The barbers' shop was just across the road. "I'll just go for a shave," he said.
And then he was gone.
He was her father. She was his only child. In his eighties, he was retired and was staying with her for a few months before returning to his home in Gujrat. Everyone who knew him, loved him. The most mildest of men, his was a quiet presence in the house. Quiet but valued. If we kids needed money, he was the one who would willingly slip us some. If dad needed to discuss work, he lent a ear. If the women grumbled about domestic issues, he would listen patiently, sometimes even nodding off, which would leave the lady flustered and a little upset.
He had spent his life in Kolkata and knew the lanes like the back of his hand. When we were babies, every sunday morning would have us waiting eagerly for his weekly visit and the small paper bag of sweets that would emerge from his pockets. The most remarkable thing about him was that we had never heard him raise his voice, never seen hin angry. Nor had we ever heard him speak ill of others. A man who spent his life diligently saying his prayers, the embodiment of a devout muslim, grandfather was extraordinary, in that he lived in a world of contentment.
Now in his eighties, mum grew increasingly protective of him, as his memory started fading. Roles were reversed, as she gently took over his routines. Grandma helped by keeping an eye on him too. He still continued to pray, but would ask to be prompted. Still as sweet natured as ever, he seldom asked for anything else.
The day had been a busy one for her. The servant had played truant and guests were expected the next day. Lunch had to be planned and organised. It was then that grandfather suggested that he go by himself for his shave. Seeing my harried mum, grandmother agreed.
After a couple of hours, feeling uneasy, grandma suggested that someone go check on grandfahter. Stunned, mum asked when he had gone, even as she prepared to go to the barbers'. The shop was empty. Heart sinking, mum asked him when grandfather had left. "Saheb left an hour or so ago," said the barber. Scouring the surrounding area, dizzy with panic, mum called father.
Soon, the entire household, plus a few neighbours' were looking for him. In vain. As afternoon led to evening, the police were informed, a missing persons report filed. Mum was beside herself with grief. Grandma constantly fuming at her decision to let him go, kept having hysterics. Lunch was forgotten, as mum and father roamed the streets, asking passers by if they had seen him. Finally on the brink of exhaustion, dad insisted she return home.
She sat agonised in the hall. "I failed him, he was my responsibility, and i failed him," she kept crying. "Where must he be ? He must be hungry, thirsty. He wasn't carrying any money with him. Allah, help us, let him be all right, Please find him, " she beseeched.
The door bell rang. Mum rushed to open it, as she had every time it rang. Only this time there he was, dishevelled, his clothes dirty, his eyes blank with exhaustion, he stood at the doorway, supported by the sardar, our neighbour. " Papa," she screamed, almost collapsing with relief. Collecting herself, she led him in. Almost as soon as he was changed into clean clothes, and given a glass of milk that he drank hungrily, he was asleep as soundly as a baby.
The sardar, whom grandma and mum couldn't thank enough sat bemused himself. " I was at Park Circus," he said, "I was returning home after a meeting there, when the car stopped at a signal. Looking out, i saw him seated below the lampost. At first, i looked away, then my eyes returned to him, as there seemed something familiar about him. Shocked i realised it was nanaji. He didnt say anything as i led him into the car. He seemed exhausted, so i didn't ask him much, just brought him home."
The next day, he told his tale. Having left the barber's shop, he had turned right, instead of going left. He kept walking in the hope that he would soon reach home. Tired, hungry and exhausted, he finally sat down. That was when the sardar had found him. "Why didn't you hail a cab, papa?" asked mum gently. "I wish it had occurred to me, " he said, regretfully.
Miracles are something that we hear about from others. That day one had been wrought in my mum's life. In a city of teeming millions, far away from home, a sardar found a lost neighbour, one he had hardly seen twice, thrice, one who he hadn't even known was lost.
And then he was gone.
He was her father. She was his only child. In his eighties, he was retired and was staying with her for a few months before returning to his home in Gujrat. Everyone who knew him, loved him. The most mildest of men, his was a quiet presence in the house. Quiet but valued. If we kids needed money, he was the one who would willingly slip us some. If dad needed to discuss work, he lent a ear. If the women grumbled about domestic issues, he would listen patiently, sometimes even nodding off, which would leave the lady flustered and a little upset.
He had spent his life in Kolkata and knew the lanes like the back of his hand. When we were babies, every sunday morning would have us waiting eagerly for his weekly visit and the small paper bag of sweets that would emerge from his pockets. The most remarkable thing about him was that we had never heard him raise his voice, never seen hin angry. Nor had we ever heard him speak ill of others. A man who spent his life diligently saying his prayers, the embodiment of a devout muslim, grandfather was extraordinary, in that he lived in a world of contentment.
Now in his eighties, mum grew increasingly protective of him, as his memory started fading. Roles were reversed, as she gently took over his routines. Grandma helped by keeping an eye on him too. He still continued to pray, but would ask to be prompted. Still as sweet natured as ever, he seldom asked for anything else.
The day had been a busy one for her. The servant had played truant and guests were expected the next day. Lunch had to be planned and organised. It was then that grandfather suggested that he go by himself for his shave. Seeing my harried mum, grandmother agreed.
After a couple of hours, feeling uneasy, grandma suggested that someone go check on grandfahter. Stunned, mum asked when he had gone, even as she prepared to go to the barbers'. The shop was empty. Heart sinking, mum asked him when grandfather had left. "Saheb left an hour or so ago," said the barber. Scouring the surrounding area, dizzy with panic, mum called father.
Soon, the entire household, plus a few neighbours' were looking for him. In vain. As afternoon led to evening, the police were informed, a missing persons report filed. Mum was beside herself with grief. Grandma constantly fuming at her decision to let him go, kept having hysterics. Lunch was forgotten, as mum and father roamed the streets, asking passers by if they had seen him. Finally on the brink of exhaustion, dad insisted she return home.
She sat agonised in the hall. "I failed him, he was my responsibility, and i failed him," she kept crying. "Where must he be ? He must be hungry, thirsty. He wasn't carrying any money with him. Allah, help us, let him be all right, Please find him, " she beseeched.
The door bell rang. Mum rushed to open it, as she had every time it rang. Only this time there he was, dishevelled, his clothes dirty, his eyes blank with exhaustion, he stood at the doorway, supported by the sardar, our neighbour. " Papa," she screamed, almost collapsing with relief. Collecting herself, she led him in. Almost as soon as he was changed into clean clothes, and given a glass of milk that he drank hungrily, he was asleep as soundly as a baby.
The sardar, whom grandma and mum couldn't thank enough sat bemused himself. " I was at Park Circus," he said, "I was returning home after a meeting there, when the car stopped at a signal. Looking out, i saw him seated below the lampost. At first, i looked away, then my eyes returned to him, as there seemed something familiar about him. Shocked i realised it was nanaji. He didnt say anything as i led him into the car. He seemed exhausted, so i didn't ask him much, just brought him home."
The next day, he told his tale. Having left the barber's shop, he had turned right, instead of going left. He kept walking in the hope that he would soon reach home. Tired, hungry and exhausted, he finally sat down. That was when the sardar had found him. "Why didn't you hail a cab, papa?" asked mum gently. "I wish it had occurred to me, " he said, regretfully.
Miracles are something that we hear about from others. That day one had been wrought in my mum's life. In a city of teeming millions, far away from home, a sardar found a lost neighbour, one he had hardly seen twice, thrice, one who he hadn't even known was lost.
He was a great man..iv heard this story everyone his name crops up..remember the singular umbrella he brought from Haj? A man of simplicity and gentleness..
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