The December Morning

There was nothing unusual about that december morning or that canteen except for a man in his late seventies perched underneath a tree as if being grateful for being accommodated. It didnt even struck me for a long time that he didnot have any warm clothing on his hunched body. As we sat down under the portico sipping on our ginger tea, he bent sideward to whisper into my ears in bengali:” Can I get a job in your college? Any kind of job will do. Whatever money you will pay. Whatever you ask me to do”. He muttered all of this at one go as if stealing from me the remotest opportunity of a denial. Some situations in life can make you feel truly impotent and inept. I kept mum. Not because I had empathy with him but because I realised that I could do nothing. In fact none of us could do anything. Getting him employment in the college was beyond the powers of anyone there. I looked at him very minutely. He was dressed in a decent white pyjama and kurta and donned a Gandhian cap. His hopeful smile and the glitter in his wrinkled eyes told me that he should not be mistaken for being helpless or homeless. My glance travelled down towards his wrist watch. An old HMT with an orange band bearing the signs of ageing and dust. ”My wife gave it to me”--he said emphatically. I nodded. My friends began suggesting him other places and avenues he could look for a job. His petrified nod to every idea he got made him look like an unwilling customer caught in the pangs of a hound of salesmen selling their good for nothing products to cover up their inadequacies.

He could sweep the floor and mow the lawn,he reiterated. Time and again he would turn to me ,for reasons unknown. Perhaps my face gave away the impersonation of smashed hopes of a wretched human who could do nothing. I nodded again,,, foolishly.

“Where do you stay?” I asked. He lived some 50 kms from Durgapur in a shanty village. His reluctant concealing eyes told me that he was perhaps weighing too much on his children to be borne.” I have land taxes to pay”, he said. The quantum of affection which percolates from a parent to his child weighs too heavy on what traverses the other way. It overlooks and hides all their misdeeds and wrong doings. There was an eerie pause for some time which bit me like eternity. The chill in the air ran down my spine ,pricking my conscience.” I want to go home. My wife is waiting for me. I have been travelling for last 5 days”...He said with a tone of finality in his voice. He could comprehend that nothing better could happen to him here. ”How much money do you have?”--I asked him. He was penniless and it would take him 60 rs to get to his home.

Those were the days when I would struggle to make my ends meet in college. Not because I did not get enough pocket money or I spent them on booz and smoke but because I was planning a trip to Uttaranchal to see my companion. Travelling by a sleeper compartment for 30 hrs to get there would be luxury for me and I needed every bit of paper in my pocket to afford myself. My per day expense at a clumsy lodge there would cost me rs 200.I explored my back pocket and found the money I had just borrowed from my roommate. Only I knew how much I needed that money especially with just a day to go. I called him to the side, took his right hand and slipped it onto his palm. ”Go home kaka. This will take you home. Do you need more?” I do not know why I asked that question because I did not have anything left with me. He folded his palms and joined his hands in font of me as tears rolled down his lightly freckled cheeks. I took his hands in mine and apologised for not doing anymore. I gave him some change for the rickshaw till the bus stand. As I watched him fade away into a future to which I would be oblivious, I tried hard not to shed tears.

I do not know today what happened to that old chap who had no command over his destiny. But whenever I recall that winter morning, I realise how poor we are. How poor all of us 'well to do people 'are. Poverty stemming from incapabilities and insensitivities .Apart from the rs 200 I also lost an extra day's stay at Uttaranchal. But what I lost most was self-pride in my own eyes. His face still haunts me. He called me 'baba' while leaving ,,reminding me of my grandfather I lost when I was 8.

I pray that he is hale. I know I could not help him pay his land taxes but I would take heart from the fact that he was able to see his wife again ........if at all,,he was.