20.12.2010: The train was running at 120 km per hour west of Paris. The snow covered vast expanses of land and snow covered single and double storied houses were appearing and disappearing at irregular intervals. The gentle smoke emerging out of the chimney of every house gave the perfect sight of a European winter. It was also a reflection of my mood at that 
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I met him when he was at my present age. It was not for the first time I 
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When I met him, he was a happy man who, like any ordinary man was in search of material comforts. Brick by brick, the life has been taking shape. A house with all the bricks he could earn in his career was under construction. An own house in a city was a dream for an ordinary man like him. One had to sweat it out from every pore of his/her skin to see a dream of such a magnitude realise. To earn a job in those times was like climbing a hill. Hardships used to wait even at the top of the hill in the form of His Master’s highhandedness. Bosses behaved like tyrants who looked down upon the employees like slaves. They were forced to work for paltry sums. Building a life was virtually like swimming against the stream. Still he could swim and succeed.
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I was a young man in search of a foot hold at that time. I needed only a 
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Vijayawada is one of the busiest railway stations in India as most of the trains from north, east and west to and from south have to pass through Vijayawada. Then comes the famous Godavari River and the big bridge across it. The train chugs over to Rajamundri station and then over to Anakkappalli. There is a temple in Anakkapalli- Nookkalamma Temple- frequented by my mother during her stay in Vizag. At last after around 16 hours of journey, the train reached Visakhapatnam. It was like a homecoming for me
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At the railway station, there stood waiting the brisk walking tall man. With him there was a little boy too-his son- to receive me. The cute little boy made immediate friends with me. From there we rode on the scooter to their house. There started a solemn relation between a timid rustic young man and a happy family, the warmth of which is consciously preserved till now. Interestingly, his house was just closer to the place where we stayed for a long time while my father had been running a restaurant.
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A few kilometers away from here, the dream house was taking shape. Despite all his busy schedules of work, he found time to oversee the construction work. The enthusiasm of owning an abode was writ large in his face. The twinkling eyes said everything. The joy had no limit when he waxed eloquent about the house. By any yardstick, it was a commendable feat for an ordinary man. He achieved it at last. During the construction of this house, I too got opportunity to render some help. Like the proverbial little squirrel in the Ramayanam…
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After a few months of my arrival, we shifted to this house. I stayed with him here for a few more years as my feet could not yet find some ground to stand alone. I could meet a lot of people through him. He was a man who valued friendships and relations. He used to invite friends and relatives to his house and took pain to return their generosity by paying visits to their houses. The significant among his friends circle were the two gentlemen who too treaded the path of thorns along with him in the days of struggle. They too could carve a niche for themselves in their own lives. The trio, whenever met each other used to recollect those days that sounded like fairy tales. The rise from nothingness and the hardships they endured in the walk to success made them much seasoned. The bonhomie existed between this three men was a pleasure to watch. Each day of their lives deserved to be written as short stories.
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Building relations and maintaining them forever is a tough task. If I am asked to point a man who does this job with ease, I will point my finger at this tall man. When a special dish is made at home, he took extra interest to distribute it among the neighbours. He walked more than half distance in maintaining relations. I too took a few leaves out of his life when it comes to relationships.
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Meanwhile the boy became very close to me. I was his best friend as he was the lone son to his parents. My company provided much needed succor to his loneliness. I usually had a lot of time to spare. Even now, as everyone knows, the only thing I have in abundance is time. After his school time, he spent time with me as his both parents used to return only in the evening after work. The boy, surprisingly and unusually, was good mannered and obedient even at that tender age. But like any child of his age, he too did not like to sit in front of the books and concentrate on studies. His mind always turned towards the television set and the toys.
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Use of force to make him study was the order of the day. During the maths classes the force used to cross all limitations and turn violent. I used to hit the wit’s end and in the fit of anger, I beat him several times. Though I punished mercilessly, he never rebelled against me or uttered even a word of dissidence. Looking back at those events after long years, now I feel ashamed of them. I was so immature who could never understand a child’s psychology. But then, I console myself. All my actions were never intended to harm the little boy but only to see him successful in his studies. There were absolutely no malicious intentions behind this. Now, as a father of a kid of this little boy of that time, I understand the importance of being patient while dealing with children.
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Back to his father. The saga of hard work and loyalty to his company continued. He never changed his employer. He travelled length and breadth of the city. Travelled all over the country. Saw the business grow. As the small company grew, he too grew. After spending nearly five years, I left his family. I found a better job in Chennai. It had a good potential to be a turning point in my carrier. Still the long road of toil and uncertainty was yet to end.
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Though I was away from him, we never lost contact. I visited Vizag a few times. When I was in Mumbai he visited my house twice. When I came back to Chennai, he visited our house a few times. Days passed by. Suddenly, one day the senseless clown entered his family. Death- the clown who shows no sense of stage, always appears on the stage as he pleases-most of the time at the most inopportune time. No one could ever stop him
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The world that knew him stood still on that Sunday morning. He passed away. That Sunday morning brought the saddest news. It all started with vomiting in the night. By morning he was ready to go to hospital, but the waiting clown could no longer resist his entry. He never cared for the wailing wife or the fragrance the gentleman used to spread in the society. On the third day, when the icy body was taken out from the mortuary for last rites, I could not hold back my tears. A noble soul has departed all of us.
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Life is like a bubble. It can burst anytime. In fact the 'clown' pricks the bubble as and when he feels like to do so. His life teaches an important lesson. At the end of the day, our progress report shall show how we lived, not how long we lived.
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Santhi, santhi, santhihi….
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By the way, I did not name any of the characters in this story. They are all ordinary men. What difference it makes if they have names? They, like you and me have only one name – common man. The common man who can be spotted at the receiving end of everything that goes wrong in the world. Whether it is flood or drought, violence, corruption or price rise, the ‘common mans’ find ourselves at the centre of it, sporting grim faces and bated breaths
this was really touching.
ReplyDeletethanks for sharing uncle...