It was the crocs that he wore that drew my attention to him. Bright yellow and incongrous on him. Every morning he was there outside the barber shop. In his forties, stooped, wearing shorts and an oversized tee, he rushed around doing all the odd jobs that he was set to do. Whether it was brooms that he wielded deftly, or cars that he washed, his concentration on his job was fierce.
People around him indulged him. The barber shared his 'cutting chai' with him, the seth who emerged from the building and got into his spick n span car, gave him a tip and a biscuit packet. The waiter from nearby gave him a paan or two. Some pulled his leg, laughing at him, at which he would glare and aim a mock punch at them. The bai's giggled or smiled at him in passing. The kids around would hold his hand and cross the busy street.
He must have been intent on one of his chores that morning and so missed seeing the passing bike. One moment he was standing, the next he lay prostrate and bloodied on the street. As if one, everyone rushed to his side. The barber, was already dialling the ambulance, the hotel waiter ripping of his shirt to tie a tourniquet, with a bai helping him. The rest had grabbed hold of the biker, while the traffic policeman took charge of the situation.
He disappeared for some time. Then one day, he was there again, sitting wrapped up in an old shawl, under the watchful eye of the barber. "Kaisa hai, " i couldn't help exclaiming ! "Thik hai" answered the waiter hovering close by.
He just sat there beaming at me,as the waiter, in sign language explained what i was saying.. 'gunga behra hai, ma'am, deaf and dumb,' he said. "Oh," i asked, " koi nahi iska ? " (Dosen't he have anyone ) "Hum hain na, ma'am, Iski family. or ye ? Hamari." (We are there no ma'am. His family. As he is ours. )
People around him indulged him. The barber shared his 'cutting chai' with him, the seth who emerged from the building and got into his spick n span car, gave him a tip and a biscuit packet. The waiter from nearby gave him a paan or two. Some pulled his leg, laughing at him, at which he would glare and aim a mock punch at them. The bai's giggled or smiled at him in passing. The kids around would hold his hand and cross the busy street.
He must have been intent on one of his chores that morning and so missed seeing the passing bike. One moment he was standing, the next he lay prostrate and bloodied on the street. As if one, everyone rushed to his side. The barber, was already dialling the ambulance, the hotel waiter ripping of his shirt to tie a tourniquet, with a bai helping him. The rest had grabbed hold of the biker, while the traffic policeman took charge of the situation.
He disappeared for some time. Then one day, he was there again, sitting wrapped up in an old shawl, under the watchful eye of the barber. "Kaisa hai, " i couldn't help exclaiming ! "Thik hai" answered the waiter hovering close by.
He just sat there beaming at me,as the waiter, in sign language explained what i was saying.. 'gunga behra hai, ma'am, deaf and dumb,' he said. "Oh," i asked, " koi nahi iska ? " (Dosen't he have anyone ) "Hum hain na, ma'am, Iski family. or ye ? Hamari." (We are there no ma'am. His family. As he is ours. )
wow! what a fabulous piece!
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