Bitter Justifications

We used to call him Dada. An old feeble man around 70 or even more. On the first day of my work, he was introduced to me as an employee with a special extension after his retirement. Nobody told me his name.. I still don’t know his name. His work was to type letters or file some papers given by an officer who himself was on the edge of retirement. And he would get just a few bucks for working for some hours. People avoided talking to him because he would never reply politely. He was rather rude to everyone who would bother him. As per him, he is doing his work given to him and nobody should bother him.

Little I came to know about him was.. he stayed about 10 to 12 kms away from our work place. He had a married son and a married daughter. But he was staying alone with his wife..not with his children. He would ride his bicycle all the way from his house to commute to office. Perhaps that was the reason for his good health.

Our office time was little early than the usual. 8.00 am to 5.30 pm. I always had a difficulty reaching on time. Though we had a strict rules on timings. But very rarely I would be the first to enter the office. If some day I reach on time by chance, I could never claim that I was first. There was always a noise of the typewriter from the last desk.. Dada always would be the first to be there. He would never be late, never he would remain absent. Not to forget he would never stay a minute later than the office time.

I did try to talk to him. But I agreed with others that he was not the one to be bothered. But still I kept on trying. “How are you Dada ? ” His reply would be “Why ??? What’s going to happen to me ? ” “Arent you going for lunch ?” His reply would be “ If I am hungry, I will go.” Though his replies amused everyone. But I found them impolite. I had my own justifications.

One day I gave up on him. We had a farewell party for one of our collogues. We all said one or two sentences for the collogue who was leaving. We were about 35 people. Out of the blue, I announced that Dada would say a few words. On my shock, Dada was still on his usual disposition. “Has anyone died here ? Why should I say a few words ” I was so embarrassed for my overly enthusiasm.

I decided I will never talk to him ever. About seven months passed. I was firm. He was on leave for a week on his wife’s health issue. But I must admit that he was still carrying the same good health., in spite of him getting older day by day.

This was on the last day before Diwali holidays. We used to get four days holidays for Diwali celebration. Nobody was in mood to work. I went to each desk to wish “Happy Diwali” to each one of collogues. I was still not sure if I should go to Dada’s desk or not ?? I went. I said “Dada, Happy Diwali ” He didn’t wish me back. I thought I can never go wrong in identifying a person. This person doesn’t deserved to be wish. He said “I need your help. Can you meet me at parking ?? ” I was surprised. Surely this old man is going to ask for money. I was firm on what my reply could be, if he would ask money. I thought such people should not be entertained much. I dint deny.. He was looking straight in my eyes, somehow I could not meet his eyes. He said “Fine while going home wait for me at parking” I said almost impolitely “Ok”

I had forgotten about meeting him at parking. After office was over, we were all talking and discussing holiday plans. I reached at parking and saw that Dada was waiting for me. I felt a bit guilty. He smiled. I was surprised by this. I dint smile back. I said “Yes Dada, what is it ?” He started looking for something from his old, used, stained cloth bag. I thought he will show me some bills and ask for money. I turned a little away from him but thought to see what he had to show. He took out a messy news paper package containing something and gave it to me. I opened the package away from my face, with some apprehensions. I found a few pieces of cashew nuts, almonds and some raisins. Total of all not more than 25 pieces. “What is this Dada ? ” My voice was suddenly polite. He said “Please give this to your daughter on my behalf as Diwali wishes ” I was speechless. “Thankyou”, was only word I could utter” I felt so low of myself.

They can go wrong….justifications. After the incidence I rather avoided.. making my own justifications for people.

I resumed office after Diwali with some new resolutions. Never to give up ( e.g trying to talk to Dada in spite of his rude replies ). and I managed a good friendship with him.

He had stopped coming to office after few months. He died next year.

He died but he made something alive for me…..trust in goodness.. it is there everywhere. Life is not so bitter as we think.

How life moves on ?

He is Gafur Kuwawala a Muslim. He was a an artwork officer in the earlier company I used to work. When I joined the company, he was working since 36 years old in that company, and his age was 61. Any day could have been his retirement day. That was a pharmaceutical. Kuwawala’s work was to check the artwork minutely so that the artwork goes without any spelling mistake or any other error. His qualification was not much than a matriculation of earlier days but his work was so well respected that none of the label or carton would go ahead without his approval.

We tuned in rightly from the first day in the company. I started calling him sir naturally from the first day. Within a week we became quite good friends. There were two groups for lunch. One was vegetarian group and another was a non-vegetarian group. I being a complete vegetarian would have joined the first group but I joined the later one simply because of Kuwawala sir. Few days were awful for me as a vegetarian. He used to bring stale fish as his lunch which would smell awful and I had to literally control my nausea and continue taking my food. I think his topic of discussions during the lunch time made me continue being in that group. Though he was a simple man, I must appreciate his skill to attract attentions. His knowledge was incredible. He could make any topic interesting. Relations, Politics, family, profession and not to forget religion. What I liked most about him that he never claimed his religion to be better than the others. He followed his religion very intellectually without being dragged himself into the fallacies of the religion. He would perform namaaz only when he would be free at his work. He had no message for anyone. He was centric and strong headed. But he was clear of what he had thoughts about. I liked him a lot. He had a big family of 28 members in the same roof and he was the head of the house, which included a widow of his younger brother with four children. Kuwawala had taken up the responsibility of them.

His retirement was due on March 2001. He was prepared for the day, when management called him and informed that his service was extended for six months. I think he was happy. I was also happy for him. I particularly remember him telling his investment plans after retirement. He had told me that he wanted to invest all his savings in Kisan Vikas Patra. In those days, mutual funds, life insurance and others plans were not so popular and considered safe.

After six months September 2001, he was retired at the age of 62. After almost 40 years of service in the same company. He was given an appropriate farewell from the management and particularly from his own department where his friends were invited. I was one of them. He gave a very practical speech. No tears. But a transparent expression of sentimental moments. But he was not crying. We obviously were into tears.

On 26th February in office we heard a news that Sabarmati train was put into fire. And there was a carnage between hindus and muslims and it was spreading towards Vadodara. We were not much affected about the news. We were sent to home and no one turned to office atleast for a week.

I joined office two days later than others because our area was still under curfew. The department was turned into a group of people talking about bloodsheds and carnage. I started my work because I dint want to be a party of their discussions. I think I wanted to stay away rather than debating on the issue I don’t agree to. The time was not right for me to debate.

I got a phone call from Uday Dadpe, a friend of Kuwawala and again a senior employee in the company. He called me to his desk. He asked “Do u know about Kuwawala”. Suddenly I realized that I had already forgotten Kuwawala. I said “No what about Kuwawala ?” “He is on the road with his 28 members of family. His whole house has been burnt. The house has turned into ashes. His family members have just the cloths they were into. Nothing. Not even cash to buy their next meal. Kuwawala had called up and he was crying ” Kuwalawala was crying. It echoed in my mind again .. Kuwawala was crying. I was silent. No courage to speak anything. I remembered his Kisan Vikas Patra, his 40 years of savings turned into ashes. I cannot imagine Kuwawala crying. I could not control a lump in my throat.

Uday Dadpe told me that they are arranging a small contribution from anyone who is willing to. We managed about Rs. 10000/- with which atleast he would be able to buy food and cloths.

Later we used to get news that he has started working in a hotel in account office. Government could give him only his land back. He has rented a house near by. Post Offices were not ready to help him about his Kisan Vikas Patra since there was no record. He had filed a suit against that.

Kuwawala was forgotten. This was about after a year or so. I went to a hotel to attend a seminar arranged by our company. I came out from the conference to attend a phone call on my mobile phone. I was standing near the stair case. While on phone, I saw Kuwawala coming from the other side in the hotel uniform. I almost shouted “Kuwawala !! ” He looked at me and hasten towards me. He smiled with his wet eyes. His smile was still as honest as earlier days. “How are you ?” That’s all I could ask. He said “I m working full time as an accountant here” He took me to his office. Showed me his province.

I again asked him “How are you ?” He replied “I m back to work. I don’t have to retire any more” He had no bitterness in his voice. He age was 63 or even more at that time.

After that I have never forgotten Kuwawala. We talk once in a week atleast.

And Helen Keller’s words ring in my head “In three words I can sum up everything I have learnt about life, it moves on"

Men in my life

Jitu… One morning …when I am walking back after seeing off Noopur , my daughter to her school bus.. Jitu comes and asks me if I wanted to get my car washed every morning I say yes to him. He comes every morning to clean my car…. He must be coming. … Because I see my car… shining every day… I don’t see him… unless except on Sundays. Every Sunday he would come upstairs and asks me for the keys… I talk to him for a while. He has wife, two children and he has “kaccha” house. And he has fifteen cars to wash… He comes at 5 a.m to wash all the cars in our apartment. He charges Rs. 150 from all others and from me… he charges Rs. 100/- I asked him the reason, he has no reason to tell me. I offer him tea every Sundays and he loves that tea. He says I make the best tea. I wonder why I don’t like the tea I prepare. Someday, when I have some work which is difficult for me to manage while at office. I ask him if he can do it for me.. He never has second thought.. he never has any excuse… he would leave everything and do it for me.. ..I just have to thank him and pay a minimum tip. I never needed to know reasons for his special feelings to me… I never needed to give him advance money… I never needed to visit his house and ask about his family’s being… He is the “man” in my life.

Balwant…. He is a security man in my apartment. Out of the three security guards, Balwant is the young guy.. and mostly present when I m back from office.. I hardly get time to sit on the bench while most of the mothers see their children play sitting on the benches of the park in our apartment. Balwant never talks to any of them. But he never forgets to give a smile to me and nod his head when I come from office, pass from the gate. He would never forget to update me about Noopur .. where is she playing or what time she went to class. One evening.. Noopur got late from her class… she didn’t come even when I was back from office. I asked about her to Balwant. I called up her class and got to know that she left 15 minutes back. I was casually standing outside the gate and was sure that she would just be back.. without noticing that Balwant was already on move to get his bicycle. He comes to me and asks innocently the address of her class. I had no words… speechless …… I showed him Noopur coming on her bicycle. I don’t know the reason why he leaves his duty to see that my daughter is safely back. I don’t know the reason. I never needed to know the reason.. I never needed any explanations.. I have never done any favour for him.. He is the "“man” in my life.

Discovery

I was uneasy, nervous. It was first day of Noopur’s school. Two years child was clinging to me and holding my finger tightly and crying. She was not ready to leave me. I tried my best to tell her goodies about the school. But for her I was the world and I still am a world to her. When we entered in the school, there were many children like Noopur with their both parents. While Noopur had just me …. single widowed weak parent.

The time was not yet announced to send them to the class. We all were waiting outside the ground, while the children were still playing. I saw a very beautiful lady wearing a nice bright coloured Punjabi suit, comfortable, confident and relaxed. While I was in a pale cream coloured un-ironed kurta pajama. She smiled at me and I smiled back. She said “your child is very beautiful” But I was rather looking for some tips on SOP to send the child to school without making them cry. Her daughter Zoya was playing carelessly .While Noopur was still crying. Which was very painful for me.

Then the times came when we had to put them to class, leaving them there while teachers would take care of them. I made Noopur sit near Zoya and left without looking back. I almost ran out. Now it was me who was crying. I was peeping from window to see what was she doing. She was crying. The pain was very transparent. I was crying almost like a child. The beautiful lady who talked to me before a while came over to me. She was Pinky, Zoya’s mother. She consoled me and that made me cry all the more. She was a bit surprised why was I crying too much. She asked me “why are you alone ? where is your husband ?” That was all. I burst out into tears. I said “I m a widow. I don’t have a husband. He died when Noopur was one month old” She felt sorry for me.. Yes that was all I was looking for. Sorry, Sympathy and Pity. I was so much used to sorries, symapathies and oh my gods ” She consoled me and I felt good.

This is one phase of my life. Where I was a widow , husband died when I was 22, leaving his one month old daughter in my hands to face the world, struggling, depending on parents, brother for each decision on Noopur and me. Right from school to her doctors and medicines. I don’t know who was suffering more with more pains, my brothers, my parents, Noopur or me ??

Days went by. Noopur was going to school by auto rickshaw. I would drop her in the vehicle leaving her crying. This was a routine and I had no solution. I never knew any solution.

Now one day Noopur missed the auto rickshaw and I had to go to school to leave her in my two wheeler. She was crying as usual. She insisted me to leave her to the school’s kitchen. I was surprised. I took her to kitchen hurriedly as I was getting late to my work. She went and sat on a chair. This was a discomforting situation but I had to leave immediately. I had no time to go to the teacher and ask to take care of Noopur. I found the cooks walking around. I called one of the elderly cook and requested him to see Noopur. I was horrified with his reply.. He said “Don’t worry madam, She always sits here in the kitchen. Because She doesn’t like to play with other children” I sank down. my body went weak and I felt as If I was going to faint. I could feel a slice of cut in my heart. But I had no option at that time than to leave for my job. I was blank. While riding my two wheeler, I had thoughts in my mind. Somehow I was not feeling weak. I was getting a decision within myself. I was getting some strength. A decision was made on that day.

I came back in the evening from work. Noopur snuggled me as usual forgetting her school phobia, forgetting the world. For the first time, I hugged her without fear, without any compassion. I took a shower and took out my old pair of jeans and a red coloured t-shirt. I could see some surprise in the child’s eyes. But she was surely feeling good about what she was seeing. I took her and tried to look out in the lobby if any neighbour was there. To my relief no one was there. I took Noopur for a ride in scooter. I could see that she was naturally happy and to my surprise I was happy too. I was me. Dina. This was our first ride of Freedom. A joy of Freedom.

There was no looking back then. I think I gave a re-birth to Noopur on that day. She is 14 years now. If I had not done that, I was only a selfish me. But today I m proud of myself. I have understood the meaning of my existence, my identity, my potentials, my capabilities and my deliverables. I have a choice to decide. I have choice to do what I want. I even have some green eyes staring at me for having got myself the freedom I have. I could not have never seen all these unless I had Noopur in front of me growing out as an another independent individual. Totally different individual. Totally different than me.. But still a part me. Her achievements say it all. We are proud owner of collections of her certificates in different fields academics, singing, General Knowledge, dance and computers. And not to forget I have parents who come to me asking for tips on SOP on how to raise a child like Noopur. My discovery. My proud creation and re-creation. A reason to smile. I call Noopur as “my source and my force to live”

I often meet Pinky in school. We both complement each other on our outfits. And I never forget to thank her. She asked me once “Are you the same Dina ?” I said “No I m not the same Dina . I have discovered myself into new Dina”

Once again thank you Pinky.