls to a stop beside him.

From a chariot steps out a glorious king arrayed in the most exquisite garments, and covered in precious jewels.

However, even before the elated beggar can extend a hand; the king says, “Will you not give me alms, father?”

The extremely chagrined beggar unwillingly gives the king the smallest piece of corn that he has from the bag which holds the day’s worth of alms.

Angry and bitter, he returns to his hut and empties his bag on the floor.

But, behold! Amongst the corn and fruits, lies a tiny piece of gold, as small as the grain he’d given to the king.

It was then that he realizes that the king was no ordinary mortal, but a God descended from above to test him.

The poem ends with the beggar’s lament, “I wish I had the heart to give thee my all.”

Our teacher told us, that Tagore wanted to say through this poem, that the beggar realizes his mistake, and wishes he was more selfless. Moral of the story: one should never be selfish.

Well, all due respect to the said teacher; but I would beg to differ.

For starters, let’s examine the thought behind the beggars lament, “I wish I had the heart to give thee my all.”

Surely, he doesn’t say so because he particularly regrets the fact that the ‘king’ doesn’t have too many alms on philanthropic grounds.

Hardly so.

He laments because he knows if he’d given up everything he had, he’d have ended up with a bag full of gold at the end of the day.

What the mystical king benefits from the entire ‘transaction’ (if I may be allowed the use of that word) is irrelevant to the beggar. His regret stems solely from his own interests.

And I think that is precisely the message Tagore wished to convey: in the strictest sense of the word, there is no such thing as a selfless act.

Allow me to further elucidate that point.

To be ‘selfless’ is to concern yourself only with the needs of other people, regardless of the ramifications (good or bad) to yourself.

Taking this definition into consideration, I re-iterate: there are no selfless acts.

Everything that we do, everything, advances our interests-or fulfills us-in some form or the other.

The operative words in that sentence are: in some form or the other.

Gain is still gain: regardless of whether it is financial, material, emotional or spiritual.

When we give things up to charity, we say that we do it in order to help the needy. And I don’t dispute that at all. But at the same time, when we do it, don’t we feel good?

And isn’t that ‘feeling good inside’ gain? Maybe we don’t get anything tangible from it, but we still do benefit from it, don’t we?

When parents raise their kids, investing years of work, time and energy- they surely don’t do it purely for the child’s benefit. Of course, the child’s interests does factor into the equation, but that’s hardly the only factor behind it. They also expect the same love and attention when they need it- and it’s perfectly normal and acceptable to do so.

To fully appreciate my views, reader, I think that you will have to let go of all hard-wired connotations of the words ‘selfish’ and ‘selfless’. Forget for the moment what we’ve been taught since Day One that selfishness is evil and selflessness is good and ideal.

I’m afraid that ‘selfish deeds’ and ‘selfless deeds’ are misnomers, at best. I’ve already illustrated the fact that you can do absolutely nothing which only helps other people.

So, when I’m doing something, the fact that it’ll help me is a given, an axiom; if you will. Now that act may or may not help others. And that is where my morality comes in.

I do a ‘good deed’ if, in addition to helping myself, I help someone else while I am at it. Symmetrically, I do a ‘bad deed’ if I help myself by hurting someone else.

Deeds which don’t affect others in any way are above and beyond morality for me: I didn’t give anything, and I expect nothing in return.

You may of course, chalk down this entire ramble to the dodderings of a nonsensical soul spouting gibberish; and desecrating Tagore while he’s at it.

You can think so, of course, it is your choice, of course.

But, from what I gather, Tagore was no simpleton. And he knew what he was writing about. He wouldn’t have put in any connotations in his poems without being aware of it.